If you've never been in Dallas, know that you are missing out on a serious civil engineering masterpiece/disaster center.
Roads on roads on roads.
In a ten mile drive, I can switch highways more than four times and have it take me over an hour to make the drive.
Other times, I can make a 30 mile trip in 30 minutes.
It's a death trap where I spend the majority of my time thinking, "THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS".
I am in Texas this time for a 3 week recruiting trip. Since last Sunday night, I've battled head on the pit of despair through the Dallas streets. Sometimes, it's nice. I have time to process the day and think.
Other times, my hands and heart sweat so badly that I can hardly think.
After a week of that, it was nice to have a break in the form of my husband.
Since I'm gone for so long, my university flew him out to me for the weekend.
Even though part of that was spent recruiting (what a champ!), it was also so nice to be able to chill, watch HGTG and FoodNetwork, and wander the DFW area.
Notable highlights in our shopping ventures were introducing Jay to World Market and Half Price Books.
He was just the cutest exploring all the different cultures and thinking up ways he could recreate all the different wood pieces.
Half Price Books was a perfect storm. Two nerds, together, and inexpensive books and nerd paraphernalia. We ended up with quite the haul.
Then, we grabbed a crepe together at a sweet little cafe called Frogg, and made our way to the airport.
It's not very nice to abandon your husband two months after you get married, but we are making it work. Texting is a beautiful thing.
When I get unstuck from the tangles of traffic, it'll be very nice to go home.
Showing posts with label college admissions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college admissions. Show all posts
Monday, September 19, 2016
Monday, March 21, 2016
Money Matters
We're currently in the most grueling portion of my job: financial aid season.
This is, essentially, the moment of truth.
It consistently shocks me how little I understand of human nature.
Some awards I look at and think, "Oh. Crap. This is a terrible award letter. They were so close to receiving the Pell grant, their parent loan is way too high for their EFC (expected family contribution), etc. They're not going to be able to swing this."
Then it's those same families that call me back so grateful for our department's generosity, determined to make this work, and talk to me about values, about call, and about the feeling of belonging.
I leave those conversations feeling hopeful about what it is I do. I can see a full map of their financial situation, I know the truth. They feel that this is where the Lord is leading them, though, and I can't argue. Granted, I get a little irked when they call me up and tell me that "God told me to go to another college", but I remember very clearly how called I felt to come to this university. It felt right. It felt like home.
Other families, however, make me feel less inspired about human nature.
Sir, I can see how many hundreds of thousands you make a year, how you have a million in investments, and how you have 50-90k in cash savings alone. And only one child. Do not for one second try to make me believe you can only afford 1k a year for your child's education.
And, while those conversations truly annoy me, they say something about a families values.
"It's not God's will for Billy to take any kind of student loan, so we're going to have to find other options through your school." [Read: We're too busy to look for outside scholarships and we don't want loans, so it's your responsibility to pay for his education]. No, ma'am. Budgeting and finances can be really rough and looking for outside scholarships can be tiring, but it is not our responsibility.
"We want to build a house soon, so we won't be helping Suzy with college finances. What other scholarships can you offer her?" [Read: We want a pool more than Suzy's education]
"I know I could save money by living with my parents, but it's just a real burden to have to commute that far, so I need to find other financing options through the university" [Read: Even though I could save 9k a year by living at home, I don't want to drive half an hour. Find me more money somewhere else]
I could go on. I see a lot of goodness in people, but I also see a lot of ugliness. I also see a lot of fear. Some parents I speak with are willing to risk everything because their child loves my school, but they are afraid. Sometimes, it's just close enough to work. Sometimes I have to guide them through the process of redesigning their dreams, deferring them, or awaken a different dream. It's hard.
It truly isn't that I'm coldblooded about financial aid. Believe me, I well remember the agonizing worry that I wouldn't be able to afford this school. But my parents knew and I knew that this was it for me, this was home. They sacrificed and saved and we made it work.
Because at the end of the day, money isn't about money.
Money is about values and about the heart.
And nobody wants a 24 year old girl trying to cast $100,000 vision for their child.
This is, essentially, the moment of truth.
It consistently shocks me how little I understand of human nature.
Some awards I look at and think, "Oh. Crap. This is a terrible award letter. They were so close to receiving the Pell grant, their parent loan is way too high for their EFC (expected family contribution), etc. They're not going to be able to swing this."
Then it's those same families that call me back so grateful for our department's generosity, determined to make this work, and talk to me about values, about call, and about the feeling of belonging.
I leave those conversations feeling hopeful about what it is I do. I can see a full map of their financial situation, I know the truth. They feel that this is where the Lord is leading them, though, and I can't argue. Granted, I get a little irked when they call me up and tell me that "God told me to go to another college", but I remember very clearly how called I felt to come to this university. It felt right. It felt like home.
Other families, however, make me feel less inspired about human nature.
Sir, I can see how many hundreds of thousands you make a year, how you have a million in investments, and how you have 50-90k in cash savings alone. And only one child. Do not for one second try to make me believe you can only afford 1k a year for your child's education.
And, while those conversations truly annoy me, they say something about a families values.
"It's not God's will for Billy to take any kind of student loan, so we're going to have to find other options through your school." [Read: We're too busy to look for outside scholarships and we don't want loans, so it's your responsibility to pay for his education]. No, ma'am. Budgeting and finances can be really rough and looking for outside scholarships can be tiring, but it is not our responsibility.
"We want to build a house soon, so we won't be helping Suzy with college finances. What other scholarships can you offer her?" [Read: We want a pool more than Suzy's education]
"I know I could save money by living with my parents, but it's just a real burden to have to commute that far, so I need to find other financing options through the university" [Read: Even though I could save 9k a year by living at home, I don't want to drive half an hour. Find me more money somewhere else]
I could go on. I see a lot of goodness in people, but I also see a lot of ugliness. I also see a lot of fear. Some parents I speak with are willing to risk everything because their child loves my school, but they are afraid. Sometimes, it's just close enough to work. Sometimes I have to guide them through the process of redesigning their dreams, deferring them, or awaken a different dream. It's hard.
It truly isn't that I'm coldblooded about financial aid. Believe me, I well remember the agonizing worry that I wouldn't be able to afford this school. But my parents knew and I knew that this was it for me, this was home. They sacrificed and saved and we made it work.
Because at the end of the day, money isn't about money.
Money is about values and about the heart.
And nobody wants a 24 year old girl trying to cast $100,000 vision for their child.
Friday, November 13, 2015
We Made Them This Way
Last night, I went to a college night in a very small town that I'm sure is very nice, but I've only had weird experiences in.
Sometimes, Arkansas lives up to its reputation and, unfortunately, this is one of those towns that keeps the stereotypes alive.
The reason I admit this is because it became very clear that it isn't personal prejudice--this is what they are seen as by the general public.
How do I know this?
We were put on a panel and each "college" spoke for 3ish minutes on the highlights of their schools.
Each and every one of them talked about their welding programs, their mechanical programs, their 8 week programs, their agriculture programs. Even the non tech schools focused the entirety of their elevator speeches on their technical programs.
Two of them even told the kids in prettier terms that college wasn't meant for them and they would drop out/fail out if they tried.
Ultimately, the message being sent to these kids from 20 different presenters was: "You can be anything you want to be!!!!...in the technical industry."
What I have disliked about these kids before last night is that they are undisciplined, they've got gnarly test scores, they are rude and loud and crass, and they seem to just not care about themselves at all.
What I realized last night is that for their entire lives, these kids have probably been sent the message that they aren't smart or good enough to succeed, that they are meant to be future garbage collectors, mechanics, chicken collectors.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with those careers, no shame in them at all. However, when they are presented to you as your only aspirations, I get this twinging feeling that something is wrong.
Maybe it's the millennial in me that says, "No! We can do anything we want to do!" or maybe its the deep seated sense of justice and fairness in me that thinks that maybe if these kids were raised to believe that they had worth and meaning and the capacity to learn and grow and be then they would maybe take more time with their studies and personal care.
Speak words of truth and hope always, to old, to young, to those you know you'll see every day after, to those you know you'll never see again. Never allow yourself to contribute to the self-fulfilling prophesy of worthlessness in another person's life.
Because no matter their age, no matter their station in life, no matter how sticky or stinky or snarly a person is, everyone has value and purpose, even if they don't see that yet.
Sometimes, Arkansas lives up to its reputation and, unfortunately, this is one of those towns that keeps the stereotypes alive.
The reason I admit this is because it became very clear that it isn't personal prejudice--this is what they are seen as by the general public.
How do I know this?
We were put on a panel and each "college" spoke for 3ish minutes on the highlights of their schools.
Each and every one of them talked about their welding programs, their mechanical programs, their 8 week programs, their agriculture programs. Even the non tech schools focused the entirety of their elevator speeches on their technical programs.
Two of them even told the kids in prettier terms that college wasn't meant for them and they would drop out/fail out if they tried.
Ultimately, the message being sent to these kids from 20 different presenters was: "You can be anything you want to be!!!!...in the technical industry."
What I have disliked about these kids before last night is that they are undisciplined, they've got gnarly test scores, they are rude and loud and crass, and they seem to just not care about themselves at all.
