Tag: cliques

April 24-26, 1998. My lasting friendships had been captured in that group photo. (#171)

~ Greg Dennison ~ 4 Comments

Although this was only my fourth trip to Muddy Springs for a retreat with Jeromeville Christian Fellowship, the routine was starting to feel familiar.  Meet at the parking lot by the North Residential Area Friday afternoon after I was done with my classes.  Find out who had been assigned to my car.  Head north on Highway 117 until it merges with Highway 9.  Stop at Wendy’s in Bidwell for dinner, then continue ten miles into the foothills to the Muddy Springs Retreat Center.  Once we reached Highway 9, the rest of the drive was very familiar to me, since my family drove that way many times to visit my dad’s relatives in Bidwell.

One thing was different about this retreat, though: it was spring.  I had been to two Fall Conferences here and a winter retreat, but I had never been here in spring.  The hills surrounding the retreat center were green, and more water rushed through the stream running through the canyon compared to my previous three trips here.

A week ago, as I stood around waiting for JCF’s weekly large group meeting to begin, I overheard a group of students who were student leaders with JCF talking about plans for the upcoming retreat.  “I like that we’re going to keep people in the same Bible study together at the retreat,” Tabitha Sasaki said.

“Wait, what?” I asked.

Eddie Baker jumped in to explain.  “For your small group at the retreat, you’re going to be with people from your Bible study.”

“Hmm,” I said.  My first opinion of this arrangement was unfavorable.  These retreats had in the past provided opportunities to meet new people, or at least to get to know people better whom I had not interacted with much at JCF’s weekly gatherings.  But I already knew all the people in my Bible study.  In some ways, JCF operated in ways that perpetuated cliques that I was not a part of.  I heard this would be changing next year, but the current way that Bible studies were organized and handpicked kept those cliques in place.  With only people from my existing Bible study in my small group on the retreat, I would not be in a group with anyone from any of those cliques.

I would never admit this out loud, but I had another reason to want a heterogeneous small group.  Freshmen typically lived on campus and had separate on-campus Bible studies, which met in dorm rooms on campus.  With the people in my small group only coming from my off-campus Bible study, there would be zero chance that my girl crazy self would be in a small group with any of the cute girls from this year’s freshman class, like Brianna Johns or Chelsea Robbins.  Of course, I may find opportunities to connect with people outside of my small group, but the small group provided a natural way to connect with someone new, and now there would be no one new in my group.

 As I heard the music begin, I went to find a seat, and I saw an unexpected trio sitting together: Taylor Santiago, Pete Green, and Noah Snyder.  These three had not been to JCF at all this school year.  For that matter, I could not ever remember having seen Noah at JCF, at least not since I started going sophomore year.  I knew all three of them from our church, Jeromeville Covenant, and even before that, I knew Taylor and Pete from my freshman dorm.  Taylor and Pete had regularly attended JCF their first couple years at the University of Jeromeville, but they had become more involved at J-Cov instead as time went on.  I met Noah through mutual friends shortly before I started going to J-Cov, but Taylor and Noah had gone to the same high school and been best friends since their early teens.

Caroline Pearson, who had also been in our dorm, sat next to Pete; I found out a few months ago that they were dating now.  Interesting how some couples know each other for years before they realize that there is mutual romantic interest, while others, such as Liz Williams and Ramon Quintero, get together almost immediately.  In that freshman dorm, Liz and Ramon were in a serious relationship by the end of our first month; they were together for two years, broke up for about a year, and were now back together.

“Hey, Greg,” Taylor said, reaching his hand out to give me five sideways.  I lightly slapped his hand.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“We had to turn in our money for the retreat next week,” Pete explained.

“You guys are going?  That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Noah said.  “We figured it’s our last year, so we may as well go to one last retreat with JCF.”

“Nice.”

Shortly after that, the worship team began playing.  During the opening song, my mind began to wander back to the thought of the small groups on the retreat being people from the same Bible study.  Whose small group would Taylor, Pete, and Noah be in?  They were not in a Bible study with JCF.  And since my Bible study was so big, big enough to split into three smaller groups every week, would my group be much bigger than the others at the retreat?  And what of Bible studies where few people were able to come on the retreat?  This plan just did not seem ideal, even for reasons that do not involve myself being secretly girl crazy.


The retreat center at Muddy Springs was built around an old building from the early 20th century that was once a resort hotel.  The building fell into disrepair decades later and was purchased by a Christian organization, with the intent to remodel it into a retreat center.  We began the night meeting together in a medium-sized meeting room attached to the hotel building.  Cheryl from the JCF staff team acted out a skit along with a few students which incorporated all of the important announcements for the weekend.

