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.

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

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.

Who told you you were smart?

If you are interested in education at any level, in any way, you should read John Taylor Gatto's The Seven Lesson Schoolteacher.

I've been saying this for years now, practically since before I was interested in education myself. Few (if any?) people have taken my advice, and based on their expressions I don't want to know what the education majors were thinking after they had read it. Education majors don't particularly like me; I should probably look into that. In this case, however, it's understandable - as a high school teacher in New York City, Mr. Gatto had some pretty hard things to say about public education. Speaking in an exceptionally sardonic tone, he claims that America has a national curriculum that does not educate, but rather schools children into bad habits that "produce physical, moral, and intellectual paralysis."

We use The Seven Lesson Schoolteacher in a course required for student ministry majors called "Contemporary Adolescent Culture." The course itself seeks to provide insight into and discussion of the experience of adolescents in America that is most notably influenced by family, mass media and public education. In an interesting twist, most of the students enrolled are freshmen and therefore land squarely in the category of "adolescent," although many of them fail to make this connection. I, as a grad assistant and sometimes instructor, have the opportunity to watch those who have made the connection engage this article as a sort of deconstruction of their understanding of what can be learned, and how, and whether intelligence is really a 'thing.'

This last question is usually of great concern; if there is more to the merit equation than innate intelligence and effort, not only might these students realize a realm of social injustice they had never considered before, but they often lose faith in the identity given to them by their high schools. Why are they the ones who made it to college? and, is it possible that they're not actually 'smart'?

To be completely honest, if all my students left the classroom that day asking those two questions and earnestly following the answers they find, I would consider the class a success. In fact, the attitude of humility they inspire might be considered a win for liberal arts as a whole and we could graduate them then and there. In contrast, the more traditional response of students has been disbelief and anger. As they attempt to invalidate Gatto's 'lessons' they often unwittingly reveal how very well schooled they are. Here are a few examples:

"It's not 'confusion,' there are just some things that aren't connected at all! Like math and art." (Oh, yes, DaVinci would be proud...)

"But what would kids do if they didn't have homework?!" (Spend time with their parents? Build a better mousetrap? Be kids? Unfortunately, we may never know)

"Will we have to know this for a paper or exam?" (personal favorite of mine)

Every year a particular 'lesson' seems to rub a particular group of students the wrong way. This year it was Class Position - the one where students are placed in a certain class and taught to stay there. Despite well-sounding exhortations "to higher levels of test success, hinting at eventual transfer from the lower class as a reward," "if I do my job well, the kids can't even imagine themselves somewhere else, because I've shown them how to envy and fear the better classes and how to have contempt for the dumb classes." This year I listened to an extensive explanation from a student that no one had ever told him/her that they were smart, it just was that way; and certainly no one just decided that other people weren't smart, they just, you know, weren't. But they weren't treated any differently.

I was homeschooled K-12 and I am aware of some of the pitfalls of that education, but the more I hear about the way education works in this country the more concerned I become. Two minutes later, while illustrating another argument, the same student explained, "Our school was doing construction for a while and they got a trailer to use for a classroom. There was one group of students in a regular class that had to walk out to the trailer every day... they didn't want to make our honors class move out there." I kid you not. And I ask again, When did they start telling you you were smart? Because I'll bet it was before the 'regular class' was moved to the trailer and you weren't.

Beginning a Blog (after the fact)

It occurs to me that while I have a cute tagline to my blog title, I've never really taken the time to explain what "The Cross and the Sword" really means, and why I think it's such a big deal. To be honest, it's an idea that has been evolving for a few years now and I was afraid, at first, that it would be a passing thing and I would end up changing it a few times. If you've been with me for a while, you know that the tagline itself has changed a bit over time; somehow, though, the spirit of the cross and the sword have stayed with me, so here is an exploration of their roots and what (I hope) I can do with these themes in my life.

The metaphor of a cross and a sword began for me when I was at Miracle Mountain Ranch, 17 years old and newly graduated from high school. It is a long time since I looked like the stereotypical homeschooler, but not so far under my socially adapted exterior is a deeply committed nerd: a devoted Lord of the Rings fan (and fan-fiction/RP writer, she said with a nod to The Plaza), constant reader of 18th and 19th century literature, and a self-fashioned wanderer in search of chivalry, honesty and honor. That year at the Ranch I was the model apprentice, but there were a few people with whom I felt I could be myself. During training demonstrations in the barn we would sit in the loft and I would use graph paper to sketch fantastical coats of arms and brands, mustering all that I knew of heraldry to lend significance to the images and colors used in my creations.

