LtD: The Hardest Year

Dear Debbie,

A lot of things have changed in the last year, and I don't know where to begin. For some reason the knowledge that if I went back and sat in my chair in the office you wouldn't be on the other side of the desk from me seems like the most dramatic change. Is your new job treating you well? Is it strange to be in different places and talking to different people regularly, and most importantly - have you been able to let the particular stresses of work at Geneva go? These are questions that I ask of you because I know I'll be changing jobs in the next few years and part of me is wondering how I'll ever let this place and these people go. I can complain all day, but working here makes me feel needed and like I'm a part of something, and it's hard to imagine that I could find that anywhere else. If you have, maybe there's hope for me.

It has been a long year in my world.

In October one of my residents died by suicide, taking her own life in my hall. Once upon a time that was a thing I couldn't imagine ever saying because it would be too horrible to contemplate; now I look at that sentence and think "that seems too simple, will people really understand how serious it was?" It's amazing how life can change your expectations and perspective. For weeks - even months - all I could think about was, what should I be doing? and what have I forgotten to do? and who have I failed to help today? Even now, six months later, I often do or think things that would have seemed absurd pre-October.

Other things contributed to this year being difficult, of course. We had to replace two RAs on our ResLife staff, although my hall staff stayed the same. Our Director of Student Activities changed positions at the University and so I became the interim SAC Advisor for the last half of the semester. Back in PA my newest niece was born, my parents faced serious health issues, and [it's hard to be away from my favorite sister who makes me laugh and talks about deep things and is beautiful and single and a total catch]*. I'm pretty involved in my church, and have activities there three evenings a week, and worship team early on Sunday, so Friday and Saturday night were my only evenings 'off'...unless I was on call and had to be awake and on campus for rounds. It got to the point where I had to force myself off campus for two hours on Thursday morning to maintain some sanity.

On paper it doesn't seem as extreme as it did walking through it. Most of the time I felt like a pinball being batted from one corner to another, reacting and supporting and doing stuff without the time or will to stop and think about whether I was doing stuff the best way, or even whether I was doing important stuff in the first place. Just a few months ago I might have been tempted to describe it as the worst year of my life. It has been a year of sorrow and tears, and late nights, and impossible conversations, and failures, and asking for forgiveness, and fear. I have always considered myself brave, and this year I came to know fear intimately.

I can't call it the worst year, however, because it has also been a year of grace. I now know more of the perfect love that casts out fear, and that works all things - even the deeply wrong things - together for good. Love isn't a fuzzy, happy feeling, and it isn't easy. Love clings to faith, and when faith seems disappointed, clings to hope. Day to day, sometimes minute to minute, I had nothing but the tiniest ray of hope that God has a plan for redemption. I will never see the whole picture, but I have had the joy of seeing people I love overcome difficulties and come out on the other side stronger. God's love is perfect, and each day it casts out just a little bit more fear until I can honestly say that this has been the hardest year, but I've made it through.

This is a letter that I started several months ago. It has been hard to find time and space to assemble my thoughts. But I need to write about this, and I had to start somewhere; hopefully more will follow.

Until then,
Ceci

*edited by request of said sister. You wish you knew what it said before, hmm?

The tipping point

I'm done. That's it. No more.

How many times have I said that in the last sixteen months? To be honest, there are days when I said it five or six times and yet kept moving forward. My experience as an RD has been stressful, tiring, emotionally exhausting, and is starting to consume my entire life. It's not terribly surprising to me that I moved three hundred miles away from all of my friends and family and promptly became a workaholic, but I thought I was making strides toward balance when I got involved in an awesome church and found a local music scene that interests me.

In a 1/1 a few weeks ago I told a RA that residence life sets us up to be the most insecure people on campus, and since then I have been gradually discovering how true the statement was. When I am on campus, whether I am performing job-related functions or not, I am "on the clock" in the sense that my behavior must remain professional and supportive lest I estrange someone I need to speak with tomorrow. But that was the challenge I expected; every RD has to deal with this living-where-you-work challenge. And so we become engaged in communities and activities off campus to remind us that we have purpose and value outside of living clean lives, saying the right things, and answering the on-call phone at 3am.

The tipping point of my stress was when I realized that although I have events that take me off campus, that I look forward to and spend time preparing for, most of those events melt into yet another performance expectation. What I choose to do is an expression of who I am, but instead of being natural it often feels like I am trying to prove who I am so that people will accept me and care about me. I had a terrible moment the other week when I realized that although there are several people with whom I have genuine friendships in Fort Wayne, my brain snidely reminds me that my primary relationship with most of them is based on what I do rather than who I am.

I could blame this state of affairs on many things, and I have. But last week I came to a breaking point for the umpteenth time since taking this job; I took an honest look at my life and realized that I keep allowing myself to play the victim. I don't have time to relax and I blame it on everyone else because they want to talk at midnight when I would rather be reading or watching Friends...and it's so very easy to just say, "I'm done. That's it. No more." and still not change a thing. And so I got fed up with myself and decided to change a thing.

I've started getting up in the morning. I like mornings, I just don't like the tired that usually accompanies them after late nights and feeling depressed because someone stole my "me" time yet again. But I'm done being a victim of my sleep schedule and my job, so I started getting up and seeing the morning magic hour and making a cup of coffee and reading things that are interesting to me and my Bible and writing in my journal. Do you know how much better I feel? Everything isn't fixed, and insecurity is, as always, lurking around most corners, but now I have some time each day to gain perspective and make myself fit for service.