What I realized last night is that for their entire lives, these kids have probably been sent the message that they aren't smart or good enough to succeed, that they are meant to be future garbage collectors, mechanics, chicken collectors.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with those careers, no shame in them at all. However, when they are presented to you as your only aspirations, I get this twinging feeling that something is wrong.
Maybe it's the millennial in me that says, "No! We can do anything we want to do!" or maybe its the deep seated sense of justice and fairness in me that thinks that maybe if these kids were raised to believe that they had worth and meaning and the capacity to learn and grow and be then they would maybe take more time with their studies and personal care.
Speak words of truth and hope always, to old, to young, to those you know you'll see every day after, to those you know you'll never see again. Never allow yourself to contribute to the self-fulfilling prophesy of worthlessness in another person's life.
Because no matter their age, no matter their station in life, no matter how sticky or stinky or snarly a person is, everyone has value and purpose, even if they don't see that yet.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
In the Office and Off the Road
My travel season (the main portion at least) has finally ended.
The odd thing about travelling is that while the months seem to go extraordinarily quickly, they finish leaving you feeling as though you have lived 8 months.
That's actually a pretty fair assessment since you're (willingly) dragged from city to city to hotel to hotel to school to college fair to random restaurants and crappy fast food joints and awesome holes in the wall. Thousands of people, thousands of stories.
Then home, you hope, to breathe, breathe, breathe, but in reality it's to attend meetings, answer emails, answer the phone, facilitate preview weekends and tours and visits, drop by local schools on your list, eat food you froze knowing you weren't going to be home long enough to buy more groceries, see your housemates and workmates and "special friend", and go home to crash every night.
My schedule this year was pretty nice because I was basically on a week, "off" a week. However, since I have local schools, my weeks off were spent out of the office as well. At least I got to sleep in my own bed, though.
Another counselor was out of the office for nearly 6 weeks straight.
Even then, though, we have it so good. At fairs--which we love because we get to meet other counselors who understand the job and don't say things to us like, "Oh, your students see you as professionals? I thought you were, like, student buddies"--we talk with one another, and it always makes me cling so tightly to my school when I hear them talk of how they are set out on the road for 9-12 weeks at a time.
When we're on the road, it's hard to remember our office and real lives are still existing without us. We miss announcements, jokes, fun local events, birthdays, etc. What we gain is time with our applicants, our soon to be applicants, family members of our applicants and soon to be applicants.
We love it. I think the time that we realize just how much we missed home is when we turn the car toward the barn or when we get that first hug and can't seem to let our loved one go.
On the homefront, it's a season of deserts and floods.
You try to cram in all the love and snuggles (and emails) you can before you leave and in those intermediary pieces between trips, then spend all the time on the road subsisting on text messages, crappy internet connections, and promises.
Now I'm home. Time to settle back into routine as well as I can, buy some groceries, re-learn how to spend appropriate amounts of time with my friends (reassuring myself that I can see them again the next day), do my chores, and sleep.
The odd thing about travelling is that while the months seem to go extraordinarily quickly, they finish leaving you feeling as though you have lived 8 months.
That's actually a pretty fair assessment since you're (willingly) dragged from city to city to hotel to hotel to school to college fair to random restaurants and crappy fast food joints and awesome holes in the wall. Thousands of people, thousands of stories.
Then home, you hope, to breathe, breathe, breathe, but in reality it's to attend meetings, answer emails, answer the phone, facilitate preview weekends and tours and visits, drop by local schools on your list, eat food you froze knowing you weren't going to be home long enough to buy more groceries, see your housemates and workmates and "special friend", and go home to crash every night.
My schedule this year was pretty nice because I was basically on a week, "off" a week. However, since I have local schools, my weeks off were spent out of the office as well. At least I got to sleep in my own bed, though.
Another counselor was out of the office for nearly 6 weeks straight.
Even then, though, we have it so good. At fairs--which we love because we get to meet other counselors who understand the job and don't say things to us like, "Oh, your students see you as professionals? I thought you were, like, student buddies"--we talk with one another, and it always makes me cling so tightly to my school when I hear them talk of how they are set out on the road for 9-12 weeks at a time.
When we're on the road, it's hard to remember our office and real lives are still existing without us. We miss announcements, jokes, fun local events, birthdays, etc. What we gain is time with our applicants, our soon to be applicants, family members of our applicants and soon to be applicants.
We love it. I think the time that we realize just how much we missed home is when we turn the car toward the barn or when we get that first hug and can't seem to let our loved one go.
On the homefront, it's a season of deserts and floods.
You try to cram in all the love and snuggles (and emails) you can before you leave and in those intermediary pieces between trips, then spend all the time on the road subsisting on text messages, crappy internet connections, and promises.
Now I'm home. Time to settle back into routine as well as I can, buy some groceries, re-learn how to spend appropriate amounts of time with my friends (reassuring myself that I can see them again the next day), do my chores, and sleep.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
I Only Dog Paddle
All I've gotta say is that something's in the Texan waters this year and applications are pouring in.
We are already at 50% of the total number of applications that I received last year and it's only September.
Yesterday, I was on the phone for four hours calling prospective students.
45 new applicants just this week as well as 13 meetings so far just this week and travel planning galore.
You could say that I've been drowning just a little bit, but it's the very best kind (minus some of the meetings. Really. So very many meetings could be an email).
Our first call to a student is known as an APN call, APN standing for APlicant Not yet contacted.
When we call them, it's this bizarre interaction knowing that there's a chance that this may not just be a phone call to a student, this may be the start of a year long relationship with a student, ending with orientation leaders swarming their vehicle and moving all their belongings into the dorm.
It could end with the start of a new life here at John Brown.
On Tuesday, I took one of my new Freshman students out for coffee because she was feeling a bit homesick and needed to see a familiar face.
While we were talking, I couldn't help but think that I had known her longer than anyone on campus. For more than a year, we have talked once a month at least.
All those interactions--going on a tour, calling when I got her application, a text upon reception of her transcript, seeing her when I visited her school at lunch, her acceptance call, a note on her birthday, ecstatic texts and calls when she raised her test scores to scholarship competition eligibility, a hug at scholarship competition, lots of tears and hugs when she shocked everyone and won the scholarship, class registration advice at early registration, a welcome at move in--became a year.
I've gotten to see her grow up a lot, as I have many of my students as they've gone through the process.
Each one of my APN calls has the potential to become part of our future.
While it may feel right now that I need to just desperately reach out for contact with my enormous list, it's worth the dog paddle, taking my time, feeling the potential gravity of the 5 years ahead.
We are already at 50% of the total number of applications that I received last year and it's only September.
Yesterday, I was on the phone for four hours calling prospective students.
45 new applicants just this week as well as 13 meetings so far just this week and travel planning galore.
You could say that I've been drowning just a little bit, but it's the very best kind (minus some of the meetings. Really. So very many meetings could be an email).
Our first call to a student is known as an APN call, APN standing for APlicant Not yet contacted.
When we call them, it's this bizarre interaction knowing that there's a chance that this may not just be a phone call to a student, this may be the start of a year long relationship with a student, ending with orientation leaders swarming their vehicle and moving all their belongings into the dorm.
It could end with the start of a new life here at John Brown.
On Tuesday, I took one of my new Freshman students out for coffee because she was feeling a bit homesick and needed to see a familiar face.
While we were talking, I couldn't help but think that I had known her longer than anyone on campus. For more than a year, we have talked once a month at least.
All those interactions--going on a tour, calling when I got her application, a text upon reception of her transcript, seeing her when I visited her school at lunch, her acceptance call, a note on her birthday, ecstatic texts and calls when she raised her test scores to scholarship competition eligibility, a hug at scholarship competition, lots of tears and hugs when she shocked everyone and won the scholarship, class registration advice at early registration, a welcome at move in--became a year.
I've gotten to see her grow up a lot, as I have many of my students as they've gone through the process.
Each one of my APN calls has the potential to become part of our future.
While it may feel right now that I need to just desperately reach out for contact with my enormous list, it's worth the dog paddle, taking my time, feeling the potential gravity of the 5 years ahead.
Monday, June 15, 2015
In the Human
People ask me all the time how I spend my days in the office.
If I'm not travelling, what could I possibly be doing?
The answer is, I answer emails, text messages, and phone calls from anxious parents and students trying to figure out all of life's challenging questions like, "Where do I send my shot records?", "Which of my clep courses will transfer as credit?", and "Where is the best place to buy twin xl sheets?"
Even if I've met them before, after that 16th email exchange, it's hard for me to keep my students (and their parents) in my mind as real life people. It makes it difficult to remember to respond to them as though they were human beings with feelings and anxieties.
It's difficult to remember that I once felt similarly, just stuffed with over roommates, refrigerators, and registration.
This past weekend, I tried to play a video game with the beau and, despite telling him that I had never played it and hadn't actually played any video game in years, his instructions were bare minimum. At each turn, I would ask ten more questions, and he would give me answers with words for which I had no foundation of definition, leaving me more confused. I didn't know how to move or shoot or what my goal was in each level or even which direction I was supposed to be heading. And there he was in the split screen below me kicking butt (He may not have actually been, but to someone having her butt kicked, everything above that seems awesome).