One creation in particular stayed with me, because of its beauty and simplicity. The vertical line was too long to be a cross, the horizontal too plain to be a sword. I wrapped a casual line of color around it, from its arm to the point, then back to the other arm. I attempted to add plumes, to put it on a shield, to incorporate it into the Lion Rampant or some more glorious emblem, to use it as the "l" in my name, but in the end I found that none of the embellishments improved it and I resolved to leave it alone. Besides, the summer was approaching and I was far too busy wrangling my landscaping volunteers to be worried with developing my personal coat of arms any further.

After the Ranch, real life hit abruptly. For lack of a better idea, I found myself enrolled at a little school called Geneva College in Beaver Falls - for all that it was 12 miles from home, I had never heard of the city or the school before my mother suggested them - and I was "undeclared," which was code for: I want to know everything and I have commitment issues. Because of my interests in high school, I took a serious look at History and Creative Writing as majors, with Student Ministry thrown in there as a potential interest because I really wanted to impress a certain person from MMR. The college setting was a shock to my system, but in the honors program I found a few people with whom I felt safe enough to mention my love of imagery, icons and latin mottos. I sometimes wonder if they thought me crazy.

The battle to choose a major (and escape the incessant coddling of those in charge of Undeclared L&T "Focus Group") was intense, but brief; in the end, Terry Thomas's storytelling won me over and in the space of eight weeks I had declared for Student Ministry. I loved every one of my major classes, but I couldn't shake the desire to know everything, especially about the way people work. I have always been a people-watcher, and this tendency was incubated through the time I spent eating alone in the cafeteria and hanging out with Debbie in the Student Min Office.

You didn't know you had signed up for the story of my life, did you?

Contrary to what some people believe, student ministry isn't (all) about campfire songs and ice-breaker games. In addition to "ministry" classes concerned with the history and development of ministry, special studies in specific ministry models and situations, and three unique practicum experiences, we take quite a few Bible classes, along with theology, philosophy, and psychology. On top of this, I was at a liberal arts college with traditional "core" requirements: humanities, social sciences, political science, etc. I will never regret the time or money spent on these, ever. However, as I began to connect the dots of my learning and reflect on my experience as a homeschooler, an apprentice, and now as a college student, some difficulties became apparent.

When I say "difficulties," please know that I mean "things that are profoundly distressing"; so profoundly distressing that I don't really know how to properly express them most of the time; not in person, and not in print. At its heart is the question of Truth; in my Bible classes I was taught that Jesus said "the Truth shall set you free" (John 8), but in my experience Truth has been most associated with right and wrong. Beyond that, right and wrong often demarcate "us" and "them," "in" and "out," "valuable" and "valueless"; these in turn help "us," who are "in" and "valuable," to determine what should be cared about and who should be ignored.

We come to "know" what sin is and we believe it is our duty to preach against it; we come to "know"that sin is an abomination to God and we make it our duty to be appalled by it; we come to "know" that we have been redeemed... and we decide to cast the unredeemed world into hell's fire prematurely. Who made me the judge? What pride is it that rejoices in my personal salvation and then refuses to give that grace to others? I am not saying this of all Christians, or even all American Christians, but the pervasiveness of divisive, ignorant, and ungracious behavior within the church is well documented by recent research (i.e. You Lost Me and UnChristian). This should not surprise us, given the doctrine of the Fall.

The Bible calls the Word of God a "double-edged sword" (Heb 4:12), and I think we can agree that the simplest statements have been as destructive as a broadsword when used in the wrong place or time, or with the wrong attitude. Never in opposition, but certainly in contrast, Jesus tells us that knowing the Truth sets us free - and a few short chapter later he announces exactly what he means: Jesus said to him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the father except through me" (John 14:6).

What is the truth that we are commanded to know? What did the Word of God (John 1:1) do with ultimate power? He loved. He sacrificed. He redeemed.

Redemption cost all of him. How can I do less?

In the last few years, this has been the story of my life. I believe in truth. I believe that there are such things as right and wrong. I believe that it is vitally important to preach against sin, to teach what is right, to avoid what is wrong. However, my studies and experiences almost daily remind me that I was redeemed in spite of my sin, and it is not for me to withhold that redemption from others; in fact, it is my responsibility to share redemption with the world.