Because I'm done. That's it. No more. God didn't give me this opportunity so that I could feel sorry for myself.


Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

4.18.14

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

About 18 months ago I started a spiritual practice of meditating for a few minutes (anywhere from 5-15, depending on the day) while praying The Jesus Prayer in time with my breathing. I recommend it to anyone, really, for a few reasons: 1) The practice of paying attention to one's breath is an excellent way to manage stress and improve concentration, 2) Beginning one's day by praying for, pleading for, and remembering God's mercy reminds one of one's place in the world, and 3) Combining breath with prayer develops a pattern of unconscious prayer - one is able to pray without ceasing without being totally aware of the prayer.

And that's good, because sometimes words fail you and all you can do is breathe.

I don't know if it's because of Holy Week, or because I'm coming to the end of my fast, or because we're nearing the end of the semester, but this week felt like an uphill battle. I wrote a 'summary' of Monday thru Thursday in my journal that took up a full page; I won't bore you with the details. By Tuesday night, however, I had noticed a pattern - I would tell myself, "___ is almost over; I'm so glad I can go to ___ and not really exert any energy." I would go to ___ and promptly be thrown into a situation that demanded my best effort and every bit of energy I didn't have.

What was amazing was that in the midst of the chaos and at the end of each day I didn't feel defeated. I also didn't feel exhilarated, like I had accomplished something. In the midst of the chaos and the silence I only had time and energy for one thought.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

Breathe in. Breath out. Try to think of a prayer.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on them.

Embrace the silence. Focus on responding. Realize that it is God working through me, that he is right there in the silence and the noise. He doesn't put me in trying circumstances to show me that I can handle them, but to show me that it is always he who handles them. He knows what needs to be done, and he is working tirelessly, and he brings me with him like my dad letting me ride along to Home Depot - not because he needs my help, but because he wants me to be involved.

Last Friday when I finished reading The Way of the Heart I started a new book, Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership by Ruth Haley Barton. At the end of the each chapter she includes an exercise; last week it was a time of meditation, to listen for the thing that your soul wants to say to God and has not found the words to express. I prayed that God would show me why I am here - physically, in Fort Wayne, so far from the things I hoped for when I started job searching - and what it is he wants from me while I am here. I forgot the prayer until I sat down on Thursday to look at my journal. It wasn't an easy answer, but I feel that this week has been an answer.

Lord Jesus Christ, Have Mercy

4.11.14

Last year I remember discussing with Jimmy and Nate whether Nouwen books 'count' for the 52x52 challenge because they're usually less than 100 pages long. I picked this book up because it seemed appropriate to my Lenten fast and, admittedly, because I thought it might be a quick read. Turns out, it is one of the hardest books I have read in a long time. Three chapters with an introduction and a conclusion should not be difficult to get through, but I found myself reading sections a second or third time, letting the words sink in and worrying them over in my mind until I could place a finger on what was challenging me.

In The Way of the Heart, Nouwen provides an introduction to the thoughts of the Desert Fathers and explains the call they heard to go into the desert as three commands: Flee. Be Silent. And Pray. He discusses the practices that transformed them, and that could transform us, if we let them, in those three terms - solitude, silence, and prayer. The Fathers, he says, were looking for a new martyrdom that would help them to separate themselves from the sinking ship of society so that when they ministered to others they could do so with God's heart instead of simply perpetuating the twisted values of the World.

It was a difficult read not because of large words (because Nouwen really doesn't use large words or heavy explanations), but because I recognize the truth of what Nouwen is saying and want to embrace it, but I struggle with integrating it into my life. As an RD it really is easy to get swept up into busyness, wordyness, and distraction of campus culture and imagine that the fate of the world depends on my efforts. I easily forget that only God can really change people, and that if I am not near to him I will be less fit to draw others near to him.

Here is an excerpt from the conclusion that I copied to my journal because it describes the contrast between the way I am now and the way I want to be:

"The temptation is to go mad with those who are made and to go around yelling and screaming, telling everyone where to go, what to do, and how to behave. The temptation is to become so involved in the agonies and ecstasies of the last days that we will drown together with those we are trying to save.

"...When we have been remodeled into living witnesses of Christ through solitude, silence, and prayer, we will not longer have to worry about whether we are saying the right thing or making the right gesture, because then Christ will make his presence known even when we are not aware of it." 

4.8.14

This week the craving hit me... for meat. Any meat. All meat. Seriously. I'm surprised it didn't happen earlier, but I'm glad it didn't because I don't think I could make it more than two weeks after this. Desperately craving steak, to be completely honest.

That would be a nice birthday meal, wouldn't it? Ribs and fries, with a milkshake... and again with the craving.

3.30.14

So it's a feast day again, and I may surprise you by saying that I don't particularly like the fact that there are feast days.

Why, you ask? It took me a while to come around to the answer, because at face value it makes sense that when you choose to deprive yourself of something and you find out that on every seventh day you get a break from the deprivation, you would thoroughly enjoy the seventh day. And, well, that's the point of the Sabbath anyway - like I wrote a few years ago, every Sunday is a day of remembrance of that day on which the sinless man who had been beaten, humiliated, and murdered was raised from the dead. It's kind of a big deal, and definitely a reason for celebration and feasting.

I must conclude that the problem isn't with the the principle of feasting, it's in my approach to fasting.

