Nate

I spent a good part of my free time at RFIS with a novel in front of my face. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, then, that my fondest memories of RFIS took place in the school’s library.

Here, I remember working: typing away at an essay, memorizing the last lines of a Bible passage, or to my shame, scrambling to fill out my French worksheet right before class. I can’t honestly say that I miss the work. Sure, I enjoyed learning. I felt the satisfaction of overcoming difficult projects, but it seems odd. Why should these memories take up so much space in my mind?

I believe those memories that don’t mean much to me now are just as necessary as my fondest memories. I don’t think RFIS, or specifically the library, would have been special to me if it had never required me to work. And again, that’s not because I miss the research papers or the worksheets. It’s because working and learning give context and meaning to what I do miss.

When I think back, the most outstanding thing about RFIS was a comfortable corner of the library. I remember most vividly those pockets of free time spent reading, talking with friends, or sneaking in a nap. I’m most grateful for those chances to rest and connect.

Here, I remember working: typing away at an essay, memorizing the last lines of a Bible passage, or to my shame, scrambling to fill out my French worksheet right before class. I can’t honestly say that I miss the work. Sure, I felt the satisfaction of overcoming difficult projects, but it seems odd. Why should these memories take up so much space in my mind?

Maybe it’s because they can’t be separated from the moments I do miss. When I think back, the most outstanding thing about RFIS was a comfortable corner of the library. I remember most vividly those pockets of free time spent reading, talking with friends, or sneaking in a nap. I’m most grateful for those chances to rest and connect.