the van.

“The van was a good call,” she said turning to me.

My friend and I were returning from the “senior rafting trip” with our school, and we both agreed that choosing to ride up and back in the school van (as opposed to charter bus driven so skillfully by a lovely woman named Susan) was a good idea. Not only because our hip government teacher was driving it, or because we had an iPod adapter and could listen to the music we wanted, or because it was air conditioned, or because we could make Starbucks stops, or because we could average a good 20 miles an hour more than the bus, but also because we had meaningful conversations with people we wouldn’t have talked to otherwise.

Our lovely van was comprised of quite possibly the most random group of people in our graduating senior class—only a punk-rock vegetarian or one-legged veteran could have made the group more diverse, in my humble opinion.

We broached every topic from the Lakers to the Dodgers, from academics to athletics, from our greatest fear to the person we wish we had spent more time with, from what’s important in a church to why people make fun of others.

It was engaging.

It was thought provoking.

It rendered us vulnerable.

And I think we all came out with a greater appreciation for one another.

At the end, I found myself wishing this had taken place sophomore year. Why was I just now connecting with people two days away from graduation? Why was I just now developing compassion for people I’ve known for four years?

And now, here I am, about to embark on a new adventure: college, where I’ll be surrounded by new, different people for another four years.

I’ve decided I want to do things differently.

I don’t want to pass judgment on people. I don’t want to realize that “so-and-so isn’t that bad, after all” minutes before I wave goodbye to them at my college graduation.

I want to get to know people. Really. Truly. Deeply. Because when I learn about people’s lives, their struggles, and their hopes, I develop a new appreciation for them as individuals. I see them for who they really are: broken people, loved by our Creator, searching for meaning and truth, just like me.

But it’s hard. I pass judgment so easily. I assume people who dress a certain way will act a certain way. I make up excuses not to talk to them: “they won’t like me”, “our personalities will clash”, “they’ll annoy me”, or “they’re too fake.”

But just because it’s hard doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it, right?

Mother Teresa once said, “I do not pray for success. I ask for faithfulness.”

Beyond anything else, I ask that God would grant me the grace to remain faithful to him in this next phase of my life. Regardless of whether or not a bounty of friendships meet me as a result of my “don’t-pass-judgment” scheme (success, in a sense), I hope I will at least learn a lesson in faithfulness.