I have a fascination with doing difficult things - a complicated word problem, dragging myself out of bed at dawn for a day of hard labor, stress hikes, the all-night study session - because of the personal satisfaction I feel at the end of it. Additionally, I have a strange enjoyment of the deprivation itself, the experience of "mind over matter" as I flex my muscles of self-denial. Put those things together and you have a temperament always up for a challenge and willing to make sacrifices to accomplish something. Put that way, I sound like a pretty great person, don't I? So what's wrong with the picture?

I find that I resent the upcoming weekly breaks in the fast because they remind me that fast isn't about me at all, nor about how much I can handle or how good a person I'll be when I have "gone without" for a few weeks. In fact, I anticipate that each Sunday will feel like resetting of all of the endurance I have built up over the previous six days and Monday begins just a little more miserable than Saturday. Ultimately the posture of fasting shouldn't be about facing down a challenge or proving one's will-power, it should be a posture of mourning over one's weakness, submission to God, and soberly rejoicing in his grace.

I can say that, but I don't completely understand it. Mourning, submission, and sobriety are not popular postures and they appear rarely in my life. I can only hope that the contrast of fasting with feasting will teach me to comprehend them better.

3.24.14

And today... I started complaining. Not about what I can't have, but about what I do have. Believe it or not, I'm okay with not having meat, but I am SO TIRED OF: spinach, cottage cheese, applesauce, chick peas, peanut butter, green peppers, cucumbers,etc. All the healthy things. The plenty, the fresh, the things that are made available to me even though I don't work for them... I'm complaining about them.

If I'm ever tempted to judge Israel for complaining to Moses about their food, I'll remember this. It's been less than three weeks, and they had 40 years.

3.15.14

Rice, beans, fruits, vegetables, dairy, spices. It's not a long list, but it is enough. Most people I know don't think in terms of enough, they think in terms of what they want and imagine that the two are synonymous - when they have what they want then it will be enough.

"Enough" for me started when I interviewed for this job at the University of Saint Francis. Knowing they supported Franciscan values, I asked if they included poverty as one of those values - didn't Francis give his clothes away and beg in the streets, only to give away (again) everything but what he needed to survive? Wouldn't it be cool if there was a residence life experience that taught you about real poverty and made you ask how much is 'enough'? I am still asking myself this question and pondering the answers. In January when I first considered this Lenten fast I felt drawn to a few Bible verses:

I read some of this book in college.
but I thought he was crazy
and probably a liberal
I should have paid more attention
I could have saved a lot of time
figuring out that love is radical
and sometimes liberal
and God is not really about
maintaining the status quo.

There are three things that are never satisfied,
four that never say, "Enough!"
the grave,
the barren womb,
land, which is never satisfied with water,
and fire, which never says, "Enough!"

"What should we do then?"
"Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same."

"But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistrust you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you."

These are pretty radical statements. I don't want to be like the grave or the consuming fire, I want to know when I have enough and still be willing to give that away. Jesus proposed... no, he didn't propose, he commanded a very radical kind of generosity. I've been coming to realize that I don't know how to follow that command because my expectations are set too high. "Give until it hurts" means very little in the grand scheme of things because 'hurts' can mean having no budget for coffee at the local coffee shop, or reducing the amount of money I spend on personal entertainment in a month. I don't have a frame of reference for 'hurt,' and therefore my generosity always falls short of Jesus' command and the real needs of the world.

Here at the end of a restful and indulgent spring break (indulgent within the bounds of my fast - it's amazing how creative one can be when one has rice flour and condensed milk) these are my thoughts. How will I know what is enough? Is my fast really selfish if it does not include giving - of my money, of my time, of my resources - the way Jesus commanded me? How do I make sure that this spiritual practice has a tangible effect on my life after the Lenten season?

3.9.14

I knew that Lent was "forty days not including Sundays," but I never stopped to consider what that meant. You won't be surprised at my joy when I learned, from a RA who ought to know, that in Catholic practice the fast does not include the Lord's Day. So on Sunday I can do (or rather, eat) what I want*. So this is my first feast day and it couldn't come at a better time - it's Spring Break here at USF, and my sister is here to visit for the week. It's providential that we are both participating in this fast, because otherwise it would be a miserable week for one of us.

This first feast day has been full of small blessings, some of which were in disguise. I got up at an obscene hour this morning to drive to Waterloo only to discover that my sister's train was delayed by an hour... but as I sat there for an hour and a half waiting for her to arrive, I got to watch a beautiful sunrise. We got breakfast at a cute little diner, and let me tell you pancakes and bacon have never tasted so good. I went to church alone while my sister napped to make up for the sleep lost on the train, and then we went out to dinner and found the best pizza ever at Toscani Pizzeria. Again, pizza and Sam Adam's have never tasted so good. There was ice cream, later, and a movie, and general happiness. It was a good Sabbath.

It kind of sounds like my day was driven by food, doesn't it? And perhaps it was, and perhaps that's okay. Instead of paying attention to a list of rules, I was able to experience the God's lavish generosity of flavor and human creativity. That's kind of a big deal.

But the blessing I was most grateful for on this feast day was being able to eat with someone I care about.

*Incidentally, this is probably why it's best not to use Lent to overcome a bad habit or vice; 28 days may break a habit, but taking every seventh day off probably won't help much. :)

3.6.14

In case you were wondering why I'm talking about Ash Wednesday when it's after Easter...

