Humanizing

My job is to sell my university. Each one of us recruiters has a different area in which they place the most focus (depending on our own experience with JBU), but at the end of the day, we are getting paid to articulate why we love where we studied.

I end each tour in the cathedral, the Cathedral of the Ozarks. 

It's everything a good cathedral should be with its stained glass windows lining the sides (the blue panels on the lower half telling the story of the university and the red panels on the top half telling the story of Christ), the large pipe organ at the center of the stage (used only for special occasions such as the Candlelight service in December, a must-attend), and rows upon rows of wooden pews (which were actually constructed by carpentry students back when JBU was a "working campus").

The Cathedral isn't just awesome for its own sake, though, but rather for what goes on in there.

Each week, we have three different chapels: "The Gathering" and tuesday/thursday chapel.

During my three years at JBU, I missed 5 chapels, usually for an academic conference, but there were a couple when I had just gotten out of early morning soccer, it was cold, and I wasn't feeling the walk up the hill. Regretted each miss.

Here is why.

JBU chapel makes "its" into "thems".
At The Gathering, you hear from one of our seniors. They share part of their "story", some of their thoughts on a piece of scripture, or just something that's been stuck in their head about Jesus and Christianity.

And, you know, you look at people who are older than you and think, "They have everything so well put together, and I don't and oh crap how do I get like them." They look nicey nicey up there in the pedestal of your mind.

Then they talk. And you realize that they've got their stuff too. And somehow, that makes you feel as though you're able to have stuff too and still be valuable and still be someone that Jesus could love and could be used by him.

Thursdays bring an outside speaker in. JBU understands that no matter how sheltered and Christian an upbringing or high school or college experience is like, our students will be shoved into the big bad world after and shit goes down in the big bad world.

If we were to continue to helicopter parent them, we'd be doing them (and the kingdom of God) a serious disservice.

So, on Thursdays, we bring people in to speak to our students who we absolutely know are going to challenge their way they look at doing life and approaching "hot topics" of now.
When they leave university, we want them to know who they are, why they are who they are, what they believe, and why they believe what they believe. So when the shit hits the fan, they'll know up from down.

Tuesday chapels, though, are my personal favorite in terms of humanization. Tuesdays, one of our staff or faculty comes to speak to us. Now, I say staff or faculty because it could be anyone from your 18th century british literature professor to the campus custodian to the campus president to one of your friendly neighborhood admissions counselors.

We all subconsciously do it, don't be ashamed or try to deny it. When we meet someone, anyone in a particular profession, there's a part of our pseudo conscious brain that things, "You are ____." You are admissions counselor/custodian/grounds keeper/cashier/literature professor.

Just a little tiny chunk of us believes that janitor spends his/her nights in the supplies closet with visions of urinal cakes dancing in their heads.
What we don't think about when we meet them is their family structure, financial issues, or childhood memories.
We especially don't point to them and think, "Hey, I'll bet you know a lot about the theology of John 1." No!
But that's what chapel does!
We hear pieces of their real lives outside of who they are at work. We know them and their story and through that, we become a bit more human ourselves because we can no longer look at them without knowing that there's more to them than excellent vacuum skills. 

Why I Love My Job

Daily, I come home with mixed emotions about:

a. Living in The States

b. Living in Arkansas

c. Having a job

I get to this lathered-up place where the panic about being confined to one place and a job that keeps me hostage for 8 hours a day overwhelms me. And so many days I come home from that job so wiped out that I begin to panic anew, fearing that my magnetic strong urges toward the hermit life are indicative that I didn't actually kick my depression out of my life, but rather quieted it for a few months. 

Frankly, that aspect is a definite possibility. 

However, there is one thing I know for certain: my job is exactly the place for me. 

Let me tell you why. 

Though a large chunk of what I do is through spreadsheets and emails and endless details and planning details (so many of which I accidentally neglect), the more weighty piece of what I do is interact with perspective students and their families. 

This is what I live for. 

My whole job with those students is maximizing opportunity. 

For however long I get to lead them on tours or talk on the phone with them or talk to them in the office or at my booth, I get to spend time making them feel valued and valuable and wanted and adventurous and important. I get to listen to their hopes and dreams and make them feel as though the actualization of those hopes and dreams is something within their grasp. 

I love it. I love my students, and I believe in both them and the university for which I work. Matchmaking the two when it "feels right" is the best feeling in the world. 

What a Networked Web We Weave

Never underestimate the power of storing minute details about your friends and family.

Some may call it hoarding, some call it having an internal encyclopedia, but ultimately, it works as a really great networking device: "How weird that you know that one really bizarre café from that really small town that my second cousin twice removed lives in! We're practically related!"

You know, except that you say it in a way that seamlessly convinces them that the world is the size of a bean and that, apparently, the gods ordained this moment. Which God probably did, but that's not the point right now.

My dad is the bomb at this.

For instance, we were once in Arizona in the desert.
Not like, how all Arizona is the desert.
The actual desert.

And my family and I were riding four-wheelers around and ran into this family with their trailer who offered us some of their homemade beef jerky and tabasco sauce because, you know, when in Arizona, eat questionable food from strangers.

My dad got his chat on with them and he and the guy realized that they had played against one another in fifth grade football.

...what.

This is like an on the reg situation. My father could find a connection in Timbuktu.
And people love him for it.

I also do not see this as a manipulation device but rather, using your assets to ease/speed up connection. They're going to like you (what's not to like?) they just need a little catalyst.

First business trip was last week.
12 Dallas schools in 2 days (read: exhaustion)

Did I mention that my predecessor in this job is unreasonably good at what she does? (read: intimidation)
I needed to make a good impression, in my own way.
Because I'm not like my predecessor. I'm like me.

You'd be surprised by what kinds of things you'll find in common with people if you ask the right questions.

For instance, on my trip, I ran into the old basketball coach from my high school alma mater (what??) and we reminisced about his favorite game coaching, at which I was a viewer. Bonded over our mutual fascination at one of the players from our opposition.

At another school, the dean heard that I'd just moved home from the UK, mentioned that his daughter has been living there, and where her husband (or friend) had just started a coffee shop. I happen to really like that small town and know for a fact that they have some salted caramel truffle that is to die for.

It was all just really fun. And a good reminder to never take any interaction or experience for granted. You really never know when you might be talking to your father's primary school football rival.