At one point, Cheryl told a student character played by Tabitha Sasaki, “So after this we’re going to meet in small groups.”

“I don’t know who’s in my small group,” Tabitha explained.

“Oh.  Your small group is your small group.  The people from your Bible study back in Jeromeville are your small group for the retreat.”

“Oh!” Tabitha exclaimed enthusiastically as I grumbled to myself at this arrangement.

After the skit, we met in small groups for the first time.  I noticed that both of the logistical problems I had thought of last week had also been considered by whomever assigned the small group.  My very large Bible study had been split into two groups; with each of the two leaders, Joe Fox and Lydia Tyler, taking one group.  I was with Lydia, along with Courtney Kohl, Colin Bowman, and Kendra Burns.  Taylor, Pete, and Noah were also in our small group.  That worked out perfectly.  Someone probably knew that those three guys knew me and Courtney from volunteering with the youth group at J-Cov, so they put them in the same group as me and Courtney.  Smart.

Janet McAllen, half of the couple who was the head staff of JCF, made an announcement as soon as we had all broken into small groups.  “We’re going to do an icebreaker,” she said.  I was unclear on the need for icebreakers since all of us knew the people in our small groups, but whatever.  This could be fun.  Janet continued, “I’m going to say a word, and all of you are going to think of a song with that word in it, and then you’re going to sing a little bit of the song.”  Okay, I thought, slightly less fun.  Although I had been in chorus for part of my time at UJ, the idea of singing unrehearsed with a small group of people was slightly less appealing.  But I would just go with it.

For the first round, the word was “love.”  That was an easy one; every group quickly thought of a song with the word “love.”  After we finished that, Janet said, “Your next word is ‘blue.’” This seemed more difficult.  A song immediately came to mind, and I sat contemplating for about ten seconds whether or not it was too silly and embarrassing to share with my group.  I eventually decided to share.  “‘The Water Buffalo Song’ from VeggieTales,” I said.  I sang, “‘Everybody’s got a baby kangaroo, yours is pink but mine is blue…’”

“That’s great,” said Noah, who was responsible for the fact that I knew that song in the first place.  VeggieTales was a series of computer-animated videos, sold in Christian bookstores on VHS tapes, with a cast of anthropomorphic vegetables acting out stories with morals from the Bible and singing silly songs.  The kids from church loved VeggieTales, and I had borrowed many of those videos from the youth media library.  Noah hosted a five hour Sunday afternoon VeggieTales marathon in the church youth room a few months ago.  While watching all of the videos, I noticed that only about a third of the attendees of this movie marathon were children in the target market of VeggieTales; the rest were high school students and young adults.

“Wait, what is this?” Colin asked, looking confused.  Noah explained VeggieTales to him, and I added the part about the silly songs.  “I’ve never heard of that,” Colin said.  Fortunately, the song was simple enough that he picked it up quickly.

After everyone had had five minutes to choose their song, the small groups took turns singing brief snippets of the songs they chose.  Groups sang “Blue Christmas,” “Behind Blue Eyes” by the Who, and “Counting Blue Cars” by Dishwalla (which surprised me at a Christian retreat because of the slightly blasphemous lyrics) before our turn came.  We all stood up and sang, “‘Everybody’s got a baby kangaroo, yours is pink but mine is blue…”  About half the room laughed and cheered, and the other half looked confused, like Colin had.  Clearly not everyone on this retreat was familiar with VeggieTales, but I smiled at the sight of my group using my silly idea.


The serious part of the retreat focused on the beginning of the Old Testament book of Joshua.  In this book, Moses has recently died, and the time has arrived for Joshua to lead the people of Israel into the Promised Land.  As the guest speaker talked about these verses, I kept thinking how timely this was for my life.  In a little over a month, I would graduate from the University of Jeromeville.  Although I would still be enrolled at UJ next year for the teacher certification program, my life would look considerably different.  I would spend mornings in classrooms somewhere at a school that had not yet been determined.  I was hoping for Jeromeville High; I was familiar with that campus from interning in classrooms there before, and I knew some kids there from church.  But this was unlikely.  The UJ Department of Education typically sent its student teachers to Woodville, Silvey, Nueces, or across the Drawbridge to Capital County, since the highly educated upper middle class families of Jeromeville were demographically atypical for this state.