We finally paused the game for a tutorial when I got irked at his partial answers and explanations, and he admitted he hadn't played with someone that unacquainted with games in a really long time, so he hadn't thought through totally how basic he had needed to answer.
I'm only so calm about it all now because I've made college my profession. I know all the ins and outs and professors and it came from experience and training. These little greens don't know that. They have no foundation for that and neither do their parents, if this is their first kid headed off to college.
When I answer the phone or the thirteenth text in a row with (what I think are the dumbest ever) questions, I need to remember that I have the opportunity to serve them, relieve their anxiety, get them excited and not afraid, and give them all a sense that they are making the right decision.
Other than a kind email, there is little emotional "return" in my job.
That's okay, I'll keep doing it despite that, we don't need a hug and box of chocolates for being sufficient, but by the nature of my business, sometimes it can feel like nothing we do matters.
You work closely with a family for 11 months and they drop last minute.
You work with them as hard as you can, and they tell you you're their back up back up back up school and they'll come if they have to (local students).
You communicate with them about the importance of choosing a university for it's community and professors instead of major (they're 18. It'll most likely change), and they drop you for some low-grade school you know they'll hate.
This weekend, though, was early registration.
600 people on campus, 319 students registered.
All but four of mine showed up.
And they take selfies on your phone and they cry and tell you how thankful they are for you and they tell you how you've become part of their family and they talk about you at the dinner table. And they're THERE, in the human, not a text, email, or transcript, not a number.
And suddenly, there seems to be a lot more room for grace.
If I'm not travelling, what could I possibly be doing?
The answer is, I answer emails, text messages, and phone calls from anxious parents and students trying to figure out all of life's challenging questions like, "Where do I send my shot records?", "Which of my clep courses will transfer as credit?", and "Where is the best place to buy twin xl sheets?"
Even if I've met them before, after that 16th email exchange, it's hard for me to keep my students (and their parents) in my mind as real life people. It makes it difficult to remember to respond to them as though they were human beings with feelings and anxieties.
It's difficult to remember that I once felt similarly, just stuffed with over roommates, refrigerators, and registration.
This past weekend, I tried to play a video game with the beau and, despite telling him that I had never played it and hadn't actually played any video game in years, his instructions were bare minimum. At each turn, I would ask ten more questions, and he would give me answers with words for which I had no foundation of definition, leaving me more confused. I didn't know how to move or shoot or what my goal was in each level or even which direction I was supposed to be heading. And there he was in the split screen below me kicking butt (He may not have actually been, but to someone having her butt kicked, everything above that seems awesome).
We finally paused the game for a tutorial when I got irked at his partial answers and explanations, and he admitted he hadn't played with someone that unacquainted with games in a really long time, so he hadn't thought through totally how basic he had needed to answer.
I'm only so calm about it all now because I've made college my profession. I know all the ins and outs and professors and it came from experience and training. These little greens don't know that. They have no foundation for that and neither do their parents, if this is their first kid headed off to college.
When I answer the phone or the thirteenth text in a row with (what I think are the dumbest ever) questions, I need to remember that I have the opportunity to serve them, relieve their anxiety, get them excited and not afraid, and give them all a sense that they are making the right decision.
Other than a kind email, there is little emotional "return" in my job.
That's okay, I'll keep doing it despite that, we don't need a hug and box of chocolates for being sufficient, but by the nature of my business, sometimes it can feel like nothing we do matters.
You work closely with a family for 11 months and they drop last minute.
You work with them as hard as you can, and they tell you you're their back up back up back up school and they'll come if they have to (local students).
You communicate with them about the importance of choosing a university for it's community and professors instead of major (they're 18. It'll most likely change), and they drop you for some low-grade school you know they'll hate.
This weekend, though, was early registration.
600 people on campus, 319 students registered.
All but four of mine showed up.
And they take selfies on your phone and they cry and tell you how thankful they are for you and they tell you how you've become part of their family and they talk about you at the dinner table. And they're THERE, in the human, not a text, email, or transcript, not a number.
And suddenly, there seems to be a lot more room for grace.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Rain and Other Miracles
Each of my workmates wore their cute business casual footwear to day two of our preview day, except me. Though skies were rather clear, I wore rain boots. In my mind, it was just going to rain, despite what the forecast said.
And, upon leaving on my tour with my Texans, the storm began. Sometimes faith is rain boots. Even if that faith borders a bit on desperate hope.
Three of my seniors joined on this Preview Day, and all were undecided. In fact, one had already closed her application then reopened it in order to visit two months after. I call her my resurrection student. By the end of the visit weekend, I had three yesses, and they had one delighted counselor.
It is the very best when students visit. All students really but especially students that you're currently working with.
No matter how many texts, emails, or phone calls you make, the truth is, they are a file to you. A faceless, electronic file.
Then they visit.
And suddenly, all the random facts you know about them and their family have a face and a personality and a life to attach themselves to, and I am also no longer a voice and a texter and a mass emailer to them then either. Suddenly, I also become a person to them, and all the random facts and information I've told them for months have people and places and a me to attach themselves to.
It's a great feeling.
We really take these students home with us mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Say a student applies in early June. That means that by the time they end up coming to JBU the next August, we have worked with them for 13 months, contacting them in one way or another a minimum of once a month. That's a lot of time. Shoot, that's more often than I talk to some of my closest friends.
We hear about their family lives, know what's going on at school, are the confidant to a whole lot of things really. We learn to truly value our students not as numbers but as people and, more than that, people of vast potential in our university and to their lives beyond graduation.
Then March comes.
Financial aid award letters go out.
The conversations begin.
The nitty gritty comes out.
Decisions are made.
We know how hard making college decisions are, no matter how calm and collected we are on the phone.
When we hang up at the end of a long call, we are burdened with lives that we know so much about. Not a heavy burden (usually) but just the burden of caring so much about individuals we know so well. We want them to fit. We want them to make choices that will benefit them long term. We want them to love Jesus well and to learn how to deepen their understanding of what that looks like in every realm of their existence.
We pray for them.
We take their stories home in our hearts.
And when they close their files, especially when they close them for reasons we can't buy into, we are so sad.
Because we envisioned such a future for you here. And yeah, maybe that's a little selfish on our parts, it is your life after all, kid. But, in painting you a picture of what your life could be here for months and months on the phone and on visits, we saw it, too.
The death of an idea hurts. We know it hurts you, but know it hurts us, too. You are not a number. You are loved.
Each student is a miracle.
From how they learn about our university to how they are accepted (by committee or traditionally) to how they scrounge up tuition and housing deposit to interviews to paperwork to financial aid struggles to registering and move-in day, all while balancing home life and high school (during senior semesters). Every piece had to work exactly, like cogs in a clock, in order for their arrival to occur.
But then they're here. And wow. To see them on campus in the caf or playing frisbee on the quad or working in the library on a paper, thriving, learning, growing.
Miracles.
And, upon leaving on my tour with my Texans, the storm began. Sometimes faith is rain boots. Even if that faith borders a bit on desperate hope.
Three of my seniors joined on this Preview Day, and all were undecided. In fact, one had already closed her application then reopened it in order to visit two months after. I call her my resurrection student. By the end of the visit weekend, I had three yesses, and they had one delighted counselor.
It is the very best when students visit. All students really but especially students that you're currently working with.
No matter how many texts, emails, or phone calls you make, the truth is, they are a file to you. A faceless, electronic file.
Then they visit.
And suddenly, all the random facts you know about them and their family have a face and a personality and a life to attach themselves to, and I am also no longer a voice and a texter and a mass emailer to them then either. Suddenly, I also become a person to them, and all the random facts and information I've told them for months have people and places and a me to attach themselves to.
It's a great feeling.
We really take these students home with us mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Say a student applies in early June. That means that by the time they end up coming to JBU the next August, we have worked with them for 13 months, contacting them in one way or another a minimum of once a month. That's a lot of time. Shoot, that's more often than I talk to some of my closest friends.
We hear about their family lives, know what's going on at school, are the confidant to a whole lot of things really. We learn to truly value our students not as numbers but as people and, more than that, people of vast potential in our university and to their lives beyond graduation.
Then March comes.
Financial aid award letters go out.
The conversations begin.
The nitty gritty comes out.
Decisions are made.
We know how hard making college decisions are, no matter how calm and collected we are on the phone.
When we hang up at the end of a long call, we are burdened with lives that we know so much about. Not a heavy burden (usually) but just the burden of caring so much about individuals we know so well. We want them to fit. We want them to make choices that will benefit them long term. We want them to love Jesus well and to learn how to deepen their understanding of what that looks like in every realm of their existence.
We pray for them.
We take their stories home in our hearts.
And when they close their files, especially when they close them for reasons we can't buy into, we are so sad.
Because we envisioned such a future for you here. And yeah, maybe that's a little selfish on our parts, it is your life after all, kid. But, in painting you a picture of what your life could be here for months and months on the phone and on visits, we saw it, too.
The death of an idea hurts. We know it hurts you, but know it hurts us, too. You are not a number. You are loved.
Each student is a miracle.