"When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." - Matthew 6:16-17 -

Taking the time to blog about this spiritual practice is good for me on a larger scale than simply writing in a journal because here I need to be specific and clear about what I am trying to do, and there is a larger audience to hold me accountable to the lessons I learn while I do this. However, I want to take Jesus' teaching seriously. My early understanding of Christianity had a lot to do with appearances and I feel a special affinity to the Pharisees who desperately wanted to understand and love God but often got bogged down in the rules and the appearance of piety. I don't want that to be me.

Therefore, while I am serious about this Lenten observance, I am trying not to make a big deal of it. I don't intend to lie - and I'm sure that some people are going to ask why I'm eating a lot of cottage cheese and no pasta or meat - but I want to stay as low-key as possible. I want to rend my heart rather than my garments, so I am scheduling these posts to be published after the Lenten season.

My sister is doing this Lenten fast with me, and we had a pretty funny text exchange. Yesterday I had asked her if she thought I should go to Mass and she misunderstood and thought that I was telling her to do so. She responded that she was getting enough weird looks from friends who were, likewise, raised protestant and didn't understand while she would choose to fast. She mentioned Matthew 6 and suggested that Jesus was really saying:

Speak not of when you fast... for everyone around you will treat you like a freak and judge the crap out of you, so it's really for your mental healthy.

We were joking, of course, but I'm on the other side of the issue right now. Here, fasting is understood, although it may seem strange to them that I fast when I am not Catholic. I feel my bigger struggle will be personal - learning not to long for what I don't have an not to make a big deal of what I am choosing not to eat. It seems pointless to complain when, even in my self-imposed constraints, I have plenty.

3.5.14

Ash Wednesday was never on my radar before. What can I say? I'm protestant. I'm not sure if it's because I'm working at a Catholic university or because of where I am in my life right now, but this year I wanted it to be different. For the last six years my time has been marked by the school year - counting down to exams and to summer jobs and to the exciting start of a new semester. It's been fun, but it's about time to grow up and invest deeply in the things God wants me to learn rather than what an institution requires of me at the moment. I decided to start with Lent; here are a few of my thoughts as I begin this experience:

My Lenten observance this year includes rather strict dietary restrictions. I am going to try to limit my diet to rice, beans, fruits and vegetables, and dairy.

1. I started with rice and beans because these foods that are staples for most of the world's populations factor minimally in my usual American fare. Preparing rice and beans for myself and eating them regularly will help me to remember that around the world people are grateful for these simple foods, as I should be.
2. Fruits and vegetables are on the list because, although there is poverty in the world, I have plenty. As a hall director I have a meal plan for the campus cafeteria, where nutrition and leafy green vegetables are regularly available. God has blessed me, and I want to be reminded of his blessing often between now and Easter.
3. Dairy made the list for health reasons - I work out a few times a week and I don't think I'll be able to get enough protein in my diet without it. Also, I can't imagine eating a spinach salad without my cottage cheese.

While I was making my plans I saw a meme on Facebook that said "Fasting without prayer is simply a diet." Fair point, right? As I understand it, the restrictions I listed up there ^ actually make up a pretty healthy diet and there's nothing wrong with that. But what's really important is what the fast signifies - I want to simplify my life so that I can hear God's voice. I want to feel hungry and to be annoyed by the blandness of my food and to be reminded that God provides me with more than enough. I want extra time at meals to appreciate the people around me. I want to read God's word without distraction and to take the time to pray for my residents. I want... to learn what fasting is really about. So I went to the Ash Wednesday mass on campus and heard Scripture read, from the prophet Joel. Rend your heart and not your garments. Why should they say among the peoples, "Where is their God?"

“Even now,” declares the Lord,
    “return to me with all your heart,
    with fasting and weeping and mourning.”

Rend your heart
    and not your garments.
Return to the Lord your God,
    for he is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and abounding in love,
    and he relents from sending calamity.

Who knows? He may turn and relent
    and leave behind a blessing—
grain offerings and drink offerings
    for the Lord your God.

Blow the trumpet in Zion,
    declare a holy fast,
    call a sacred assembly.
 Gather the people,
    consecrate the assembly;
bring together the elders,
    gather the children,
    those nursing at the breast.
Let the bridegroom leave his room
    and the bride her chamber.

Let the priests, who minister before the Lord,
    weep between the portico and the altar.
Let them say, “Spare your people, Lord.
    Do not make your inheritance an object of scorn,
    a byword among the nations.
Why should they say among the peoples,
    ‘Where is their God?’”

Church: Found

In the past when I lived in a place other than 'home' people always told me that it was important to find a church community of which to be a part, but I don't think I really believed them. Not that I didn't go to church. I went to some pretty spectacular churches, actually...

• Exhibit A: Spring Creek Community Church
  When I was an apprentice at Miracle Mountain Ranch I attended the community church at the bottom of the mountain not because I had tried other churches and really liked this one (in fact, I don't think I visited any other churches), but because I felt least awkward about riding to church with the people who went to Spring Creek. What can I say? I was 17 and self-conscious. Spring Creek was a great place for me, though - very small, so everyone knew - and cared about - everyone else, their prayer time didn't come from a typed list but from concerns everyone shared right there in church, and I was able to use my musical talent in worship for the first time.
  
• Exhibit B: Ecclesia Hollywood
  Again, I didn't really look for a church in LA. A few of my instructors went to Ecclesia and so my roommates and I tried it out, and where my roommates went, I followed. Still insecure, you know. What I love(d) about Ecclesia is that 1) they rented space that would otherwise be empty, because being in a particular community was more important than having a certain style of building, 2) the congregation had a particular vision for creativity and creative people and focused its efforts on them, and 3) the preaching was candid and spoke to the church specifically, rather than Christians generally. I still listen to the Ecclesia podcast and will do my darnedest to visit them every time I'm in the LA area.
  
