It's Time

The Clock Tower of Oslo's City Hall

   There's rather a lot of clichés about time. Perhaps the most common is that it seems to fly. While I'd certainly agree, time seems to drag as well.

   For seven weeks, I have lived, eaten, breathed, and been European culture. I've sang Norwegian folk songs, laughed amid a sunny, lake-side afternoon, watched a Harry Potter marathon with a pack of Norwegian Sci-Fi Convention-ers, been captivated by Napoleonic sites, sipped wine along the Seine River, worshiped in Notre Dame, waited in shock for news reports, cried in front of Norway's national church, danced as the bass from B-hit music thrums in my chest, been roused frequently at 4:30 by a loud roommate, written for fun, written for academia, drained innumerous cups of tea, stared into the eyes of Holocaust victims, touched stones that have known millennia, and watched in wonder as time is gone.

   Time can seem so incredibly quick, but when we actually take the time to analyze time, there is so much that happens within those silent moments of the second-hand.

   I have been incredibly blessed this trip to live as a Norwegian. While I have not a single drop of Norwegian blood in my veins, I have felt Norwegian these weeks. As I wandered through the Norwegian Resistance Museum, the struggles of those brave souls resonated within my soul, and I felt a kindred to them - a kindred rooted in a national cause in which I had no part.

   But it doesn't matter.

   Instead, I am a human, and attaining those emotions that grab hold of us and never relinquish are exactly why we travel.

   So, on my last morning amid the Norwegian sky, time has again gotten the best of me, but I'm feeling OK about that. I have been shaped, irrevocably changed once more, and it's time to return home. Praying for safe travels, we will leave momentarily, and I, for one, am ready to be among familiar places and embracing and kissing the loved ones I left behind.

   For now Norway, you've been a blessing, and I hope to see your fjords and valleys once more.

Alt for Norge,

Michael Seeley

The Land I Have Come to Love