From how they learn about our university to how they are accepted (by committee or traditionally) to how they scrounge up tuition and housing deposit to interviews to paperwork to financial aid struggles to registering and move-in day, all while balancing home life and high school (during senior semesters). Every piece had to work exactly, like cogs in a clock, in order for their arrival to occur.
But then they're here. And wow. To see them on campus in the caf or playing frisbee on the quad or working in the library on a paper, thriving, learning, growing.
Miracles.
Monday, April 13, 2015
Love Is or Princess Pollen
I woke from a sinus induced nap yesterday to find that I had been cuddling a jar of Vick's Vaporub.
That pretty well sums up my life right now.
"April is the cruelest month", and I find myself, once again, at her mercy, begging the skies for rain to wash away the oak pollen from my life.
What a tease, Arkansas is. A forecast of week-long rain replaced by sunshine. And yet, campus tours remain in my personal forecast.
Neither essential oils nor yoga nor Allegra D nor neti pots nor surgical masks can rescue me, and let me tell you what. These Kleenexes do not have lotion in them.
Before the month began, I gave my office and my housemates and my boyfriend warnings of what was to come, and I'm pretty sure they all thought I was being overzealous and paranoid. Until they saw what a mere walk in from my car to my office was capable of doing to my system.
Saturday was spent washing every piece of fabric on my bedding, vacuuming, and diffusing air purifying oils into the air to make my room my safe space. Not even clothes that have touched pollen are allowed in. After being chastised for driving with the windows down last week, the boyfriend, when offering to come over on Saturday, added that he promised to shower, change clothes, and drive with the windows up before he came. I didn't even have to ask.
Now it's Monday morning after a very long and sleepless night of sniffles left over from last night's parent dorm tour, and I am with my box of tissues sniffling my way through our morning meeting, thinking of the two tours to come today and of what I'm going to do.
The other admissions counselors are super kind and have offered to divvy my students, but I feel so ridiculous asking that of them that I can't bring myself to let them, despite the fact that I know my fate later today if I do the tour myself. Being pathetic is the least fun when you can't help it.
Being practical and practically compassionate is important me, even if I'm not great at being on the receiving end. But that's what love is sometimes.
Love is offering to take someone's tour when you see them under a pile of tissues. Love is driving with the windows up on a beautiful day. Love is going for your run and mowing back to back so you pollinate the house only once on your way back in, heading straight for the shower to get it off and protect your housemate when you do so. Love is texting your daughter allergy solutions, even if she is already doing all of them. Love is conscientious and kind and seeks to protect.
I guess that's my happy thought in this time of praying for rain.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Ugly Running
After about a week and a half after I downloaded the app onto my phone, I finally worked up the gumption to start C25K, a running app designed for lazy non-runners.
Also, it should be known that by "gumption" I mean "the leering guilt which came through devouring an entire box of macaroni and cheese by myself in one sitting...again".
I am not a runner.
Tried Track for a couple months in high school, made it two months under the regime of the interim coach and one day of the actual team.
My sophomore roommate Lauren got me to run for the same two months 5 years later. We ran every single morning. Mile and a half, ending with the 100 stairs on campus. It was miserable.
I've been four years clean from running, and thank goodness. That stuff is terrible, and I get just the worst shin splints.
And yet.
C25K.
Why?
You guessed it.
Office peer pressure.
We're going to a conference for nationwide admissions folk and guidance counselors at the end of next month and, for some ungodly reason, there is a "fun" 5K involved.
Basically, I was tricked into believing that we were all going to do it.
We're not.
But I have been promised a tank top.
So there I went to the health complex to get my run on on the track above the intramural gym. Because it's beautiful outside, nobody else besides me (the Allergic Wonder) was there.
5 minutes of warm up walk, followed by variations of a minute of running to a minute and a half of walking for 20 minutes, then 5 more minutes of walking.
It was all good and fun (ish) until I hear thumping behind me, see a runner (CAME OUT OF NOWHERE I TELL YOU), and scream. Like a little girl. That poor guy. He finished half a lap and escaped out a side door not to return.
The idea of running has always appealed to me. I have visions of running through fields, down country roads, or down really really long hallways in the basement of Pentecostal churches after hours, with my hair streaming out behind me and my 3 mile legs taking me so far so fast.
Reality? About 15-20 seconds of glory before I'm panting and feeling the start of shin splints.
I've got no endurance. Or patience to learn endurance.
Many things have come easily to me learning wise.
If someone makes me feel stupid or less than, I will kick their expectations right off the table. Nothing can sidetrack me from my goal.
It takes that challenge, though, to make me change, to grow, to...try.
I've tried tricking myself into different challenges, like a weird self-antagonism, but it just doesn't stick. I need that outside antagonist, just one person that I've got to prove wrong.
That's how I passed Honors Algebra 2 and AP European History, why I was able to hold to my determination against slipping back into anorexia, how I managed to complete my Master's degree.
I still know the triggers from each. And there are more.
There have been other things I have vaguely wanted to accomplish, but the hard-nosed drive just isn't there.
I suppose I've always seen it as one or the other: either I'm so determined I'm scary or so apathetic others are scared for me. The gentle incline of appropriated endurance is not something I've endured long enough to see the fruits of. I try once, get irritated with my failure, and quit.
That brings me back to running.
I'm going to finish the 8 weeks this dumb app makes me do, and I will do it on its terms, not mine.
Honestly, I don't really care if I become a passable runner or not. It's more that this is a practice in a form of discipline that no one else would even know about if I didn't tell them.
So many areas of my life I wish were different. At the same time, I only think that because I keep focusing on all the large battles lost when I'm not even paying attention to the small battles.
Of course I can't read a 300 page book when I can't read a 300 word article on TheDailyBeast.
Of course I can't turn my phone off for a full day when I can't turn it off for half an hour.
Of course I can't write a new book when I can't write a letter back to Leslie.
Small, consistent practices of discipline. The gentle incline of appropriated endurance.
That's what I'm lacking; that's what I want.
Also, it should be known that by "gumption" I mean "the leering guilt which came through devouring an entire box of macaroni and cheese by myself in one sitting...again".
I am not a runner.
Tried Track for a couple months in high school, made it two months under the regime of the interim coach and one day of the actual team.
My sophomore roommate Lauren got me to run for the same two months 5 years later. We ran every single morning. Mile and a half, ending with the 100 stairs on campus. It was miserable.
I've been four years clean from running, and thank goodness. That stuff is terrible, and I get just the worst shin splints.
And yet.
C25K.
Why?
You guessed it.
Office peer pressure.
We're going to a conference for nationwide admissions folk and guidance counselors at the end of next month and, for some ungodly reason, there is a "fun" 5K involved.
Basically, I was tricked into believing that we were all going to do it.
We're not.
But I have been promised a tank top.
So there I went to the health complex to get my run on on the track above the intramural gym. Because it's beautiful outside, nobody else besides me (the Allergic Wonder) was there.
5 minutes of warm up walk, followed by variations of a minute of running to a minute and a half of walking for 20 minutes, then 5 more minutes of walking.
It was all good and fun (ish) until I hear thumping behind me, see a runner (CAME OUT OF NOWHERE I TELL YOU), and scream. Like a little girl. That poor guy. He finished half a lap and escaped out a side door not to return.
The idea of running has always appealed to me. I have visions of running through fields, down country roads, or down really really long hallways in the basement of Pentecostal churches after hours, with my hair streaming out behind me and my 3 mile legs taking me so far so fast.
Reality? About 15-20 seconds of glory before I'm panting and feeling the start of shin splints.
I've got no endurance. Or patience to learn endurance.
Many things have come easily to me learning wise.
If someone makes me feel stupid or less than, I will kick their expectations right off the table. Nothing can sidetrack me from my goal.
It takes that challenge, though, to make me change, to grow, to...try.
I've tried tricking myself into different challenges, like a weird self-antagonism, but it just doesn't stick. I need that outside antagonist, just one person that I've got to prove wrong.
That's how I passed Honors Algebra 2 and AP European History, why I was able to hold to my determination against slipping back into anorexia, how I managed to complete my Master's degree.
I still know the triggers from each. And there are more.
There have been other things I have vaguely wanted to accomplish, but the hard-nosed drive just isn't there.
I suppose I've always seen it as one or the other: either I'm so determined I'm scary or so apathetic others are scared for me. The gentle incline of appropriated endurance is not something I've endured long enough to see the fruits of. I try once, get irritated with my failure, and quit.
That brings me back to running.
I'm going to finish the 8 weeks this dumb app makes me do, and I will do it on its terms, not mine.
Honestly, I don't really care if I become a passable runner or not. It's more that this is a practice in a form of discipline that no one else would even know about if I didn't tell them.
So many areas of my life I wish were different. At the same time, I only think that because I keep focusing on all the large battles lost when I'm not even paying attention to the small battles.
Of course I can't read a 300 page book when I can't read a 300 word article on TheDailyBeast.
Of course I can't turn my phone off for a full day when I can't turn it off for half an hour.
Of course I can't write a new book when I can't write a letter back to Leslie.
Small, consistent practices of discipline. The gentle incline of appropriated endurance.
