Stuck in the middle

I hang in my room all weekend, occasionally making my way to the third-floor kitchen for lunch and the preparation of potluck offerings. The common room has a gathering of students because the dorm prefects have set out snacks for the midterm-studying seminarians.

I feel as if my brain has gone mute and I am thankful that I have no tests to give proof to my perception. I read and remember nothing, except that I don’t understand why justice is so fleeting.

I yearn for peace.

I study Romans VIII, which acknowledges that humans have despoiled creation but must hang on to hope and believe in the resurrection of the body.

And I wonder if we have lost our direction and whether our days are simply overwhelming. Perhaps the best we can muster is to be in the present moment, giving it our best intention and effort.

I pilfer roses from the green-roof garden, carefully cutting those that are crowded so that my indiscretion will not be noticed. The two white roses, tinged in pink, fill the glass that serves as a vase; the blossoms measure nearly six inches across. They are deeply layered petals of sweet-smelling goodness.

They remind me that there is great beauty in our world and that it is our personal choice to believe in it.