• Exhibit C: The SOMA Gathering
  I moved to Beaver Falls as a grad student and wanted to assert my independence (particularly necessary, in my mind, because I still saw my parents very frequently). SOMA was initially appealing because people I knew went there and it was close enough to walk. Furthermore, I had started to care about the community - about belonging somewhere and sharing the burdens (and joys) of the people who lived near me. For the first time I didn't go to church with someone (although I knew people who also attended there) and I was constantly encouraged to do something with the message. 

There are two common themes in my 'independent' church experiences: 1) they were all really great churches, and 2) I 'found' them because 'people I knew went there,' aka they were convenient. What I learned through those experiences was that having a church community is REALLY important, but also that if I was going to commit myself to a church, this time I didn't want it to be accidental; I wanted to find a place with a community and ministries in which I, personally, could invest.

Church 'shopping' was an ironically profitable experience. I visited Life Bridge on their 'free donuts' day, I was given a John Piper book along with my free coffee drink and pastry at Broadway Christian Church, and was invited to Thanksgiving dinner at Wallen Baptist (along with the rest of the congregation). They were all great places, and I appreciated the music and the preaching, but none of them felt quite right. So I did a Google map search to find something really close to campus and found "Anchor Community Church." I visited once, then forced myself to try a few other places, but at Christmas I found myself wondering how soon I could go back.

I've been going to Anchor for almost three months now and I like it a lot. It's not what I envisioned, exactly, because the congregation is generally older and younger than me, but it feels right. The people I meet are friendly, there are opportunities for ministry and growth (not get-involved-as-an-underling opportunities, but we-need-more-people-for-this-to-work opportunities), and every sermon gives me something to think and pray and journal about; every sermon challenges me personally, but also reminds me that I am part of both the local community and Church universal.

There you are. I'm glad that I took my time that I didn't stick with my modus operandi and just tag along with the first person who invited me to their church (especially for Amy's sake!). At Anchor I have the opportunity to work with youth group, I can get involved in the local community, and I find encouragement and comfort each week.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek. - Hebrews 6:19 - 

LtD: Supporting Academics in Residence Life

Dear Debbie,

I've been wanting to write about this for some time because academics are very important to me and to the university, and because I fear that with every year academics becomes less important to the mid-adolescents who go off to college to be 'educated.' I remember having a few conversations with the other three musketeers (as I fondly think of my GA co-workers) about how frustrating it is to have a field called student development that claims to have so much influence over the direction students' development takes and yet often sees its goals as separate from or - dramatically put - in opposition to the goals of faculty.

I may or may not have silently vowed never to become one of 'those people.' I may or may not now be one of those people, and I am unhappily able to see the difficulty of their position.

From my newly enlightened position as one of those people, I am beginning to realize how much everything is different when you step into a job. Last time I mentioned that I've been experiencing 'growing pains' as a RD, because my world and scope of influence (I'm being generous with the term) keep growing. The old ways I had of working with students just aren't sufficient to the demands I have on my time and the professional standards I want to maintain. In no area of my life is this so apparent as my desire to support academics. When I was driving back to Fort Wayne after Christmas I recorded a voice memo that went something like this:

Once upon a time, when I was a student, I felt like I could help other students through sheer force of will. You know, I would proof read their papers and discuss the changes with them, encourage them daily about specific classes. As a professional I can't really do that; I can't do things for them in that way because there's just so many of them.

I probably would have continued in that way if I had stayed at Geneva. I go back and forth with wishing that I had been able to stay at an institution where I not only understood the academic requirements but knew the faculty in and out of the classroom so that I could give students honest opinions and advice. Deep down, though, I can see that the 'force of will' approach is a bit immature. The question is, what do I do now? How do I support the academic mission of the university without letting that overshadow the rest of the responsibilities in my job description?

Here are a few of the things I've come up with:

1. Support faculty through my conversations with students. It's amazing how easy it is to build rapport with residents if you listen to them complain about their professors. While I believe it may be helpful to express frustration over classes, I believe that it is my responsibility to help them find a more balanced outlook on their professors because if they have such a negative view they're not being particularly teachable. (I'm almost certain that some development theory would support this, I just forget which?)
2. Show an interest in residents' classes. I have a lot of student-athletes in my hall, and it's very easy (also very FUN) to attend the various sporting events to show my support. What I don't do nearly as easily or well (so far) is find out about lecture opportunities that I can advertise or learn about some of the more popular classes and start conversations about what they're actually learning instead of waiting for them to volunteer that information.

That's what I've thought of so far, but I would love more input, if you* have any ideas. I'm still learning about residence life so I don't want to get overloaded with 'other' things, but if my work in student affairs doesn't ultimately support education in the classroom as well as learning outside of the classroom, I think I will have failed in my endeavor.

Cheers,

Ceci

*although these are 'Letters to Debbie,' they are also blog posts and as such I encourage any reader to join the conversation. PLEASE. :)

LtD: Why I don't write (besides that I'm a lazy punk)

Dear Debbie,

Far be it from me to complain about a Terry class, but I often wondered why "College Students in America" was the first class we took in Higher Ed. It seemed very early in the program to be playing around with survey research, to be reading theory, and to be expected to do presentations (well, maybe that was just me). I think most of my cohort will agree that as important as we now realize Perry and Chickering are to our careers, we really didn't get it at the time. Perhaps it was a warning that in higher education, as in life, you have to be on your toes and recognize what is going to be important before it passes you by and you lose the textbook.