That's what I'm lacking; that's what I want.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Snow Dump
Despite the fact that we had 70 degree weather all last week, Arkansas decided to grace us with winter. HELLOOOOO SNOW and ice. and sleet. and uck.
My dear housemate Sarah left me a note saying she went ahead and walked to work to get out her angst about the whole affair.
I had to unbury my vehicle.
My response to frustration is laughter. It's kind of disconcerting actually.
While I was attacking the multiple inches of snow and ice coating the Big Blue Whale, I repeatedly laugh-yelled "THIS IS RIDICULOUS", as I knew that once I got to work, I was to be leading an outdoor campus tour for a group of students.
During this treasure hunt, two of the littles from across the street came outside to throw show in the air and squeal with happiness.
Talk about perspective.
Me, the cranky adult, super annoyed at the super inconvenience to my two mile commute and minimal effort lifestyle, thinking only of how the ice was going to destroy a perfectly decent February morning and visit.
Then the littles, delighted at the prospect of school being out and having all day to play, build snowmen, have snowball fights, make snow ice cream, sled, and have fun! It felt like that scene in Father of the Bride II where the father looks out of the car window of horrible parent-child interactions while the mother looks out her window to picturesque scenes of parent-child affection.
Snow is the same then as it is now, but my response and sentiments toward it have become increasingly...icy (forgive me).
And yet, no matter how in my way and underfoot it is (literally), I can't help but quietly stare at it glitter and make my campus and my office and my home feel magical and wintery and right.
Once the tour was over and we, the counselors, were frozen but pretty cheerful, as per always (thank you, coffee), and I picked me up some marshmallows and designed a yum recipe for cocoa (two parts powder sugar to one part cocoa powder, dash salt, almond milk), I settled in to my blanket and my fate.
Hello snow.
My dear housemate Sarah left me a note saying she went ahead and walked to work to get out her angst about the whole affair.
I had to unbury my vehicle.
My response to frustration is laughter. It's kind of disconcerting actually.
While I was attacking the multiple inches of snow and ice coating the Big Blue Whale, I repeatedly laugh-yelled "THIS IS RIDICULOUS", as I knew that once I got to work, I was to be leading an outdoor campus tour for a group of students.
During this treasure hunt, two of the littles from across the street came outside to throw show in the air and squeal with happiness.
Talk about perspective.
Me, the cranky adult, super annoyed at the super inconvenience to my two mile commute and minimal effort lifestyle, thinking only of how the ice was going to destroy a perfectly decent February morning and visit.
Then the littles, delighted at the prospect of school being out and having all day to play, build snowmen, have snowball fights, make snow ice cream, sled, and have fun! It felt like that scene in Father of the Bride II where the father looks out of the car window of horrible parent-child interactions while the mother looks out her window to picturesque scenes of parent-child affection.
Snow is the same then as it is now, but my response and sentiments toward it have become increasingly...icy (forgive me).
And yet, no matter how in my way and underfoot it is (literally), I can't help but quietly stare at it glitter and make my campus and my office and my home feel magical and wintery and right.
Once the tour was over and we, the counselors, were frozen but pretty cheerful, as per always (thank you, coffee), and I picked me up some marshmallows and designed a yum recipe for cocoa (two parts powder sugar to one part cocoa powder, dash salt, almond milk), I settled in to my blanket and my fate.
Hello snow.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
For A Moment Like This
Just got off the phone with a parent, with whom I got to share the news that her daughter was admitted.
Now, normally, I get a dull, "Oh cool....".
Sometimes, I get "AHHHHH!!! AWESOME!"
But other times, I get to make calls like this one.
When a student is not, for one reason or another, able to meet our admissions standards, but their heart is set on us (and, let's be real, we're usually pretty bonded and set on them, too), we put them to an admissions committee.
There is paperwork, references, and a formal proposition by their loving admissions counselor (*ahem*) to a committee.
And sometimes, we get a yes.
Then, after months of testing and re-testing, homework and extra credit and tutors, prayer, tears, and anxiety, I have the great honor and privilege of ending it with one phone call, one yes.
How many times have we all been given a no when we so desperately needed a yes? How many times were we not given grace? How many times were we failed to be believed in? How many times have we thought to ourselves, "If they would just give me a chance!"
Calls like these leave us both in tears of thankfulness, tears of relief, tears from all the nos past and all the hope that comes with the present yes.
Calls like these make everything worth it.
All the "image" alterations, all the Arkansas, all the residual culture shock and missing my friends and feeling like I don't quite fit. All of that becomes worth it, and I remember, once again, that it is by the grace of God that I was brought here.
He is good.
All the time.
Now, normally, I get a dull, "Oh cool....".
Sometimes, I get "AHHHHH!!! AWESOME!"
But other times, I get to make calls like this one.
When a student is not, for one reason or another, able to meet our admissions standards, but their heart is set on us (and, let's be real, we're usually pretty bonded and set on them, too), we put them to an admissions committee.
There is paperwork, references, and a formal proposition by their loving admissions counselor (*ahem*) to a committee.
And sometimes, we get a yes.
Then, after months of testing and re-testing, homework and extra credit and tutors, prayer, tears, and anxiety, I have the great honor and privilege of ending it with one phone call, one yes.
How many times have we all been given a no when we so desperately needed a yes? How many times were we not given grace? How many times were we failed to be believed in? How many times have we thought to ourselves, "If they would just give me a chance!"
Calls like these leave us both in tears of thankfulness, tears of relief, tears from all the nos past and all the hope that comes with the present yes.
Calls like these make everything worth it.
All the "image" alterations, all the Arkansas, all the residual culture shock and missing my friends and feeling like I don't quite fit. All of that becomes worth it, and I remember, once again, that it is by the grace of God that I was brought here.
He is good.
All the time.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Something Old, Something New
Frequently, I think up a phrase or really good word or, I don't know, a whole paragraph's description of something and don't have a pen on me. Or paper. So, into my phone they go.
I try to delete it out of there once it's been used.
Today I found an email that I had kept for reference.
I liked it.
So I'll share it because it's encouraging, especially since lately I've been feeling a little lonely. It's amazing. I have friends all over the world but just not one in my state. Funny how our own words can encourage us more than other people's.
Last year in February, a professor of mine sent me an email asking several questions about how I am. It took me about a month to respond. And this is what I said:
"I have indeed found my rhythm. It turns out, we're all kinda lonely. And when you realize that, it's not so hard to find your boldness. I've deepened two of my four friendships from last semester and befriended three of my four coursemates. We hang out now, get coffee, make plans to have weekend getaways and horseback riding days. I can't tell you how many times (I could, actually. It's five) I've heard another person here say the phrase, 'I've found it really difficult to make friends here and am often alone' in the past month and a half. It's crazy how similar so many of us are without realizing it. And yet, we all assume we're the only ones.
I'm able to enjoy my classes more now, am doing less of the actual homework (wow, what? Prioritizing relationships over tasks? Me?!), am giving some serious thought to sending out a couple papers for publishing, and do a lot of baking. They love my baking and apparently, Americans are known for loving (and rocking at) baking. Who knew?!
The Lord is good. What I have experienced since being back could be described as nothing short of a supernatural miracle in teh social sphere. Could never have anticipated or even asked for hte level of grace and favor and love and even "like" I have been given. Wow.
In the past week, I've had three different people, whose last Jamie sighting was December, see me and kind of wig out about how different I look, how alive I look. One Irish lady shock me hard and told me about my exuding 'vim'. Haha. It was so cute. I blogged about it. And the thing is, I feel alive. I wasn't ready to come back. I was a little better, but I was still rocked to my core. Now, though, I could not feel more separated. There wasn't a sudden moment of change; it was gradual, but I am alive. Very. And very passionately. And very thankfully.
So that's my very long and probably very ungrammatical answer. I am well. Praise Jesus."
Culture shock, man. It really does take about half a year to start feeling at home, at peace, and get some gumption to go get 'em.
And when you forget that, it's easy to be discouraged.
I'm starting to finally feel settled enough to think again.
I'm reading, I'm forcing myself to journal a bit each night, the fog in my head is starting to clear up.
Even things at work seem to be getting better.
The reception I hosted in Texas last week was well attended, and the board of trustees seemed to have a really good time bonding with my wonderful, wonderful Texan students.
And, in a couple weeks, school counselors from all over the states will come to our school for an event, and over half are mine. There are even some new ones that have never come to our event before. I'm so excited.
Finally, I learned yesterday that a chunk of the Trifecta is coming back to me.
My six best friends are scattered across the globe. Just...so far away. Colorado, Oklahoma, Australia, Washington DC, Scotland, Northern Ireland.
And, after a job offer to her husband yesterday, my Caity Ruth is moving back to Tulsa. Still an Oklahoma away, but an hour and a half closer than where she is now, and that's where my family is located.
The past few years have been hard for us. It's just difficult to keep someone your best friend when, I mean, they aren't there in a literal way. You aren't doing life with them on the daily. I feel like I'm getting my best friend back. That is a really good feeling.
I try to delete it out of there once it's been used.
Today I found an email that I had kept for reference.
I liked it.
So I'll share it because it's encouraging, especially since lately I've been feeling a little lonely. It's amazing. I have friends all over the world but just not one in my state. Funny how our own words can encourage us more than other people's.