For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges thoughts and attitudes of the heart.
Hebrews 4:12

Tempting as it is, I cannot run into the world waving a bright sword and pretending that all things said in truth are just. This kind of power cannot be wielded by a child like me, unless its every move is constrained also by the love of Christ, the love that willingly approached the cross. And so, once in a while I practice drawing my childish talisman, a reminder to me that God has been weaving his plans into the fabric of my life since the beginning and will continue doing so until the end. I approach life with a cross and a sword... and every day I learn more of who I am between the two.

Big Questions, Worthy Dreams

As an undergrad in student ministry, I never imagined that I would be pursuing a degree in education, and even less so that I would love it. Most of my thoughts on formal education systems seemed to circle around to my favorite Captain America line in The Avengers: "Hulk, SMASH!" You can blame it on my homeschooliness, but you can't deny that there are some pretty messed up things going on in our schools. Education majors often get on my nerves, putting together their cute little lesson plans and focusing on the how-tos of teaching instead of dwelling on how the system as a whole must and could be reformed.

I am able to acknowledge the fault in my logic, however, when I also say that college is one of the best things that ever happened to me. College gave me access to information, not in the sense that the internet does so, but information mediated by wise adults whom I trust to direct me in ways of thinking and discerning between what is important and what is not in most fields. Not all students feel this way; many of them love the people they lived with, or the co-curriculars they participated in. For me, however, stepping on to Geneva's campus was stepping into a wonderland of opportunity for learning and growth.

Geneva College and the amazing friends and mentors with whom I have studied during the past six years were an excellent backdrop to my reading of Sharon Parks' book Big Questions, Worthy Dreams for the 52x52. Parks' target group is "young adults," by which she means "twenty-somethings," and it was interesting to read her perspective and research on people like me. I believe I am in a unique position, however, to compare her observations to my own, and I was glad to say that for the most part I felt well-represented in both theory and practice.

Parks spends the first half of her book explaining and maneuvering through developmental learning theories in multiple areas to describe "young adults" as a group who have exited adolescence, but have not yet reached mature adulthood. She talks about development in terms of a journey (that is, movement away from what is familiar in search of truth) as well as homecoming (that is, discovering how each of us may be at home in the world and in our communities as we continue this search for truth). Her conclusion is that thing we need most to reach mature adulthood are good mentors and mentoring communities. The second half of the book is devoted to descriptions of the benefits and possibilities of these mentoring relationships.

As a student of higher ed, I was excited to read this because it gives me a more manageable perspective on my students and peers. Many of the learning theories that Parks works with have been presented to me in classes and I feel as if I finally understand how theory can be used in meaningful ways. Parks' illustrations and anecdotes from her interaction with students were excellently chosen, and I looked forward to block quotes (craziness!).

The thing that really stood out to me about the book, however, was the recurring theme of journey and homecoming, and how deeply those ideas resonated in my experience. When I was just a freshman in HUM103, I wrote a paper for the end of the class wherein I described my sense of my own narrative as that of "the wanderer," a character without a home and with an uncertain future, looking for something of deep meaning and content with a meager portion in the meantime. This is still very true of my perspective. Through the last five years, however, more has been added to the narrative - people and places have brushed, bumped, and sometimes taken up residence in my life in such a way that I have come to know the value of a mentoring environment and community. Not only do I know its value, I cannot imagine leaving it. In higher education, the wanderer caught a glimpse of home and began the long walk toward interdependence and community.

As I think about this read for the 52x52, I would say that it was helpful personally, in that I was able to reflect on my experience and growth, as well as the long trudge still ahead of me on my way to maturity. However, it has also given me a better perspective on the bigger picture of education; as much as I still want to shake it up (a little revolution now and again is a good thing), I can no longer say, "Ceci, SMASH!" Since it may someday pay my bills, I suppose that is a healthy improvement.

Who are you voting for? Some conversational advice

I will add to my previous comments about political conversations that this way of talking and thinking is very hard. I wrote that post on a happy afternoon after a long conversation with people whose thought processes are similar to my own, although their conclusions differ wildly. I am quite aware that this is not always the case, and that there are people who make these conversations painful no matter how hard you try. I name no names.

