Have you ever been to a graduation service? You know, where you have to get dressed up because everyone else does, where you try your hardest to get a seat close enough to actually see the platform, where too many people are packed into an auditorium, gym, or (even worse) a hot sweaty stadium… Where they all march in with all the formality of a little academic army, following a guy with a fancy looking medieval stick and another with a fancy looking banner. Where the keynote speaker always rambles on about hopes and dreams and goals and bright futures. Where some really smart student might get up and tell inside jokes that only a select few in the graduating class understands, but at least somebody’s laughing.

And then comes the neverending part, where the neverending line of graduates wait to hear their name, climb the stairs, grab their diploma, shake the President’s hand, shake the academic Dean’s hand, shake some other important looking person’s hand, walk down the stairs at the other side of the platform, pause to have their picture taken holding the “diploma” which is really just a big empty folder with the school seal on the front, and then yell “I DID IT!” while walk back to their seat and wait until all eleventy-two other students do the same thing and then they can all file over to another area of campus where their real diplomas are waiting. You know that part? That part was my favorite.

That was my favorite part because I knew how many years Gideon was here before his wife and two beautiful daughters came over from Africa. I knew what an amazing leader Chanyoung already was, and how influential he will be when he returns to South Korea. I remembered the Beckers showing up with one toddler, both husband and wife getting rigorous degrees in three years, while somehow having two other little ones in the process. One of our best friends defied the academic expectations of family and past professors by walking across that stage with a Master’s Degree and a plan to continue on for a Doctorate. Another best friend will take his family to an unnamable Muslim country as a missionary, risking much in order to share the Gospel where it is illegal to do so. I knew about Mary’s dad graduating from here, Mike’s brilliant career and two teenage kids, Sharon’s beautiful ability to communicate, Soonyi’s long history with our school, and so many others.

And then, my husband… I have been weepy all weekend, knowing what these past three years have meant to us. Knowing what we left behind, what we found here, and anticipating what is to come.

All of these stories came together in one day, in one morning, and the experience meant the world to me.

…because I knew their stories.