Memories #5

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Top Ten College Memories: Memory #1
I realize that I’m going out of order for a typical countdown. However, this particular memory celebrates its anniversary today, so I thought it appropriate to post now.

November 2, 1999

“I can’t do this on my own any more,” I prayed silently. “I’m either doing it with You or not at all.”

Those words, uttered in the public bathroom of my freshman dorm, have colored the four years that have elapsed since. I didn’t realize how significant they were at the time, but it was on this day four years ago that I began to walk with Jesus.

My story isn’t a drastic one. So many people who become Christians during college are turning from a rebellious lifestyle. Technically, I did the same, but my rebellion was much quieter.

I was the quintessential “goody-two-shoes” – rarely in trouble, good grades, active in school. I talked back to my parents and I thought I knew far more than I did, but otherwise I was much less mischevious than the typical teenager.

As my high school graduation approached, I began to question my behavior. Why did I do the things that I did – or not do them, as the case may be? In the past, my answer was usually, “Because God said not to.” I proclaimed a belief in Christ, but I didn’t understand what difference He made. Though I called myself a Christian, I lived for my own purposes.

That tendency was amplified as I graduated from high school and entered college. I searched for meaning in my friends, in boys, in a sorority, but couldn’t find it anywhere. I watched the people around me and saw that most of them were as lost as I was.

The difference was in the friends who were following Christ. Through their lives, I saw that Jesus was more than a ticket to heaven. He impacted how they lived each day on earth, as well. I wanted that – and so that is what I asked for that November afternoon in Dorman Hall.

In compiling a list of my top college memories, it was inevitable that this one had to be listed first. It wasn’t a dramatic day for me – I went about my business as usual, and no one knew the difference. Still, it marked a turning point that has influenced every following day. At the time, I wasn’t sure that I would still be following Jesus after six months. I’m still young, but it’s already been quite a bit longer than that.

My life is markedly different now than it was during the first few months following that decision. Then I was zealous, eager to learn all that I could. What those first months contained in breadth, the years since have made up for in depth. Now, each day is a steady step onward. Sometimes I long for the days of my youth – spiritual milk is easier to digest than the meat on which I now dine.

Memories #4

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The basement of Strozier Library will always be a scary place in my mind. As a freshman at FSU, I vowed to avoid checking anything out of that library if I could help it. It was a naive promise, and one that was broken within several months.

I reluctantly accompanied Heather to the library one night. I was desperate to get out of the dorm (it had been a hard night with a lot of tears), and I needed to do some research anyway. It was on that night that I paid my first visit to Strozier’s basement.

I can’t remember what book I was looking for or what kind of assignment I was on, but I found myself in front of rows and rows of crankable bookshelves. Have you ever seen these things? They’re used in tight spaces to cram in as many books as humanly possible. Before you open the aisle where your book is being held hostage, you have to peer down surrounding rows of books. The last thing you want to do is crank open a case and trap someone between rows of books.

As I’ve already explained, I was feeling rather emotional on this particular evening. Instead of distracting me, the library heightened my fears. I sat on the floor between two sets of shelves and cried. I couldn’t find the book I wanted, the boy I liked wasn’t interested in me, and the library was creepy. I was blowing things out of proportion, I know, but I sat on that basement floor and wallowed in my self pity.

I’ve grown up a lot in four years (as one would hope!) I spent two and a half hours of my Saturday in Gorgas Library. Again, I sat on the library’s bottom floor, this time prowling through Readers Guide to Periodical Literature, volumes one and two.

The musty smell bothered me, but I plodded along in my search for materials. When I left several hours later, a lengthy list of sources in hand, I reflected on that night four years ago. I’ve matured, not only in my use of university libraries, but in my relationships with men and in how I deal with my emotions. (Thank God I’m not still the child I was at 18!)

Memories #3

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

(Inspired in part by Heather’s post of the day – which I highly recommend you read, by the way.)

Top Ten College Memories: Memory #10

We sat around the dining room table, our formal attire a humorous juxtaposition to our bare feet and plans to spend an evening in. These are the evenings a young woman remembers – applying make up and curling hair alongside three roommates ensures a good time, regardless of the occassion. Paula, Alison, and I had selected gowns that we felt were appropriate for the evening’s activities. Not one to be left out, Heather donned similar attire. As the sun set over our forested neighborhood, we worked together, both in getting dolled up and in the kitchen.

We solved the corn chowder problem (too runny? add flour!) just before our guests began to arrive. Four gentlemen joined us, decked out in an array of garments ranging from a run-of-the-mill suit and tie to an ascot (with a cane as an additional accessory) to a turban. This colorful cast of characters sat down to dine at the same dining room table that had hosted countless bottles of make up moments before.