Late Saturday morning, I sat outside thinking about this as I admired the beauty of the hills across the stream, with puffy white clouds slowly sailing across the blue sky.  I would still have classes on the UJ campus in the afternoons, and I would still have Friday nights free to attend Jeromeville Christian Fellowship, so I would still see my friends around.  But many of my friends were also graduating, so I would not see them.  I would still see my younger friends, and some from my year were not leaving Jeromeville right away.  Taylor, for example, needed one more quarter before he finished his degree, and Eddie would be joining the staff of Jeromeville Christian Fellowship.  But many others, including Liz and Ramon, and Sarah Winters, all of whom I had known since the beginning of freshman year in Building C, were moving on.

Next year would be a transition for me; I would take on some of the responsibilities of a teacher, but I would still be in Jeromeville.  Life after I completed the teacher certification program was far more uncertain.  If all went according to plan, in August of 1999, just sixteen short months away, I would be working full time as a teacher somewhere unknown.  I would have no day-to-day connection to the UJ campus anymore, and it was likely I would not even be living in Jeromeville.  I would certainly be living somewhere else if I took a job more than thirty miles away.

But I had no need to be fearful of the future.  As God’s people prepared to enter the Promised Land thousands of years earlier, Joshua spoke the word of the Lord to them: “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you or forsake you… Be strong and courageous.  Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”  I would grow apart from friends, I may have to leave Jeromeville, but God will still be there.  I could trust God to lead me to a new church and a new group of friends, and maybe a wife and a family of my own someday.

By the time I finished going through the reflection questions that we had all been given, it was time for lunch.  I was one of the first ones in the cafeteria, and when I was about halfway through my meal, Sarah came and sat next to me.  “Hey, Greg,” she said, smiling.  “What’s up?”

“Just thinking,” I replied.  “About how we’re about to graduate, and life is going to look totally different.”

“I know!  I move home the last week of June, and my boyfriend and I are going to start looking at rings.  I feel so grown up.”

“Nice,” I said.  I knew that Sarah had a boyfriend back home, and I had been good friends with her for long enough that I did not think of her as a potential romantic interest.  But it still made me sad to know that she was off the market, another woman whom I would not ever end up with.

“So I was thinking at the group meeting this morning,” Sarah said, “there are seven of us here this weekend who were all in the IHP in Building C as freshmen.  We should all get a picture together before we leave.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“If you see the others, tell them.  I will too.”

“Yeah.  I will.”


In our small group time Saturday night,  I told Taylor and Pete about Sarah’s idea to take a group picture; they were on board.  Caroline came over to join Pete at some point, and she was excited about the picture idea as well.

We had one more study on the first chapter of Joshua Sunday morning.  When our group finished discussing the assigned question, I mentioned my thoughts about the future, how the next few years would look very different.  “This has been a good reminder that God will still be there, no matter what changes,” I said.  “He will show me where he wants me next, and he will be there.”

“I think it’s important to remember, though, that God sometimes gives you choices,” Taylor replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, for example, what if you’re applying for jobs next year, and you get two good offers.  What if God isn’t clearly leading you to one instead of the other?  There isn’t always one clear path that God will lay out for you.  Sometimes God will give you a choice.  And whichever one you choose, he will be there.  Just like the verse said tonight, God will be with you wherever you go.”

“Hmm,” I replied.  “That actually makes sense.  I like that.”

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t pray about the decision when you’re in a situation like that.  Just that sometimes it isn’t so clear cut, and that’s okay.  It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“Yeah.  I get it.”

A couple hours later, after I had packed and loaded the car, and made sure that the rest of my carpool had done the same, I walked around, looking for the others who had been in the Interdisciplinary Honors Program with me as freshmen.  Near the building was a flagpole, flying the United States flag, with a few other countries’ flags around it, to symbolize that the Gospel of Jesus Christ was for all nations.  Taylor, Pete, and Caroline stood near the flagpole at the front of the building.  “Hey, Greg,” Taylor said.  “We thought this would be a good place to take our picture.”

“Sounds good,” I replied.

“We’re still missing Liz, Ramon, and Sarah.”

“There’s Sarah,” Caroline said, pointing at Sarah walking toward us.  “I’ll go find Liz and Ramon.”

Sarah joined us as Caroline walked off to find Liz and Ramon.  Group pictures were a great source of priceless memories, but they sure were a hassle to organize sometimes.  “Did anyone tell Liz and Ramon about the group picture?” I asked.

“Caroline and I did,” Pete replied.

I saw Liz and Ramon walk across the parking lot about a minute later.  I made eye contact and waved them over to us, but by the time they arrived, ready to be photographed, Caroline had not come back yet.

“Who’s gonna take the picture?” Taylor asked.

Eddie and Tabitha walked past a minute later.  “Eddie? Tabitha?” Sarah asked.  “Can you take our picture?  We were going to get a group picture of all of us who came from Building C freshman year.”

