apples and narnia

Local apples from a farmer in Southern Indiana.

I started a tradition in my undergrad: to bring a fresh, delicious apple to each of my professors every Autumn. It was a classy way to show my appreciation for their efforts and inspiration and, not to mention, an extra seasonal avenue (along with pumpkin carving and leaf catching) that allowed me to feel like a little girl.

Why should graduate school be any less? The prestigious scholars, with their laptops and professional clothing, do not impede my childlike ways of running around campus with bare feet. Nor do they stand a chance to make me waiver in my elementary traditions.

Once the proper influx of the local harvest came to Louisville, I claimed my bushel of crisp apples and brought them to class to distribute amongst our professors. Our friends made fun of me in jest (emphasis on friends here) and Kellen, being used to my antics, laughed at my behavior with acquiescence.

I think our professors really appreciated the gesture. It was one that connects them with the epochs of teachers that have previously trudged the trenches of the educational realm, giving them them a transient feeling of continuity in their vision. Surely receiving an apple from a student is a tenure rite of passage in the world of academia? It should be. To all the students out there: join me in my reformation of scholarship! Give a teacher an apple for crying out loud.

Along with apple-bequeathal, Kellen and I have had many other adventures here at Southern. We recently ventured into a magical land...called Narnia. Ever heard of it?

On arriving at the Strand London train station, also known as the Honeycutt Student Center, we somehow found ourselves in a dark wardrobe packed full with a bundle of heavy winter coats. A memory arose that was so poignant and so faint, it caused our pounding hearts to wonder. Could we be on our way to...no...those were children's stories! They couldn't possibly be true. Yet, a glimmer of light through the layers of heavy fabric and a whiff of evergreen and snow affirmed our deepest expectations! We were in Narnia!

Aslan must be on the move! 

Southern, in all it's Narnian beauty!

Mr. Tumnus, who rightly asked me if I was a daughter of Eve.

Turkish Delight...which I, of course, denied. Kellen, on the other
hand fell prey to the schemes of the White Witch!

The Stone Table...and some children who obviously do not
realize the significance.

In all actuality, we did not go to the Narnia (for those of you who might have been fooled by my detailed retelling). Southern obviously has no restraints when it comes to their Fall Festival. Everything was Narnian-themed, even down to the meal distribution! And it was all free...free! They even provided a live jousting tournament for entertainment. Needless to say, the evening really was magical.

Magical...that would describe Southern Seminary in general. Comparing it to Narnia is quite appropriate.  There is something in the air here. You can feel it's presence while in class. You can hear it in the voices of the professors. You can see it radiating in the eyes of fellow students. This nameless something, this magical beauty, is the double love of God and man. We have caught a glimpse of it's bestowal in God's grand story--a narrative that began at creation and is still being told in us. This story has caught us, changed us, humbled us and whetted our desire to be a part of it's fierce and lovely realness.

In light of this, we keep on, Kellen, changing oil and tutoring students, and me, pulling shots and making coffee. We keep on reading books and writing papers. We keep on taking Bailey on walks and enjoying nature. We keep on seeking to love our peers and customers and each other. We keep on trying to live in faith, believing that God is good and worthy of our worship. We keep on in thankfulness for life and for the opportunity we have to learn. We keep on with all the other daily practices and fortuitous happenings, all the while growing increasingly more aware that there really is a magical land awaiting us; a land filled with an endless supply of season-ripe apples, that never loose their Autumn-like crunch.

The cobblestone street I bike down on my
way home from work 

The sun beginning to set over Cherokee Park