It was the last final before Christmas. That semester was one of those that I really didn't think I'd make it through. In three months, I'd been through a brief mysterious illness brought on by the terror of committing myself to a country called India. I had changed my mind and experienced every degree of soul-rocking doubt. When I sat down to take my last test, I believe I was signed up to go to India, but for the number of times I changed my mind, it could have easily been the other way around. Either way, I felt dark as the lead I began putting down one bubble at a time. Three hours later, I hit the last bubble, answered the question, and read these words from a gracious humanities teacher who loved art for everything it says:
"I leave you now in the best place I can: Auguste Rodin, the Hand of God."
Taking this birthday of Rodin's, I would like to also place you in that merciful state of contemplating this sculpture: the Hand of God.