Part of the reason I haven't written in the last few months is because things keep happening that I really want to write about in the moment, but when after some thought I conclude that I shouldn't. On the one hand, confidentiality is something I've never struggled with before, but this is the first time I've had to be confidential about things that are, at their heart, really good stories. I don't want to risk breaking that confidentiality, and so the world is robbed of some pretty hilarious stories. On the other hand, I'm afraid that a lot of what I have to share would sound an awful lot like complaining (or would, actually, be complaining).

I've been in this job for about four and a half months, and I really enjoy it. I do. I've had some crazy things happen, of course, I've lost a lot of sleep and had a lot of conversations that I never thought I would be having. Deep down I feel blessed - I truly do. I am a young professional who wears jeans and a t-shirt to work. Going to college sporting events is part of my job. I interact directly with college students every day. I earn a real paycheck that covers my student loans, car payments, insurance, the occasional coffee drink, and a trip to Half Price Books each month. What more could I ask for?

I suppose a better way to think of it is to call my struggles and complaints "growing pains." As a TA and then a graduate assistant, I thought my world was pretty big. After all, I was having interesting, educated conversations with people about really important things like student development and biblical interpretation, I was encouraging critical thinking in a college classroom, and I was mentoring students. I felt like I was prepared for anything higher ed could throw at me. The last few months, however, have taught me that I did have a pretty big world - in theory. Every step I take seems to make the horizons of what is possible - and even probable - expand exponentially. I am realizing that as prepared and effective as I was (or thought I was) as a graduate assistant, I have a lot to learn every day about what it takes to be an effective RD.

I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that this is a permanent job, that I have really moved away from Pittsburgh and Geneva and my family, and your regular company. I think it's denial that keeps me from writing or calling more often - I keep expecting to walk onto campus, settle into my chair in the office, and observe the goings-on. It's probably never going to be like that again, is it?

I hope you're doing well, and I'm sorry if I rambled... although why that would be a surprise I'm sure I don't know :) Remember to celebrate Pi Day tomorrow!

Cheers,
Ceci

Settling in.

Three weeks ago I left my home, my city, my family, my dog, and my friends and moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana where I stepped into full-time on-campus residence life position at a Catholic university in the latter half of the middle of the fall semester. Does that sound dramatic to you? I'm trying to make it sound dramatic, with the run-on sentence and the comma-separated list. Is it dramatic, though? Because people keep asking me how I'm doing, if I'm "settling in" well, and I've run out of clever responses:

Yes, I'm settling in well. You're all very friendly. I love my job. I'm learning as I go. I found Starbucks, Half-Price Books, and Aldi's. My RAs are excellent, and I did the math and discovered that I have had conversations with at least 50 of my 140 residents.

What's really weird is that after three weeks of rolling with the punches, meeting new people, exploring the area, and being cheerful, "it" is starting to creep in. I can hear the homesickness scratching at my door. In retrospect, setting a glamour-shot of downtown Pittsburgh as my desktop background may have been a bad idea.

My sister called me from Rome yesterday. Her semester abroad is coming to an end in a few weeks and she called to say she misses home. Apparently she is experiencing culture shock and it's making her shockingly tired - her subconscious is finally fighting back against the tide of constant new-ness in her surroundings and forcing her to rest and recover. I had a moment where I wondered if my current exhaustion has anything to do with culture shock but... I'm pretty sure it's because I'm stressed from carrying the On Call phone all week. Possibly also related to the incident where a student locked himself out at 4:30 in the morning and called me instead of security.

The bottom line is that I'm stuck in this in-between place of "settling in" where I don't technically have problems - my job is great, I'm building relationships with people on campus, I'm getting a lot of extracurricular reading done, etc - but every now and again I realize how much is still missing. No one to make pancakes and watch The Walking Dead with, no nieces and nephew to visit, no church family, no local coffee shop where everyone knows my name... and no matter how content I am in my current position, it's an uphill battle to find a life outside of work.

As much as I appreciate their concern, somehow I don't think the people asking me how I'm doing are really going to be able to help that much.

LtD: Ten Days In

Dear Debbie,

When I wrote my last letter I had absolutely no expectation that I would be offered the job for which I had just interviewed. It was the last thing on my mind, as a matter of fact, which is understandable considering I was a sight more concerned that I had broken my mom's car and I was going to miss a full day of the job I did have at the time. I thought I had probably seen the last of them when I finally drove away from Fort Wayne, but look at me now - both employed and happy in my employment.

The last week and a half have been one of the most intense learning experiences of my life. I spent three days doing my job without any login credentials. I was dealing with conduct issues and having RA one-on-ones starting on Monday morning, yet my first "formal" training didn't take place until Thursday. I'm not complaining. I know that's what ResLife is like and it's impossible to pause it just to train little ol' me in the middle of the semester. As a person who likes to have an outline and a thorough working knowledge of everything before leading an article discussion for 55 minutes, I was understandably distressed at the thought of speaking directly into students' lives armed only with my personal commitment to circumspection and neighborly behavior.

However.