“That’s a great idea!” Tabitha said.  “Six of you from Building C, all on this retreat?”  

“Seven,” Pete corrected.  “Caroline went to find Liz and Ramon, but they found us first.”

“There’s Caroline,” Eddie said, waving her over as all of us who brought cameras handed them to Eddie and Tabitha.

“I’m back,” Caroline announced.  “How are we doing this?”  She and Pete stood in front of the flagpole.  Taylor got behind Pete, with Sarah to Pete and Caroline’s left.  I stood behind Taylor and Pete, being significantly taller than each of them, and Ramon stood behind Sarah.  Liz climbed onto the pedestal at the bottom of the flagpole and held the pole with one hand.  Just as Eddie and Tabitha began to take the pictures, Taylor awkwardly tied his arms around Pete’s head, causing both of them to start laughing.  We held our smiles and poses as Eddie and Tabitha took photographs with all of our cameras.

“Perfect,” Taylor said.

“This is going to be a great picture,” Liz mused, smiling.  “All of us still together after four years at Jeromeville.”

“We’re almost done!” Sarah exclaimed.  “We’re graduating soon! We did it!”

“Some of us not as soon as others,” Taylor replied, laughing.

“I need to hurry up and finish this roll of film,” I said.  “I really want to see this picture.”

As I drove home, with the rest of my car napping and the group picture fresh in my mind, I thought back to that February morning, now over four years ago, when I got up early to drive to Jeromeville with Mom and Dad to learn about the Interdisciplinary Honors Program.  At that presentation, a hippie-looking guy named Crunchy had spoken about the lasting friendships he had made as a student in the IHP.  My lasting friendships had been captured in that group photo.  These people had also shown me what it really meant to follow Jesus, and we had lasting memories that would stay with us for decades to come.

Of course, we are not as close now in our 40s as we once were.  Taylor is still a close friend, and we communicate fairly often, mostly because he is active on social media.  Pete and Caroline ended up getting married about two years after we took that group picture.  They live far away now with their two teenage children, but I see them every few years when they visit their friends and family in the western states.  I am occasionally in touch with Liz and Ramon through Facebook comments, but neither of them is on Facebook often.  Sadly, I completely lost touch with Sarah in our early 30s.  By then, she and the guy who would soon be taking her to look at rings were raising a child, and life just got in the way, as it tends to so often.

Life moves on.  Memories fade.  One cannot always return to where one was before.  I realized that in a very real way in 2014 while walking around campus at the Spring Picnic, when I saw that Building C had been torn down.  A new building with a completely different name, appearance, and floor plan was under construction in its place.  But the people and events in these memories have lasting effects in the present and the future, and maybe my memories can become stories that inspire others.

Readers: Do you have anyone whom you’ve been friends with for a very long time? Tell me about them in the comments.

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February 26, 1998.  Learning things about my roommate and the Apostle Paul’s friends, and a hot redhead. (#164)

~ Greg Dennison ~ 3 Comments

I got off the bus in the afternoon on Andrews Road across the street from Jeromeville Covenant Church.  This was the church I attended on Sunday mornings, and I was there Wednesday nights as a volunteer with The Edge, the junior high school youth group, but now, on a Thursday afternoon, I was not headed to church.  I crossed the street and walked past the apartments just north of the church.  At the far end of that apartment complex, I turned, walking across their parking lot.  This apartment complex backed up to another apartment complex on another street, built separately but owned by the same company, with an opening in the fence between the two, three parking places wide.  Metal poles three feet high across this opening prevented cars from passing through, but one could easily walk from one parking lot to the other, as I did now.

This other apartment complex was across the street from my house.  I walked to the street, crossed it, and continued walking to my front door.  My roommate Sean was home; his compact pickup truck was parked in the driveway.  His license plate frame caught my eye: MY OTHER CAR IS A ZAMBONI, it said.  I had seen this on his truck many times, it was not new, and Zamboni machines were just inherently awesome for some reason.  But that day, reading those words brought me to a puzzling realization I had never had before.  I had known Sean for well over two years at this point, and we had both lived in this house for almost six months.  Yet I had never heard him talk about hockey, watch hockey, or perform any activity related to ice hockey in any way.  Why would Sean have a Zamboni license plate frame?  Hockey was not popular in Jeromeville; the nearest professional hockey team played a hundred miles away in San Tomas, whereas basketball, which was played during the same time of year, had a team nearby in Capital City.  Maybe Sean was a hockey fan, but without many hockey fans in Jeromeville, did not talk about it much.  Or maybe someone in Sean’s family liked hockey and put the license plate frame on the truck; I knew nothing about Sean’s family beyond that he had two brothers.

