There’s a contingent of individuals who came across this blog via the Moody Bible Institute website. There’s a page for Admissions and a tab for Connect with Us and a section of Moody students who are in the habit of blogging their days, and my picture is on there. There are five or six thumbnail pictures stacked one on top of the other, with links to blogs next to names and mini bios. Five or six and I’m one of them, and some of those who click here come because of that page.
They come because of Moody.
I’ve thought about what I’d want to read, if I was three years ago, thinking and wondering and planning four years in the Windy City, four years studying at the Moody Bible Institute. If I was a senior in high school once again, what would I want to read about this school?
Sometimes my writing is a little scattered, a little random. If you’ve been around a while, you probably already know that about me. But I work at the pool, that’s an off-campus job, and I work in Admissions, on campus, and the application deadline for Fall 2013 is coming very soon, and the file cabinet in the office is full of heart stories. God’s leading them here. To Moody.
We call them prospectives. What would you like to know about this place, dear prospective?
Would you know about the game room? We have one. Second floor, ASC. You don’t know those abbreviations, but you will, and you can add them to the other jargon we accidentally throw around. Like CPO and SDR and Commons and pretrib and SLAC and systheo. But there is a game room, and I walked by with Mar today, and we stopped outside to talk with someone else, and we all stood in that upstairs hallway while a guy in the game room pretended to hit another with the pool cue and a ping-pong ball escaped the table and rolled away.
Do you want to know about the library? Because I spent the day there. Tall tables, short tables, group tables, single tables; they’ve laced book space with work space and I hunted up and down for an outlet because I want just this desk, but my computer battery lasts about a minute for every year that my dad has lived, and he’s not a very old man. I found an outlet.
Do you want to know about the SDR, that basement dining room? I ate there three times today, then hauled my backpack on and walked all the way down that sloping tunnel, the long window above me receding with every step down.
I could tell you about the laundry room, the floor where I live, the athletic facility, the classroom buildings. This school has become my story these past two years and there is much that I could tell you about.
But I sat in the back of Chapel today. President’s Chapel means Dr. Nyquist spoke, and my highly biased opinion ranks him second behind D.L. himself for best MBI president. I got there early, quite, and I sat right there in the middle, where we always sit. But that wasn’t working and the phone was buzzing, so I did that slow meander walk up the carpet aisle, to the back. I stood and I waited, just a moment or two, to let others fill that red-seat Chapel, to wait for… something. Then I poked my head back through those swinging wooden doors and Mar had appeared in the back rows. So I sat with her. And The Neighbor came, too, and Olivia, as well.
Sitting back here, I can see everything. Not the balcony, of course, I’m too far back for that, but all those heads, backs, jackets, hairstyles in front: I see them. And I sat in the back and I listened to the president with the white hair and the black suit, and I looked over all those people, and I realized that I can’t tell you this. I can’t tell you what it is to settle into that Chapel seat, knees pulled up, and to know a place of family. A place where we have Jesus Christ in common and we all know that we’re bought at a price, and we all live in that God moment.
I can’t tell you what that’s like, prospective. You just gotta come here.