Remember that paper I wrote for capstone about HED at Geneva being the "liberal arts" approach to higher education? I had some theoretical arguments for the efficacy of the approach, but this is where the rubber meets the road and it has been good for me. It's like my classes of the last two years - even the last six years - have been gradually turning my brain into a gum band. It stretches and adapts and applies itself to any issue I need to approach, but from time to time it gives me a good snap to keep me on my toes.

I can imagine you giving me a little half smile and leaning into your desk to say, "You know, Ceci, this is just the beginning. There are a lot more things for you to learn in this job." And I know it's true; I would be lying if I said that it wasn't stressful, or that I feel like I know what I'm doing. But I no longer feel overwhelmed when I think about tomorrow, and I am looking forward to tackling new challenges as they arise.

I'm sure I mentioned this after my interview, but the apartment is great. It's easily four times the size of my last apartment, and all of my earthly possessions barely make it look furnished... but it's exactly the kind of space I think a hall director should have: open and comfortable, and I'm looking for ways to make it even more hospitable. I've started by bribing people with Guitar Hero and coffee/tea/hot chocolate. Sound like anyone we know?

I can't forget my staff! You'll remember that when I came back to BF I really wanted to write them a note and tell them how impressed I was with them during the interview? I want to do it more every day. I am excited to be a hall director and get to know all of my residents, but I am even more excited to work with these RAs, to support their efforts and help them to excel as a team, to mentor them if they will let me. Everything that I really wanted to do with TAs, but this time it's part of my job description instead of extracurricular.

So basically, I'm excited about learning. I'm excited about meaningful conversations. I'm excited about teamwork. I'll bet that's a surprise, hmm?

Cheers,
Ceci

LtD, Vol. 1: The Perilous Job Search

Dear Debbie,

You have known for quite some time that I intended to begin a blog serial dedicated to you, my mentor and friend, in which I would chronicle some of my adventures in higher education. I began this adventure while sitting sideways in an old blue high-back chair across the desk from you, and for the last six years you've been there with me, listening to my ramblings and laughing at my attempts at comedy. I wanted to wait until I had a job to begin writing this, but my fingers are tired of texting and I am about three phone calls over my limit for the day and so now, thanks to the webernet, you are obliged to continue listening and laughing as I type from the comfort of my… well, telling you where I am would give away the ending, so let me start a bit earlier.

Yesterday I drove to Indiana (yes: the state of) for an interview (you know this, of course; but, you understand, other people might be reading [a writer can dream]). The state of Ohio seemed to know that I was coming and summoned up a blanket of cloud cover, so there was no sunshine whatsoever until I was nearly to Indiana and the sun was at just the right angle to blind me; and you tell me the big O-H is harmless. I arrived in Fort Wayne without significant incident, met the people I was supposed to meet, was fed delicious local foods (who knew that stir fry was an Indianan delicacy?), did about three hours of research and interview prep, and went to bed.

On the morning of my first in-person higher education interview, I was up very early. I took my time getting ready, blow-dried and brushed my hair, even applied make-up; I looked pretty dang professional. New shoes, nice pants, cardigan, matching earrings, and no cartilage stud… stripped of my individuality, maybe, but quite the picture of what you would want in a hall director. I compensated by making sure that everyone who interviewed me knew about my motorcycle by the time we were done; gotta maintain as much cool as I can. Everyone was very kind, suitably impressed by the motorcycle, and they had some excellent questions. It was a good, if exhausting, day, and I was fairly content to climb in my car and mentally prepare for a long drive back to PA.

As with all stories involving myself and cars, that is where the adventure really began. I set the GPS, checked the tire pressure, stopped for gas, and set out for home… only to be stopped after the next set of railroad tracks. Or, more appropriately, not stopped: the pedal was going almost to the floor before anything remotely resembling 'braking' occurred. You know me well enough to believe that I didn't really accept that there was a problem until I had driven about five miles further and realized that the two-lane road was going to be four-lanes and fast very soon, at which point I did a cunning U-turn (it didn't require a complete stop!) and made my way back toward civilization very slowly, with a hand on the e-brake and a prayer on my tongue.

Somehow (by the grace of God, I know) I ended up on the right street, in the right block, to roll down the road and into an auto shop that was five minutes from closing, where the owner was locking up on "Golf Day" (Terry would appreciate that tradition, methinks) but was willing to take a look at my car. It only took fifteen minutes or so to determine that the back half of the 'master cylinder' was blown, meaning that I had front brakes, but no rear brakes. The truly ironic (I believe, but I don't have an internet connection to look up the definition at the moment) thing is, this was the safe car - I took it because the rear brake pads and rotors had just been changed.

All of this, of course, confirms for me that there is a black spot curse especially for motor vehicles, and I have it.

Larry Lash, the mechanic and hero figure of this grand adventure, was able to get a call in to the parts store in Indianapolis and order a new master cylinder a few minutes before they closed. He then offered to drive me back to the University and pick me up again in the morning when the car was fixed; the University generously welcomed me back, fed me dinner, and gave me a room. At dinner, I made friends with the man behind the counter, who wished me luck and made a fresh batch of french fries just for me (my father questions my use of the word 'friend' for someone who gave me a triple serving of deep-fried potato, but I stand by my choice).

Incidentally, the town where Mr. Lash has his Auto Service is called New Haven. Poetic, isn't it?

In any event, it has been an interesting day, to say the least. Anna Eichner tells me that this is exactly what should happen to Hall Director interviewees, because it allows them to see how you function under pressure... I just find it funny. Is that an appropriate way to deal with stress? Better to laugh than be crying, I suppose. I look forward to seeing you sometime soon, but until then, consider this my thank-you for setting me out on the perilous road to employment.

