Leaving Savannah was a mix of melancholy and anxious excitement. God navigated my return home to Tennessee where He launched me into my life’s calling. Until now my calling to the ministry was in word only. I did not have a definitive plan to accomplish my lifelong dream. Within a month of my arrival in Morristown, I was attending the University of Tennessee, Knoxville majoring in vocal and instrumental music. The transition to the university went well. However, with Thanksgiving arriving soon, my heart and mind carried me back to the many family Thanksgiving gatherings over the years with my extended family. This would be the first Thanksgiving Day without my mother. The reality of her death seemed to suddenly become real to me.
I sat near the window of the student union building gazing out over the horizon towards the beautiful Smokey Mountain Range. The autumn sun was a burnt orange much like our school colors at UT Knoxville. The trees were wearing their late fall colors. Some of the trees were almost barren while others had different shades of brown and orange leaves clinging to their branches. The evergreen trees were beautiful casting long shadows over the mountains and the valleys below. I sat alone in the Baptist Student Union reflecting on my 19 years of existence. Tumultuous as they were, I did not dwell on the horrors of my childhood. My only concern was that I missed my mom. After drifting into a deep sleep, unattended sorrow awakened me as I began to weep. Since there was no one around, I turned my face towards the window facing the snow-capped mountains and swallowed the sounds of my grief. The previously contained tears exploded from my eyes in steamy geysers. They were hot against my face as they made their way towards my chin. Sweat formed on my brow as my body heated up from my inner turmoil. My shirt stuck to my chest due to the endless river of sorrow. After accepting the fact that I could not control the overwhelming pain, I curled up in a huge lounge chair, closed my eyes and cried. The soothing glow of the full Tennessee moon embraced me and my unbearable agony. As I drifted deeper and deeper into my sorrow, I was lonely, depressed, and bewildered. I would soon approach the next step in my emotional decent… insanity.
Night had fallen, the room was still, the smells of late autumn filled the room. It was a week before Thanksgiving. I was staying in the dormitory during the Thanksgiving break because I felt I had nowhere to go. The foreboding quietness brought with it a substantial enveloping presence that attended to me. Suddenly, as I had experienced before, peace came to me. It grabbed my heart, then chased my mind down and calmed me with a firm yet gentle grip… one moment lost in unbearable anguish, and the next, I am in the bosom of God. Faith personified as peace, gripped me just before I descended into insanity’s bliss of nothingness. Had I gone there I would have never returned. Peace captured me and held me until I fell asleep. A few hours later, I awakened feeling as if I had spent countless days with my mother. Faith had intruded into my sacred chamber of horrific memories and pulled me to safety in the bosom of peace.