Monday Memory: Milligan College

I spent four years at Milligan College, but it seemed like a lifetime. How can so much life happen in just a few years? Why is it that I can remember all kinds of details about events or just daily life from my college years, but I can't even remember how we spent New Year's just last year? Why can I remember an outfit that some random person wore in the cafeteria in 1987, but I couldn't even tell you what my kids are wearing today or what I wore to church yesterday? Why can I remember exact conversations in the lobby of our dorm but can't remember if I told Randy about what's coming up this weekend?

It's as if those college years were in slow motion and in brilliantly colored, intricate detail. I loved my college years. I loved my college--a small, liberal arts college nestled in the hills of Upper East Tennessee (now known as Northeast Tennessee). People always wonder how I ended up in Tennessee, having been raised in upstate New York. Milligan brought me here. It is one of the largest colleges that is supported by the our particular church, and one of the few that is specifically a liberal arts college rather than just a Bible college. Three of my four brothers attended Milligan, and for me it was basically a matter of attending Milligan or attending Cornell University, where my Dad was a professor. Because I wanted out of New York State, Milligan was the obvious choice.

Many of the best things in my life happened at Milligan. I met a group of incredible friends, and we shared countless adventures and growing experiences. We are still all close friends today, although we see each other rarely. I had amazing professors, who showed me a much bigger world. I fell in love with Tennessee and the mountains. I discovered that God is much bigger than one-dimension. And, most of all, I met the love of my life.

Would I send my kids there? In a heartbeat. If they could take away from their college years nothing but solid, lifetime relationships, then I'd consider that four years well spent.