Last year in February, a professor of mine sent me an email asking several questions about how I am. It took me about a month to respond. And this is what I said:
"I have indeed found my rhythm. It turns out, we're all kinda lonely. And when you realize that, it's not so hard to find your boldness. I've deepened two of my four friendships from last semester and befriended three of my four coursemates. We hang out now, get coffee, make plans to have weekend getaways and horseback riding days. I can't tell you how many times (I could, actually. It's five) I've heard another person here say the phrase, 'I've found it really difficult to make friends here and am often alone' in the past month and a half. It's crazy how similar so many of us are without realizing it. And yet, we all assume we're the only ones.
I'm able to enjoy my classes more now, am doing less of the actual homework (wow, what? Prioritizing relationships over tasks? Me?!), am giving some serious thought to sending out a couple papers for publishing, and do a lot of baking. They love my baking and apparently, Americans are known for loving (and rocking at) baking. Who knew?!
The Lord is good. What I have experienced since being back could be described as nothing short of a supernatural miracle in teh social sphere. Could never have anticipated or even asked for hte level of grace and favor and love and even "like" I have been given. Wow.
In the past week, I've had three different people, whose last Jamie sighting was December, see me and kind of wig out about how different I look, how alive I look. One Irish lady shock me hard and told me about my exuding 'vim'. Haha. It was so cute. I blogged about it. And the thing is, I feel alive. I wasn't ready to come back. I was a little better, but I was still rocked to my core. Now, though, I could not feel more separated. There wasn't a sudden moment of change; it was gradual, but I am alive. Very. And very passionately. And very thankfully.
So that's my very long and probably very ungrammatical answer. I am well. Praise Jesus."
Culture shock, man. It really does take about half a year to start feeling at home, at peace, and get some gumption to go get 'em.
And when you forget that, it's easy to be discouraged.
I'm starting to finally feel settled enough to think again.
I'm reading, I'm forcing myself to journal a bit each night, the fog in my head is starting to clear up.
Even things at work seem to be getting better.
The reception I hosted in Texas last week was well attended, and the board of trustees seemed to have a really good time bonding with my wonderful, wonderful Texan students.
And, in a couple weeks, school counselors from all over the states will come to our school for an event, and over half are mine. There are even some new ones that have never come to our event before. I'm so excited.
Finally, I learned yesterday that a chunk of the Trifecta is coming back to me.
My six best friends are scattered across the globe. Just...so far away. Colorado, Oklahoma, Australia, Washington DC, Scotland, Northern Ireland.
And, after a job offer to her husband yesterday, my Caity Ruth is moving back to Tulsa. Still an Oklahoma away, but an hour and a half closer than where she is now, and that's where my family is located.
The past few years have been hard for us. It's just difficult to keep someone your best friend when, I mean, they aren't there in a literal way. You aren't doing life with them on the daily. I feel like I'm getting my best friend back. That is a really good feeling.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
It's Not Easy Being Green
Though I would classify myself as a follower, conformity has never been something that's come easily to me.
My workplace has a definite herd mentality, though, and I've been working hard to maybe fit in a little more.
One way I have been doing that is through participation in their health kicks.
They are super about "cleanses". Generally, they are couple cleanses, and I have instructed Julius to notify Area 51 if I ever suggest doing such a thing.
And yet. Here I am, doing a cleanse.
I drank the Kool-Aid, folks, or, rather, the green smoothie.
A lot of green smoothie.
For three weeks (I'm on day one of week two), I have made myself a green smoothie.
Let's be honest.
The going is rough.
Twice now, I have consumed with many many faces of pain, a smoothie containing an entire grapefruit and a base of spinach. Ain't nothin' could cover that. My insides felt like they were going to dissolve.
Today's was better. It had a kale base with nearly a whole pineapple, cranberries, and a lime.
The flavor was delicious. Texture? A whole different story. Imagine drinking a bush.
On the whole, doing this has been a good practice in learning that conformity doesn't exactly mean brainwashing or losing your identity in deference for oneness.
Sometimes, joining the herd is just part of gaining some common ground. It gives you something third party and objective to talk about, a shared practice/experience.
Being your own person is cool and all, but it's kind of lonely sitting back and poking fun or shunning group activities like you're too cool. Being alone isn't cool at all. It's just lonely.
Sure, you may want them to, you know, like you for you and stuff, but sometimes you have to take a step in their direction just to give them a bridge toward your island of self.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
When We Talk of Home
When you speak of home, what words come out?
When I speak of home, my home now, it is not with a whole lot of fondness. Because I'm smack dab in the middle of it. I take the same two streets, maybe three on an adventurous day, and that's just so...discouraging. Dull. Drab. Uck.
If I want to go out? I have two coffee shop options in Siloam (be prepared for all students). Or I have a coffee shop in Springdale. Woo.
Sometimes I just feel so damn stuck in this awful, awful hamster wheel life.
And then, I have a conversation with one of my students.
And, in telling them a bit of my own 17 year old heart, I fall back in love with my 23 year old life.
The message:
This is my home.
Here's to seeing your home through the eyes of another and re-learning how to love.
When I speak of home, my home now, it is not with a whole lot of fondness. Because I'm smack dab in the middle of it. I take the same two streets, maybe three on an adventurous day, and that's just so...discouraging. Dull. Drab. Uck.
If I want to go out? I have two coffee shop options in Siloam (be prepared for all students). Or I have a coffee shop in Springdale. Woo.
Sometimes I just feel so damn stuck in this awful, awful hamster wheel life.
And then, I have a conversation with one of my students.
And, in telling them a bit of my own 17 year old heart, I fall back in love with my 23 year old life.
The message:
"Eeeeek! I'm so excited Jamie. I called my best friends this morning [to tell them I made my college decision] and they're super excited too!...I think the thing that got me the most is when I was talking to [my future roommate (who, ironically is the sister of my own freshman year roommate)] last week and she said, 'JBU is home.' I don't think any other combination of words can describe my heart at this moment. Thanks for letting me freak out in pure excitement and joy on you!"My response:
"I could not understand that feeling more.I meant it.
I felt it too a long time ago. And now.
From the second I stepped onto campus, I knew it. When I was your age, I was unsure of a lot of things, but I was sure of JBU.
It's the reason why I came back from Europe.
JBU, Siloam Springs, is the place you want to build your bookshelves, the place you want to unpack your life for the long-haul.
And no matter where you go, no matter what you do after, it will always be your home."
This is my home.
Here's to seeing your home through the eyes of another and re-learning how to love.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Duties and Doodies
Babies poop.
It's a thing.
Also, when does talking about your child's bodily functions stop being an acceptable people to discuss in public places?
Some would argue, "ALWAYS! No one NO ONE wants to know about that!"
Others, not so much.
The other week in a staff meeting, we talked about all the different things that are acceptable to comment on and discuss about babies that is ABSOLUTELY NOT ACCEPTABLE to comment on and discuss later in their little lives.
Things such as, but not limited to: bodily functions, weight fluctuation, everything related to nursing ("latching"), chubby thighs, etc.
Personally, I think all babies look like trolls.
They can be absolutely adorable trolls that I will love unconditionally (i.e. each and every one of my nieces and nephews), but trolls nonetheless. Just for a few months until they start to grow into their person.
Yesterday, I traveled on over to the ole O-K-L-A-HOMA to attend the baptism of my cousin Kristina's daughter.
Krissy and I, much like our mothers, are near exact replicas of one another, give or take a few years. She's my family go-to, my saving grace at holidays get-togethers, and an endless source of sass and side comments.
She is 10 years older than me and had her first child, Fiona Marie, just a couple months ago.
We're all pretty floored about it. Jeff (her husband) and Kristina are absolutely adorable with one another and that, matched with our thankfulness and wonder at them finding one another to begin with, makes Fiona one very special little human.
Jury is still out on who her name is dedicated to (Daisy Marie-->Joyce Marie-->Kristina Marie-->Fiona Marie), but it's safe to say all three of her predecessors love her pretty fiercely.
And now, after a question and a yes, that little bundle of love is my goddaughter.
I'm so honored to get to be Fiona's "person".
Don't worry, kid. I've got your back. (and your neck, just until you gain a little muscle mass)
It's a thing.
Also, when does talking about your child's bodily functions stop being an acceptable people to discuss in public places?
Some would argue, "ALWAYS! No one NO ONE wants to know about that!"
Others, not so much.
The other week in a staff meeting, we talked about all the different things that are acceptable to comment on and discuss about babies that is ABSOLUTELY NOT ACCEPTABLE to comment on and discuss later in their little lives.
Things such as, but not limited to: bodily functions, weight fluctuation, everything related to nursing ("latching"), chubby thighs, etc.
Personally, I think all babies look like trolls.
They can be absolutely adorable trolls that I will love unconditionally (i.e. each and every one of my nieces and nephews), but trolls nonetheless. Just for a few months until they start to grow into their person.
Yesterday, I traveled on over to the ole O-K-L-A-HOMA to attend the baptism of my cousin Kristina's daughter.
Krissy and I, much like our mothers, are near exact replicas of one another, give or take a few years. She's my family go-to, my saving grace at holidays get-togethers, and an endless source of sass and side comments.