And yes, I think that may actually be too obvious to be a pun.

Sincerely,

Ceci

Pending: Adventure

I've put this off until far too late in the day, and at this very moment my father is wolfing down his supper so that we can leave on time. To be fair, he said we would leave at 6:00 and he got home an hour early.

If you read my earlier post (here) you know that I've been looking forward to summer sailing for some time; I'm headed up to Erie tonight, and tomorrow the adventure begins! Just a few thoughts before I take off...

1) I think that sailing could be an introvert's dream. All that blue, all that quiet, and steady work that doesn't require too much thought to distract from internal processing. I packed my journal, a Bible, and a few small books to keep me company.

2) I think that sailing will quite possibly be an introvert's nightmare. I've been reading the training manual and realizing just how little space there really is on this thing, and 40 shiny happy people to fill it. This should be interesting.

3) I'm going with a College History Consortium, so I'm kinda psyched that there will be students and professors there... and maybe we'll get to have lectures!! I'm such a nerd.

4) I sincerely hope I packed enough. There's a whole lot to keep track of and only a little bit of space to fill up... fingers crossed.

I'm pretty sure I'll have a few things to say when I get back, but for now... I'm headed to (Lake) Ontario!

The Real Question

Although I have lost none of the angst that instigated melodrama in my previous post, after some reflection I realized that I never really got at the thing that I wanted to say. What I did say was true and valid, of course... I'm not losing confidence in this dream, exactly, but I do need a place in which to wonder what it would take to decide that enough is enough. A  wise woman who visited Geneva a few months ago said "Writing is thinking"; I know so little about the hand of God and what it means to wait for direction and trust his plan that I can't help but write.

So the real question is, how does one discover the difference between real confidence from faith and simple defense-mechanism apathy?

When I bought my motorcycle last summer, I tried (and failed) to have a few conversations with my dad about why I wanted to ride. In my father's mind the purchase was the least intelligent thing I had ever done, and my decision to continue riding the most reckless. I wrote a post in defense of my decision a few months ago, but to summarize, I honestly don't believe that it is irresponsible to ride because ultimately, you're only a safe as God keeps you. Every time I hit the road in any kind of vehicle I am aware of the risks, I do my best to keep my head on straight, and I know that it is God's hand that guides me through safely.

It's amazing to me that I have that kind of faith when I'm on a bike with just a thin textile jacket, jeans, and a helmet for protection, yet when it comes to resumes, cover letters, and waiting for the illusive interview I feel like James' "wave upon the sea, driven with the wind, and tossed"? Because the confidence I feel in the daytime when I'm writing and cooking and cleaning isn't always there in the evening, when the distractions have dissipated. On my bike I feel light and joyful and connected to the creation in new ways, and while I am conscientious I know that there is little I can do to keep myself safe, yet in the job hunt, every passing day makes me ask myself a few more times, "What are you doing wrong? Why didn't you do this and this and that while you were in grad school? They would make your resume worth more. Shouldn't you be calling... emailing... filling out more applications...? Why. Doesn't. Anyone. Want. Me."

Why is it so easy to be recognize grace in my successes and so difficult to wait for it in new endeavors? Why am I so quick to feel responsible for all of the things that don't work out?

Don't answer any of those questions. This isn't about me, it's about faith. It's about hearing the Holy Spirit. And it's a tiny bit about hoping that God has a plan for my career that makes me feel light and joyful and connected to the creation in new ways. (I can see it now "SOC 318: Two Wheels and Four Lanes - an inquiry into motorcycle culture in the U.S." A semester cross-country... dude, that would be awesome...) 

Something Will Turn Up

I am currently unemployed. I knew that I was going to be unemployed since graduation marked the end of my usefulness to my alma mater, and so I got what many people would consider a head start on the job search. I began filling out job applications in January and continued slowly-but-surely until the present. I tallied my savings, told myself that I had a few free months before I had to start working on loan repayment, and moved back to my parents' house. I started off fairly laid back about the whole job-finding process; now I complete at least one application a day, and I have received exactly no responses apart from a few automated rejections.

Of course, my own response to silence and the occasional rejection is literary in nature. Either in my thoughts or aloud I announce, "Something will turn up!", thereby inviting both my favorite author and my favorite character to the experience; it's good to have company. Deep down, though, there's the nagging question of when - today? next week? at the end of the summer? If I dwell on that thought, there's an even deeper nagging question - is this really where God is calling me?

You see, near the end of the semester I had moments where I questioned whether my calm concerning the job search came from true confidence that God knew what he was doing, or from the apathy of exhaustion. As a moderately insecure introvert, every cover letter feels like a major emotional investment, and a risky one - not only am I sharing some portion of myself with complete strangers, I'm not convinced of the value of what I have to share. Am I accepting my circumstances and waiting for God's timing, or is it simply a defense mechanism?

Today I read an excellent post on the academic job search from one of my favorite blogs, Shitty First Drafts, and one piece of advice really caught my attention: "4. Be ready to bail on this whole academic career thing and decide what will trigger you to do it." I know it's early (and a bit melodramatic) to talk about bailing just because I haven't had a call back, but I do wonder what it would - or should - take for me to decide that this isn't my path. I have so many other dreams and interests... am I chasing the wrong one?

If I am, you would think God might have said something before I spent two years in grad school for higher education. Then again, his ways are not our ways... I'm sure something will turn up.