It’s not at all unusual for a few of our students to go through culture shock when they come to Highland. In spite of our deliberate efforts with our Truth in Recruiting initiative, some of them still show up without an accurate idea of what the school setting is. If you’ve never lived in a town of a thousand people or less, it’s hard to absorb the concept just by listening or hearing. And, as we all continue to be reminded from time to time, hearing about a thing is not the same as living it.
Waking up day after day, looking out the dorm window and seeing nothing but miles of cornfields and fencerows is a pretty powerful reminder that you aren’t in Atlanta anymore. Walking past all of the ten businesses that completely comprise our commerce in a three-block streetfront is quite the shock if you’ve grown up in an urban area. Or a suburban one, either, for that matter. In addition to the smallness, there’s the isolation. It’s twenty-five miles to any place that comes close to even looking like a small city, and an hour to the nearest metro, Kansas City.
For people accustomed to having miles of concrete and asphalt extending in every direction, being surrounded by countless commercial venues and endless opportunities for entertainment, it must be quite the shock. For others of us, it just feels like home.
Of course, that is no comfort to those students who just can’t handle such drastic change. Most of them don’t return for a second semester; they opt for returning to a place that feels more familiar.
I think eternity is going to be slightly similar, except that the choice will have been made in advance of the opportunity.
I think that everyone in heaven is going to feel right at home, right away. And as for those folks who say they wouldn’t want to spend a day, much less eternity, with “a bunch of idiots who believe in something as ridiculous as resurrection and miracles,” well, I don’t believe they’ll have to.