She is 10 years older than me and had her first child, Fiona Marie, just a couple months ago.
We're all pretty floored about it. Jeff (her husband) and Kristina are absolutely adorable with one another and that, matched with our thankfulness and wonder at them finding one another to begin with, makes Fiona one very special little human.
Jury is still out on who her name is dedicated to (Daisy Marie-->Joyce Marie-->Kristina Marie-->Fiona Marie), but it's safe to say all three of her predecessors love her pretty fiercely.
And now, after a question and a yes, that little bundle of love is my goddaughter.
I'm so honored to get to be Fiona's "person".
Don't worry, kid. I've got your back. (and your neck, just until you gain a little muscle mass)
Thursday, November 20, 2014
A Three Post Day: The Lonestar Rescue Mission
The college fair circuit brings people together.
We may never see those hoards of students again, but come rain or come shine, we, the counselors from universities all across the states, will probably join together for a 13 or more day string of the same fairs. Sometimes, we see one another twice in the same day--or more depending on if we end up in the same Starbucks.
We bond.
Thank goodness for that.
Remember the time Abilene had to rescue my promo (and me) from the rain/parking lot incident?
It was a thing.
Today, yet again, I required rescuing.
My keys and I...had a falling out.
Or, rather, a falling in.
Falling into my trunk.
Without having had unlocked the car.
And a dead phone.
I'm not sure if they had slipped from the hood into the trunk or if I had set them there on the back ledge, but there they were, just out of reach. I could even touch their plastic tag.
Dallas Christian and Cal Baptist were on it, managing to fanagle their way down into the top opening with the ear of sunglasses to hit the trunk button on the downward-flipped keys.
Miracles. They're a thing.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Unselfconscious Gratitude
Today I did my first local school visit, a pizza lunch.
It made me think of the last time I brought a food incentive to a school. It was cupcakes and not a single one was interested in my university. ha.
However, I had the opportunity to have a really good conversation with one of the adults who worked there. At the end, I was still loaded with 3 dozen incentive cupcakes and offered them to her.
Her response was of total shock and gratitude; she told me of what a blessing it was, that her son's birthday was the next day and she had needed to bring treats for his class.
It was so genuine.
There was no sob story of why she couldn't provide them herself, though she had told me quite a bit of her life story during our sit there that would have made it easy to. And I'm not being cold when I say sob story: I probably would have teared up.
This past summer I met a girl who, for her birthday, got a mattress. And she was with these kids who got things like iPhones or Coach bags or other hoity toity and was just raving about how awesome this mattress thing was and how excited she was, as she had never had a new one before.
Again, there wasn't a mark of attempt at extracting pity. She was just excited.
For some reason, we as a people group have forgotten how to interact without weighing and measuring each and every word. Well, that's not true. I've seen a whole lot of people go off the handle. More, we have forgotten how to be exuberant.
What is so embarrassing or undignified or wrong with being thrilled at receiving something so seemingly simple as cupcakes or a mattress?
We are so quick to criticize--loudly--in both public and private, so quick to become angry, to become sad, to become wild. But when it comes to being delighted in one another, we are quick not to gush but to check ourselves.
I think we should check ourselves on that.
It made me think of the last time I brought a food incentive to a school. It was cupcakes and not a single one was interested in my university. ha.
However, I had the opportunity to have a really good conversation with one of the adults who worked there. At the end, I was still loaded with 3 dozen incentive cupcakes and offered them to her.
Her response was of total shock and gratitude; she told me of what a blessing it was, that her son's birthday was the next day and she had needed to bring treats for his class.
It was so genuine.
There was no sob story of why she couldn't provide them herself, though she had told me quite a bit of her life story during our sit there that would have made it easy to. And I'm not being cold when I say sob story: I probably would have teared up.
This past summer I met a girl who, for her birthday, got a mattress. And she was with these kids who got things like iPhones or Coach bags or other hoity toity and was just raving about how awesome this mattress thing was and how excited she was, as she had never had a new one before.
Again, there wasn't a mark of attempt at extracting pity. She was just excited.
For some reason, we as a people group have forgotten how to interact without weighing and measuring each and every word. Well, that's not true. I've seen a whole lot of people go off the handle. More, we have forgotten how to be exuberant.
What is so embarrassing or undignified or wrong with being thrilled at receiving something so seemingly simple as cupcakes or a mattress?
We are so quick to criticize--loudly--in both public and private, so quick to become angry, to become sad, to become wild. But when it comes to being delighted in one another, we are quick not to gush but to check ourselves.
I think we should check ourselves on that.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
We're Okay
To begin, I had my first Momference yesterday, and "pleased as punch" is an accurate diction representation of my sentiments. Four moms with fifteen kids between them came, drank Panera PSLs, and talked "college search" with me for over two hours. It was a blast.
While I was waiting for them to arrive, though, I was privy to a conversation between two women.
They spoke together of what they had imagined their lives to be by this point, a conversation I have both had with others and heard from others many times in the past couple years.
The speaker told of how she had, at this point, imagined that she would have had a man, a bundle of kids, and a job with direction. And she hadn't.
She lamented for a good long while more but culminated the story with saying--tearfully--that she truly believed that "Lola" was the answer to God's promise to her as a 21 year old of having a daughter.
A few more sentences cleared up Lola's canine identity. She talked about Lola's habits, her moods, her fears, as though she were a non-dog creature. At this point, I'm getting a little weirded out, like, this woman needs some help.
"I feel like a mama."
And the girl with her, whom, I had noticed, spoke only not-crazy things, responded very calmly to that with, "You are."
It took me aback.
See, I would have started telling that woman something with rationality to it or try to help her understand that a dog is not a person and that she's somehow misguided in what I perceive as lunacy. I would have tried to make her "normal" about the whole thing, and she would have left perhaps reconsidering the "promise fulfillment" she had believed in.
And maybe she would have been a little more on this planet, but would it have been better? Perhaps no. Her joy in her creature and in what she believed its role in her life to be would have been marred, and she would have reverted to lamenting the fact that God, who had "promised" her a child, did not follow-through. Who am I to say that she's wrong? I ain't in the club with her and Jesus.
It was her friend, though, that spoke to her soul in such a short sentence: "You are."
She didn't say, "Oh yah totally that mutt is for sure God's promise child." No, she confirmed the heart of the matter. She made herself a trustworthy friend in that moment by choosing to love and affirm her friend in a moment of intimacy instead of correct.
How many times has someone shared something with us that was dear to them and we have responded as though it were small beans? We missed out on an opportunity for intimacy and have, perhaps, destroyed forever future opportunities for intimacy for them because we demonstrated ourselves to be an unsafe place.
More than that, what is our heart issue with hearing out people like the dog-mom?
It makes us feel squeamish.
We would never think like that.
So what?
What does it matter if we would think like that?
Unless what they are experiencing comes into direct conflict with scripture, who's to say that that isn't what them and Jesus are up to in the spiritual realm?
You are okay.
They are okay.
It's something I have to often remind myself of in many situations, not just spiritual.
Friends that are loud and obnoxious embarrass me. Why? I'm not doing those things. If they aren't embarrassed, why should I be on their behalf?
Similarly, if I am doing something absurd in my own free time--such as jumping into the ocean fully clothed with business wear--why is it anyone's duty to be horrified that I would be undignified in my exuberance for the ocean and creation. I know David and his soon-to-be-forever-barren wife came into the same struggle.
If it ain't you, and you aren't being graded as a team, and your buddy is aware of how silly or loud they are being, then be secure enough in yourself to be okay with you and let you be okay with them. They are okay with them.
"I feel like a mama."
And the girl with her, whom, I had noticed, spoke only not-crazy things, responded very calmly to that with, "You are."
It took me aback.
See, I would have started telling that woman something with rationality to it or try to help her understand that a dog is not a person and that she's somehow misguided in what I perceive as lunacy. I would have tried to make her "normal" about the whole thing, and she would have left perhaps reconsidering the "promise fulfillment" she had believed in.
And maybe she would have been a little more on this planet, but would it have been better? Perhaps no. Her joy in her creature and in what she believed its role in her life to be would have been marred, and she would have reverted to lamenting the fact that God, who had "promised" her a child, did not follow-through. Who am I to say that she's wrong? I ain't in the club with her and Jesus.
It was her friend, though, that spoke to her soul in such a short sentence: "You are."
She didn't say, "Oh yah totally that mutt is for sure God's promise child." No, she confirmed the heart of the matter. She made herself a trustworthy friend in that moment by choosing to love and affirm her friend in a moment of intimacy instead of correct.
How many times has someone shared something with us that was dear to them and we have responded as though it were small beans? We missed out on an opportunity for intimacy and have, perhaps, destroyed forever future opportunities for intimacy for them because we demonstrated ourselves to be an unsafe place.
More than that, what is our heart issue with hearing out people like the dog-mom?
It makes us feel squeamish.
We would never think like that.
So what?
What does it matter if we would think like that?
Unless what they are experiencing comes into direct conflict with scripture, who's to say that that isn't what them and Jesus are up to in the spiritual realm?
You are okay.
They are okay.
It's something I have to often remind myself of in many situations, not just spiritual.
