Time pushes me to awake from lounging with slumber. Time and time again has brought to my attention that it’s the time of the year where my interactions with slumber will be a very, very short lived experience. You see, wherever and whenever I look at the face of time, whether on the wall, my phone, a watch, without saying words, time demands that when slumber quietly tip toes to me, faintly as a whisper and asks to close my eyes, that I refuse. Time is everywhere I look, there to haunt me, reminding me I’m late.( If one more thing turns into a clock or a sundial….man….its on like popcorn!!!) And to compete with that still whisper sometimes, time screams at me to be alert. But I programmed time to do that, to alarm me to alertness. For I love to shepherd those sheep to pass away time, that is a hard thing for me to refuse. To imagine in a field of dreams, while doing the surprisingly soothing un-stressful, task of counting all her sheep is a reward after a long day. Yes, she is the lady of my dreams. Her sheep keeps me there, tonic and phasic, yes… it’s the REM experience. (That sounds like a weak social club…lol)
And what is better than that? Don’t front you know exactly what I’m saying! You come home and get dressed to meet the lady of your dreams. You brush your teeth, take a shower, your socks might have holes in them and your hair is probably tore up but that only happens because you know she does not care. But dates with her are reduced to a minimum because a semester at PBU demands more attention.
In light of the drop in my GPA into the darkest, deepest toilet bowl, and the frantic nights that I experienced trying to work my miracle magic by turning projects that require weeks of preparation into 2-3 hour projects, I want to speak to any current student and those considering an academic career at PBU any other college for that matter.
PBU will NOT teach you anything!!!!
Smash any belief that PBU as an academic institution, its president, provost, teachers or administrators are here to educate you. This is truthful to the degree as it sounds absurd. The goal of any secondary educational institution is not merely to present information. Colleges exists to challenge the student’s convictions, those beliefs based on his/her level of knowledge of the world around him past and present, the student’s commitment to his/her studies, and provide a way to practice what students are learning through student-led organizations and activities.
Colleges are more methodically driven providing resources (teachers and libraries) answering and clarifying the where’s and how to’s to researching, explaining, and understanding the questions of life on this planet through the academic disciplines of mathematics, the natural sciences, philosophy, social studies, theology and all the other subject matters of school. YOU, the student go through the process of learning by committing the mental effort of not just balancing school work, but doing what it takes to remain a student financially and balancing your passions and other commitments.
But despite this hard reality, which has taken me three years to understand through enduring hard failures, you will not do it alone. There are your fellow students, deans, teachers, faculty/staff members, and campus resident directors who will provide support. But they will NOT do the work of learning for you. They have enough work on their hands already. For they have a commitment to model something the Bible calls them to for your benefit in growing in the knowledge of the LORD Jesus Christ. I’ll address that in next blog, till then here’s a story:
Line Dancing
I’m light on my pinky finger actually. I have become accustomed to moving this way. My pinky beams pinkly as the blood retreats from its skin walls pressured by the weight placed on it. Picking you up from your sleep, I escort you to an empty dance floor. We walk into an empty canvas the carpenter tiled and spaced 1 inch apart. He is always on time. Before we arrive, the janitor mopped margins in the wooden recycled flat floors, equipped with the finest mop bucket and brush. It is evident that he is an artist at his craft; while observing the aftermath of his technique. Armed with his pine sol drenched, scented mop bristles he wields, designed to make decorative sense and order. It is him again. We could always tell because the way he mops, he always leaves his signature foot prints out on his way. Mead.
I carry you in the grips of my finger tips. Not too hard to force you but not to weak; just enough to be a guide. The first thing I want your feet touching is the blank white dance floor. The janitor knows how we like our environment now, college ruled. That gives us just enough space to move. He manages to manufacture good work so I tip him well, $1.25 to seal the deal……