I don't want to seem naive on this point; I interact with enough people every day, even on a small campus, that I know how difficult it is to have hard conversations graciously when the other person seems dead set against that very thing. Even when they are on board with your approach, basic cultural and vocabulary differences sometimes make meaningful conversation practically impossible. So here are a few quick tips on talking with people who disagree with you on politics - or any other sensitive topic:

1. Remember humanity
I do mean that you should remember that you are human and they are human, and for that very reason you will both be wrong about something. However, I also mean that everyone should remember that our conversations have implications for the rest of humanity, for the great questions of life and death, poverty and wealth. If you are in a position to talk about these things, you are probably in a position to do something about them. It's really not about you at all.

2. Benefit of the doubt
I tend to think that I am better at this than your average grad student - why do we immediately assume that because someone believes x, they will also affirm r, e and m? Just because someone thinks differently does not mean that they have sold their souls or that they would affirm the agenda of a totalitarian regime. As you can see, these other letters simply do not follow, except in the word extreme.* 

3. Practice
This may seem callous of me, but at some point conversations have to come down to personal integrity. You're probably not going to convince "the other guy," whoever they are, that you are right and their entire cognitive framework is skewed, unless you have unwittingly stumbled on a great work of the Holy Spirit. Which is possible. In most cases, however, you can talk until you're blue in the face only to discover that they weren't listening to you at all, but instead assuming that you affirm r, e and m as well as x. So do this instead of asphyxiating: get in the habit of communicating what you want to say clearly, concisely, and respectfully. Even if that person never gets it, perhaps the practice you have in this conversation will help you be more graceful and persuasive in your next encounter with disagreement.

I hope to soon write a response to my own question: who am I voting for? Hopefully it will be done before election day, but as I said... if an election is the end of the conversation, then we're doing it wrong.

*see what I did there? 

Teaching and Shalom

As a student of Higher Education, I spend a portion of every day (including Sundays) immersed in literature, in new and old perspectives of what education could be, should be, how it is and might be done, and every now and again I get to meet some of the people who make these things happen. I am always daunted at the prospect of blogging any of my thoughts; first, because I cannot be sure that my audience is familiar with the material, and second, because I might be wrong. (I know, it would be absolutely tragic to put a potentially incorrect statement on the internet - who does that?)

In our most recent class, however, we have been reading from Nicholas Wolterstorff's book Educating for Shalom. I am almost certain, based on the title and a certain repetitive refrain within the collection of essays, that Wolterstorff is arguing that the end goal of Christian Higher Education is "shalom" - that is, the biblical vision for justice that goes beyond our usual definition: "Shalom incorporates right relationships in general, whether or not those are required by justice; right relationships to God, to one's fellow human beings, to nature, and to oneself. The shalom community is not merely the just community but is the responsible community, in which God's laws for our multifaceted existence are obeyed" (23). The byline of the book - Essays on Christian Higher Education - makes it clear that Wolterstorff is writing to a very particular audience; in fact, he writes to an audience that should be easily convinced by his pedagogy.

I have not found a way to deny his premise. To be entirely honest, it may be too broad for anyone to deny: who in their right mind rejects world peace as a worthy goal for any societal institution, let alone higher education? However, since there will always be people who, from choice or disposition, require that all questions be answered, I had to ask the following question of this premise: if this is true, can you - should you - really do it? Again, it would be odd to reject the idea that shalom is the appropriate end of Christian higher education, but what if we believe this but do not have the honor of working at a Christian institution?

Can I advocate for shalom to students who are not looking for it? Is it unfair to a student to "indoctrinate" them rather than to give them a fair "objective" choice between this and any other end? I would say that the question is better phrased "Can I not do these things?" Because shalom is good. Absolutely good. That is the point of it, to be good for all people, closer to the love and reconciliation of Christ. If we really believe it, then we cannot help wanting this. We have to believe that every student wants this, that this will improve their human experience... even if they are not looking for it.

The question is raised again as I write my "philosophy of education." If I were submitting this statement to a public institution, how would I state my case without what I believe about humanity made Imago Dei? If the role of the professor is to profess truth, and what I believe to be true is recognizably Christian, what do I do?

I may be simplifying the issue, but I am convinced that there is nothing for it - at some point, perhaps far earlier than we would imagine, the only answer is Christ. Christ-followers may be reacquainting themselves with the embodied gospel, the gospel that demonstrates love and justice instead of simply talking about them, and that is a good thing. However, we cannot hide behind our actions and pretend it is enough. If we truly believe what we claim to believe, action will not be enough.

At some point, the words must be said; God help us say them well.