Friends that are loud and obnoxious embarrass me. Why? I'm not doing those things. If they aren't embarrassed, why should I be on their behalf?
Similarly, if I am doing something absurd in my own free time--such as jumping into the ocean fully clothed with business wear--why is it anyone's duty to be horrified that I would be undignified in my exuberance for the ocean and creation. I know David and his soon-to-be-forever-barren wife came into the same struggle.
If it ain't you, and you aren't being graded as a team, and your buddy is aware of how silly or loud they are being, then be secure enough in yourself to be okay with you and let you be okay with them. They are okay with them.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
When the Bottom Falls Out
When I was somewhere in the region of age 7, my family went on holiday to Florida.
On one of those days, my mom and I went on a walk and came across a true clothing entrepreneur. He was amongst the first of his kind, strutting down the street with his trousers down by his knees, held up only by a hand on the belt buckle.
We could not stop laughing, imagining what his predicament would be were he to need the use of his hands. BYE BYE PANTS! He was bringing booty back, for sure.
Last night, I unpacked my rolley basket with my promotional materials from the trunk of my car and began to make my merry way into a college fair in Temple, Texas (in the rain, mind you), suddenly, the basket I had so much faith in pulled open, leaving all of my set-up magazines, pamphlets, pens, etc on the asphalt.
My day had been pretty absurd, so at this point, I wasn't even upset, I just burst out laughing. Luckily the rep from Abilene Christian gave me a hand and I loaded as much as I could into my tablecloth and carried it like a knapsack into the fair. I can't claim that it was my classiest moment, but I did feel very hick Arkansan. Another load and Abilene and I got it all inside.
I put a lot of faith in that basket. I put a lot of weight in that basket. I had to. There wasn't a way for me to carry all of it, not even with a tablecloth knapsack. But, fair after fair, I was able to rough-it, really only struggling when I had to lift it in and out of the car or up stairs.
When my basket failed me, though, in the least convenient time, my puny muscles and lack of a zillion arms failed me as well, and I couldn't act in excellence. I needed help. I needed my "competitor's" help.
Sometimes, in life, the bottom of our baskets fall out, and all our crap that we've been "successfully" lugging around with us spurts all over the parking lot in the rain and we've got to either accept help or accept that parts of our crap are going to get ruined.
More than that, even when we accept help, the reality is, the process of getting ourselves set back up is going to be messy and a bunch of "put together" people are going to see us struggle. Some may laugh, some may look at us pitifully, and some (those gems) will tell us, "Oh dude. The same thing happened to me a couple months ago...[insert totally humiliating story here that makes you forget that you've got mud on your ankles]."
All of that is better than having a meltdown in the parking lot and never making it inside at all. And yet, so many of us choose the rain.
On one of those days, my mom and I went on a walk and came across a true clothing entrepreneur. He was amongst the first of his kind, strutting down the street with his trousers down by his knees, held up only by a hand on the belt buckle.
We could not stop laughing, imagining what his predicament would be were he to need the use of his hands. BYE BYE PANTS! He was bringing booty back, for sure.
Last night, I unpacked my rolley basket with my promotional materials from the trunk of my car and began to make my merry way into a college fair in Temple, Texas (in the rain, mind you), suddenly, the basket I had so much faith in pulled open, leaving all of my set-up magazines, pamphlets, pens, etc on the asphalt.
My day had been pretty absurd, so at this point, I wasn't even upset, I just burst out laughing. Luckily the rep from Abilene Christian gave me a hand and I loaded as much as I could into my tablecloth and carried it like a knapsack into the fair. I can't claim that it was my classiest moment, but I did feel very hick Arkansan. Another load and Abilene and I got it all inside.
I put a lot of faith in that basket. I put a lot of weight in that basket. I had to. There wasn't a way for me to carry all of it, not even with a tablecloth knapsack. But, fair after fair, I was able to rough-it, really only struggling when I had to lift it in and out of the car or up stairs.
When my basket failed me, though, in the least convenient time, my puny muscles and lack of a zillion arms failed me as well, and I couldn't act in excellence. I needed help. I needed my "competitor's" help.
Sometimes, in life, the bottom of our baskets fall out, and all our crap that we've been "successfully" lugging around with us spurts all over the parking lot in the rain and we've got to either accept help or accept that parts of our crap are going to get ruined.
More than that, even when we accept help, the reality is, the process of getting ourselves set back up is going to be messy and a bunch of "put together" people are going to see us struggle. Some may laugh, some may look at us pitifully, and some (those gems) will tell us, "Oh dude. The same thing happened to me a couple months ago...[insert totally humiliating story here that makes you forget that you've got mud on your ankles]."
All of that is better than having a meltdown in the parking lot and never making it inside at all. And yet, so many of us choose the rain.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Kickin' Beats and Taking Names
Today, Texas melted my cupcake.
That is not innuendo for anything.
My first of two college fairs today gave me a cupcake.
I put said cupcake in car as I navigated my way across the Dallas ring.
And it melted.
Melted.
Cupcake.
...
How.
Other than feats of physics (Is that physics? I'm not sure. I was, after all, a creative writing major, not a science major), I have already started learning some things about Texas and college recruiting.
1. I am not made for Dallas driving. It makes me want to repent of all my sins and update my will.
2. Making friends with other reps is actually a really good idea. It's fun to exchange ideas on how we're doing things differently/similarly. Also, if you're both trying to work a difficult area, you can exchange schools/contacts to help one another just get in.
3. Give yourself super extra time to get places. You will get lost. Even if you see the school, you are not in the clear. Find the high school office then give me a call.
4. Bring more than one phone charger and put it in an accessible place.
5. Pack snacks. This is one is more like a life rule, but really. Snacks, guys.
6. Casually dressing in your school colors makes you so cool. It wasn't my idea; I actually saw a very hip sort of girl at another college fair do it then my own boss and have since been very cognizant to ask myself the question, "Does this come in navy or gold?" Today, for instance, I am sporting the yellow/gold bridesmaid dress I wore in my best friend Caity's wedding (yah that's right I actually wore it again. Can YOU say that about any of your bridesmaid dresses?) with a blue striped scarf. And I feel very school-spirited without being all up in your face about it.
7. It is difficult to have road rage when you are listening to the Bible on audiobook.
8. Dallas has a bollywood radio station: "Fun Asian Radio." Top notch. Even the commercials. I especially enjoyed the inspirational hit: Roobaroo by A.R. Rahman and Naresh Iyer. I'm not being ironic. It has a beat you won't be able to resist decoratively twisting your hands to.
Today thus far I have had a classroom visit and a college fair. In an hour I have another college fair.
It's going well so far. Only one student took a snooze on me today. In all fairness, the music on my promo videos is really soothing.
I think I enjoy talking with students just as much as I enjoy talking to their parents. Don't even get me started on my "momference" idea. I may have one at the end of September. It's pending. But I for sure have one scheduled for October, and I am stoked for it.
Moms gotta mom. I get that.
Time to leave Starbucks for my second college fair today.
That is not innuendo for anything.
My first of two college fairs today gave me a cupcake.
I put said cupcake in car as I navigated my way across the Dallas ring.
And it melted.
Melted.
Cupcake.
...
How.
Other than feats of physics (Is that physics? I'm not sure. I was, after all, a creative writing major, not a science major), I have already started learning some things about Texas and college recruiting.
1. I am not made for Dallas driving. It makes me want to repent of all my sins and update my will.
2. Making friends with other reps is actually a really good idea. It's fun to exchange ideas on how we're doing things differently/similarly. Also, if you're both trying to work a difficult area, you can exchange schools/contacts to help one another just get in.
3. Give yourself super extra time to get places. You will get lost. Even if you see the school, you are not in the clear. Find the high school office then give me a call.
4. Bring more than one phone charger and put it in an accessible place.
5. Pack snacks. This is one is more like a life rule, but really. Snacks, guys.
6. Casually dressing in your school colors makes you so cool. It wasn't my idea; I actually saw a very hip sort of girl at another college fair do it then my own boss and have since been very cognizant to ask myself the question, "Does this come in navy or gold?" Today, for instance, I am sporting the yellow/gold bridesmaid dress I wore in my best friend Caity's wedding (yah that's right I actually wore it again. Can YOU say that about any of your bridesmaid dresses?) with a blue striped scarf. And I feel very school-spirited without being all up in your face about it.
7. It is difficult to have road rage when you are listening to the Bible on audiobook.
8. Dallas has a bollywood radio station: "Fun Asian Radio." Top notch. Even the commercials. I especially enjoyed the inspirational hit: Roobaroo by A.R. Rahman and Naresh Iyer. I'm not being ironic. It has a beat you won't be able to resist decoratively twisting your hands to.
Today thus far I have had a classroom visit and a college fair. In an hour I have another college fair.
It's going well so far. Only one student took a snooze on me today. In all fairness, the music on my promo videos is really soothing.
I think I enjoy talking with students just as much as I enjoy talking to their parents. Don't even get me started on my "momference" idea. I may have one at the end of September. It's pending. But I for sure have one scheduled for October, and I am stoked for it.
Moms gotta mom. I get that.
Time to leave Starbucks for my second college fair today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)