The Last Day of Classes

The last day of classes always sneaks up on us. We count the weeks. We count the hours. And suddenly, we’re counting memories.

The halls echo differently today. There’s laughter, yes. But also sighs. A sense of something ending. A strange mixture of relief and sadness.

We hand in final papers. We whisper quiet goodbyes. We pack books and the lessons that can’t be graded. The ones about patience. About perseverance. About grace.

This moment feels uneven—like one of those chapters in Equilibrium. Life’s surfaces are never as steady as we hope they’ll be. But maybe that’s how learning works.

Through imbalance. 

Through struggle. 

Through surprise.

The final day isn’t only about what we finished. It’s also about what began. Ideas that were planted quietly. Friendships that changed us. Prayers whispered between deadlines.

I think about the students and teachers who carried invisible battles this semester. The ones who pressed through fatigue, fear, and failure. The ones who showed up anyway. That’s sacred work.

In Pause with Jesus, I wrote about noticing the unnoticed moments—the holy hush in ordinary spaces. This day feels like that. A sacred hush before the next beginning.

So breathe.

Say thank you.

Remember how far you’ve come.

The last day of classes isn’t the end of learning. It’s the invitation to live what we’ve learned. To walk forward in the balance of gratitude and growth.