Breaking bread with brothers and sisters is always a treat, but the fun truly began as the eight of us moved into the living room. It was there that we ceased to be CJ, Heather, Paula, Alison, Philip, Jesse, Andy, and Scott. We resumed new roles for the next hour, assigned to us from a cardboard box bearing the name “Alfred Hitchcock” and the promise of a mysterious night of fun. Andy – or should I say, Dr. Lees – narrated as Catherine and Mary (played by Paula and I) were eliminated from the game by a murderous Brit. We victims proved to be the only ones able to successfully solve the case (Heather, as the bitter midwife, killed us off in a jealous rage).

The laughter continued in a rousing game of Psychiatrist. When the girls acted as our cat Emma and the boys as our dog Tessa in one round, Heather dissolved into laughter. Our impressions of the animals were apparently so good that she guessed immediately who we were. (Philip was on all fours beside me at the sliding glass door. Confusion led him to playing the part of Emma, though it wasn’t his assigned role. Our interplay was still so convincing that it led to Heather’s accurate guess.)

My ability to laugh at myself was tested in a later round. 🙂 All seven “actors” were assigned the role of imitating yours truly. The noise in that room nearly reached a level that only Tessa could detect as everyone imitated me in their best shrill voices. I laughed so hard that I could barely stay in character – and I am me!

Later, we sat around the television while Hitchcock’s Rear Window played. The dark room and the comfortable atmosphere lulled most of us to sleep while the video quietly rolled on. Truly, my friends, these are days to remember.

Memories #2

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

October 25, 2002

“I know that I’ve acted as though I’m interested in more than just a friendship… I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to pursue that.”

A general air of icky-ness had surrounded me all evening. Those words settled around me, carrying with them an unwelcome but expected wave of nauseau.

I had been uneasy all evening. After a potluck dinner with my Bible study, I met several old buddies of mine for a night of line dancing. I was quiet that evening, observing the interactions of those around me instead of contributing my thoughts to the conversation. So much had changed in the past months, leaving me isolated from this group that I once called “friends.”

Bring on the dancing, I thought to myself. It was a night where losing myself in music and motion would be therapeutic.

I drove to Stetson’s separate from the group and listened to country radio as I waited. Carolyn Dawn Johnson’s “Complicated” hit home more strongly that night than ever before, and I sobbed as I listened. Something was about to change, and I could feel it coming on.

Hours later the aforementioned blow struck. Through tears, I wrote in my journal, “Reasons Why” on repeat in the background.

God, thank You for the freedom this brings.

Freedom, indeed.

Memories #1

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

This post will be the first in a series that I’ll simply call “Memories”. Hey – it’s not my job to write headlines!

December 31, 1993
After a year as the reigning national champions, the Alabama Crimson Tide found themselves relegated to the 1993 Gator Bowl. Some fans would be disappointed by their team being shoved into this “fake” bowl game. Oh, but one twelve year old football fan was delighted by her team’s plight. Though I would continue to refer to the Gator Bowl as “not a real bowl game” for years afterward, on that December night it was the next best thing to heaven.

This little girl lived over five hundred miles from the stadium that her favorite team called home. I had only gained enthusiasm for the sport that my father watched religiously during the previous season. In retrospect, I was fortunate to attend my first college football game so soon after becoming a fan.

It was cold that New Year’s Eve, as it often is to this little Florida gal during the final months of the year. My sisters had passed on the opportunity to go to the game in favor of a lock in at Discovery Kids Zone. I jumped at the opportunity, and I proudly sat beside my father in the upper deck of what is now Alltel Stadium, shivering as I watched Alabama dominate North Carolina.

The scene that night was reminiscint of many to come, though I didn’t know that then. I was surrounded by men, their beers in hand and their voices loud. (The stadiums at both of the colleges I have attended are dry, but that doesn’t save me from being surrounded by drunks.) I knew only enough about the game to understand what was going on, but I loved every moment.

The Crimson Tide stood victorious as the final seconds counted off the clock. Since my daddy had consumed a beer or two, I tried to persuade him to let me drive home. I think he considered it, but he decided that the twelve year old should probably remain in the passenger seat.

The magic of that night lingers in my mind. My first college football game, my first sip of champagne, and the joy that a little girl has from spending time with her daddy are memories not quickly forgotten. I think there’s no better way to enjoy football than shivering alongside someone you love.

Assuming I am able to acquire a ticket, this Saturday will hold the third college football game that my father and I have attended together. It promises to be the best match up yet (Alabama vs. Tennessee should be far more thrilling than Alabama vs. UNC or Florida State vs. Duke!)