A Familiar Fountain

I took a bike ride tonight. Let me tell you, it wasn’t because I was feeling up to it. I needed out of my apartment, away from my horizontal position on my bed—I needed clean air. I’ve been sick for the last two weeks with headaches, sleeplessness, back pain, night sweats and coughing, symptoms of the flu my doctor assured me. Well, I’ve rested and I’ve drank enough water to cleanse my bladder 100 times over and I still feel—blah. Thanks, doc.

The purpose of this entry is not for me to gripe about my current ailment, but to share with you about a fountain that I visited toward the end of my bike ride tonight. I didn’t plan to stop. I was riding past a familiar place on campus—the “Allen Hall pond” as it is known to most students. A lot of things have happened to me along the “banks” of that pond: my first RA meeting; Retreat of Silences; conversations with friends, old and new; my first kiss. It is a place of good memories and I visit there often.

Tonight was no different. Usually though, I sit up on the “banks” with my eyes closed listening to the sound the fountain makes on its surrounding pool of water. Tonight, something compelled me to walk through the damp grass down to the water’s edge. Of all the times I have visited, never had I gotten so close to the water. Now, I wish I could say the water is as clear as crystal and that it sparkles like sapphire. Or that you can see thousands of pennies littering the bottom of the pond from the hands of many love-struck, well-wishers.

The truth though is that the water in this “pond” is disgusting. It’s dark; it almost looks thick like motor oil. Pennies aren’t littered on the bottom—real litter is floating at the top. It looks like a health-code violation, and I can’t help but wonder if one of these days I’ll see a smaller version of the Lock-Ness monster rise up out of the water to take an unsuspecting visitor. I don’t want to paint you an inaccurate picture of this place. It’s a nice “pond”, it really is—the water is just gross.

So tonight, I sat at the edge of this “pond”, careful to keep my feet and arms a safe distance away from the water’s surface. As I sat there, my knees to my chest and my arms clasped around them, I looked at the fountain in the middle. I’ve seen it plenty of times before, but as I looked at it tonight, I felt like someone was asking me: “Brittany, what part of the fountain are you?”

Huh? What part of the fountain am I? “Do fountains even have parts?” I felt myself asking. I continued to look at the familiar sight. I noticed the base, where the water magically shoots upward with enough force to make it fan out in the air. The streams of water turn to droplets as they make their downward descent toward the pool below. The droplets become another part of the “pond”, rippling out toward the edge where I sat. This is what I saw, nothing groundbreaking by any means.

I continued to ponder, looking at the fountain. Then, like one of those droplets hitting the water’s surface, I was hit with this question: “Brittany, do you want to be the part of the fountain that makes the water look beautiful? Or do you want to be the water, rippling out toward the edge of the pool?” Both parts are important—one is more visible than the other.

I’ve had the privilege of taking part in a lot of things throughout my life. In high school, I directed or was on stage in almost every school play. I was senior class president, National Honor Society president, a Leadership Retreat leader. In college, I’ve been a desk clerk, an intern, a Small Group Leader, an Area Coordinator. I’ve been in roles where I have led large amounts of people and roles where I have taken the back seat.

I remember being so excited to attend college to become the visible one—the star. Everyone told me that I would succeed at everything I chose to pursue and to me, that equated to fame—my name in lights, perhaps my face on a billboard. Now, I realize how silly this sounds but in many ways, it’s the truth. I finally would join the ranks of thousands of other students, but I would rise above them all because I had the talent. I had the potential to become the best.

I looked at that fountain tonight though and I realized that I don’t really want to be those visible droplets anymore. I want to be the part of the fountain that makes the droplets look so beautiful. Of all of the times in my life that I have held positions that have required me to empower others, I am just starting to realize that those were the times that I enjoyed what I did the most. I loved working behind the scenes and making the cast of “Morning’s at Seven” look great on opening night. I loved helping to plan a retreat where students could come and have fun away from school. I loved being the Crew Encourager on our missions trip to New Orleans this summer. In all of these roles, I was the one helping make others succeed.

That is what I want to do with my life. I want to do things that empower others. I have no desire to be the lead role in the play anymore. I desire to be the director. I want to be the base of the fountain that sends the droplets of water up and outward to make a difference in the world. This is what I feel God is calling me to. It’s not as glamorous as I had envisioned—my face won’t end up on a billboard—but I know it will be the most fulfilling.