Mountain helps ease student's nerves

When I began my journey here at Bona's three years ago, life couldn't have seemed more frightening. I was 17 and, despite what my parents told me, completely unprepared for life on my own. Needless to say, my "Good Journey" wasn't quite as smooth as it could have been.I spent the first three weeks of my freshman year sitting in my room wallowing in self-pity and wondering when my feelings of utter abandonment would cease. I cried so much those first weeks I think people began to think I had some sort of disease. I remember going to class with my eyes all gummy and bloodshot and receiving looks of complete disgust. It wasn't until I made my first trip to Mt. Irenaeus that things began to look up.

It had been another horrible day. Classes were finally over, and I was, once again, sitting alone in my room. As I sat crying, my tears were interrupted by a soft knock on my door. I got up, wiped my eyes and opened the door to find a beaming young woman in a brown Students for the Mountain t-shirt staring back at me. She handed me a flyer, smiled so wide I swear I could see her voice box and gave me a great big bear hug.

"It's OK to cry," she told me. "I cried almost every day when I first came here, but it will get better, I promise."

I looked at her in awe. Had a complete stranger really just knocked on my door, walked into my room and given me a hug? It didn't seem possible. Maybe I really was ill. Or maybe, as my family had told me, there really were people on campus that cared for me. I decided, for once, to bury all my instincts and actually respond to her attempt at empathy.

"I wasn't crying," I assured her. "I was just trying to fix my contact."

The fact that I didn't wear contacts and had just lied to a complete stranger on a Franciscan college campus didn't bother me at that particular moment. I did my best to smile back and continued my attempt at civilized conversation.

"What's the Mountain?" I asked.

She beamed again and made herself comfortable on my bed. Yes, my bed. I put my feelings of complete fear aside and listened as intently as I could.

"Oh my God, you haven't heard of the Mountain yet?" she asked. "That's just not right! I can't even begin to explain it to you; you'll just have to come and find out for yourself. Our next event is listed on that flyer. You'd better be there! No, you know what? I'm going to make sure you're there!"

What could I say? I had no choice. She gave me her name, room number and e-mail address and told me she'd be back to get me early Wednesday evening.

Well, Wednesday rolled around all too soon, and when she knocked on my door I came close to putting my pillow over my head and pretending it was all a dream. However, in one last betrayal of my instincts, I got out of bed, lumbered to the door and undid the deadbolt. There she was, once again wearing that ear-to-ear grin and brown t-shirt.

"Are you ready?" she laughed. "The vans leave in five minutes, and we don't want to miss them."

Of course I wasn't ready! I had been acting like a hermit for the past three weeks. Did she honestly think it was going to be this easy for me to come out of hiding? Apparently, she did. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of room. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a van full of kids on my way to "The Mountain."

I got out of the van as if waiting to be mauled by wild dogs. The bright sun made me squint, but, even so, I immediately noticed the beauty of my surroundings. A group of friars was waiting for us on the porch. As we filed in, they hugged us each in turn.

The evening started with a group meeting and inter-faith prayer circle. We introduced ourselves, got to know each other and set out our plans for the night. Dinner, prepared by the friars and a few student volunteers, would be served at 6 p.m., and the prayer service would follow. The rest of the evening was ours.

The dinner was the best I had tasted during my time at Bona's. I don't think it was the food that was so enjoyable though, but more the company. For the first time in weeks, I felt at home. As I looked around the table, I noticed that everyone was smiling and taking part in the conversation. No one was judging or nagging; we were simply a family enjoying a good meal.

The evening continued just as enjoyably with the prayer service. We walked together to the chapel and spent an hour reflecting on our troubles and blessings. The feeling of community was so palpable I began to cry.

These tears were different, though. They weren't tears of loneliness or abandon; they were tears of hope and relief. After three miserable weeks, I finally felt as if I had found where I belonged. I gave the sign of peace to my peers, and, as I approached the girl in the brown t-shirt, I noticed she was crying. I smiled at her and whispered in her ear, "It's OK to cry you know.