How I stopped singing the dorm-room blues

I loved college—except on weekends. I was studying at a "suitcase campus," meaning many students—including my roommate—went home at the end of the week. My own home was several hours away and I didn't have a car to get there. So there I was every weekend, on my own, staring at the dorm-room walls and waiting for Monday.

When I first got to college, it seemed like the start of a great adventure. I looked forward to my new-found independence and relished the idea of new challenges.

At first, everything went according to plan. As a music major, I played trumpet in the marching band, so my weekends often included performing at Saturday football games. This was how I had imagined college life would be. People stayed on campus and there were plenty of social activities.

But when football season ended, my weekends changed drastically. Who knew so many people could beat it away from campus so quickly on Friday afternoon?

It wasn't long before I was singing the dorm-room blues. Woe is me. Nothing to do. Nobody to do it with. I practiced my trumpet in the music building, but it was spooky there. Sometimes I'd only hear one other person in the building.

I had been alone before, but never felt as lonely as I did on weekends. I started to wonder if I could last the year.

One dark, chilly Saturday I hadn't bothered to go to breakfast or lunch. I'd barely managed to get out of bed. I realized I needed to pray about this lonely feeling. Lying there with my eyes closed, I just asked God what I should do.

I remembered Jesus' words about not putting a candle under a bushel. According to the book of Matthew in the Bible, he counseled us not to hide our worth, but rather to, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

It dawned on me that even though I thought I was alone, God had always been there. I remembered learning about God's constant presence in the Christian Science Sunday School I attended. I knew no matter where I was, God, my Father-Mother, was right there loving me.

That's when it hit me that love is a shared commodity.

It was like a light bulb switching on in my mind. There was a world of activity going on outside the walls of my room. I could stay indoors, singing the blues and hiding my joy, or I could go out and let my light shine. Wherever I went, I could be loving and kind to others and maybe even brighten someone else's day.

Suddenly, I felt a larger purpose in life—that of serving God and loving everyone around me. Right away, I threw on a jacket and went to the dining hall for lunch. There, I smiled and chatted with the cashier. Stopping by the bookstore, I found a card to send to a friend and shared a joke with one of the staff. That was just the beginning.

In the weeks that followed, I made a point of taking Saturday trips around the community. I visited the library, explored the campus and walked all over town. And I gave and received lots of smiles. I made friends with other students who were also stuck on campus and eventually joined a service group. After a few months, I started looking forward to weekends and discovering new opportunities to shine.

My efforts to let my love shine completely changed my tune. I stopped singing the dorm-room blues and learned a new song of love to share with everyone. And it's a song I’ve continued to sing.

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