I walked in the house.  Sean was at the dining room table, studying a textbook about birds.  He was majoring in wildlife biology.  “Hey, Greg,” he said.  Pointing to a picture in his book, he continued, “Name that bird.”

I had no idea what kind of bird it was.  “I name it ‘Bob,’” I said.  Sean laughed, then I asked him, “I was just wondering.  What’s the story behind your ‘My Other Car Is A Zamboni’ license plate frame?”

As if it were the most ordinary, mundane fact in the world, Sean explained, “Frank Zamboni was my great-grandfather.  My relatives own the company.”

I stopped what I was doing and stared wide-eyed.  “Wow.  That is the coolest thing ever.”

“I guess,” Sean said.  “What are you up to tonight?”

How did I go all these years not knowing the important fact that my friend was a direct descendant of the inventor of the ice resurfacer?  I suppose that for Sean, though, it was less of a big deal, since he had grown up always knowing this about his family.  “I have Bible study at Joe Fox’s place,” I said, answering his question.

“Is that the group that you were telling me is really big?”

“Yeah.  I think it kind of serves them right for having all these specialized groups for different categories of people, and only one group for people who don’t fit those categories.  It means that JCF will have to acknowledge that there are some issues with how they’re doing small groups.  But Joe and Lydia found a way to make it work, even as big as it is.  I like it.”

“That’s good.”


After talking with Sean, I went to my room to check email and study for a while.  I lost track of time and left for Bible study about ten minutes later than I had wanted to.  I did not have far to go, Joe’s apartment was only about a mile away, but I knew I was getting there later than I wanted to.

I had felt a little frustrated with the way Jeromeville Christian Fellowship did small groups this year.  They always had some groups specifically meeting on campus in freshman dorms; I had no problem with that.  They also had Bible studies specifically for training students for leadership in ministry; these groups were hand-picked by their leaders, and from my perspective on the outside, they formalized and perpetuated cliques within the groups.  Many other students were leading Bible studies for specific purposes: two only for women, but none for men; one for transfer students; and groups for other categories I was not part of.  Joe Fox and Lydia Tyler, both fifth-year students, led the only group without a special focus, and all of the students who did not fit into those cliques or subgroups ended up in this one group.  With over twenty students on an average week, it could hardly be called a small group.

I could tell before I got inside that the living room was full, because I could hear voices from the other side of the front door.  I opened the door without knocking, since I was here every week, and stepped inside.  I waved at everyone who said hi to me, then carefully walked to an open spot on the floor.  With over twenty people attending each week, Joe’s living room got quite crowded, and this week I did not get a spot on the couch or in a chair.  A blond sophomore guy named Colin Bowman sat next to me.  “Hey,” I said.

“What’s up?” Colin asked.

“Not much.  I have a lot of work to catch up on, but I don’t think I’ll get anything more done tonight.  It can wait until the weekend.”

The only other open spot on the floor was all the way on the other side of the room next to Kendra Burns, a junior girl whom I had known for a while.  I would have rather had the other open spot near me, because two minutes after I arrived, an attractive, physically fit girl walked in and sat in the other open spot.  She had dark red hair, and she wore tight jeans and a tight-fitting shirt exposing her midriff.  She started talking to Kendra; apparently they knew each other.  She carried a Bible, and it appeared to be somewhat worn from reading; apparently this other girl was a Christian, not just checking out the group.  She turned her head slightly in my direction, and I looked down so she would not notice I was staring.  That was not exactly appropriate behavior for a Bible study.

Joe got everyone’s attention, and the group got quiet.  “Welcome,” he said.  “Before we start, we have announcements, and we also have a new person.”  Joe looked in the attractive redhead’s direction.

“Hi,” she said.  “I’m Rachael.  Kendra invited me.  We had a class together last quarter.  I used to go to U-Life and First Baptist, but I wanted to try out something new.”

“Welcome, Rachael,” Joe replied.  “Hopefully you enjoy the study.”

Lydia took over speaking next, making announcements about an upcoming spring retreat and a fundraiser for people from JCF who would be on summer mission trips.  Joe got out a guitar, and we sang two worship songs.

“Tonight we’re finally going to finish our study of Romans that we’ve been doing all year,” Joe explained.  “Then we have something else planned for the next two weeks, and when we come back from break, we have another study planned for the spring quarter.  So, tonight we’re reading both chapters 15 and 16.  You’ll do that after you break into your groups.”

Since this Bible study was so big, we had developed a routine of doing announcements and worship together as a large group, then dividing into three smaller groups for the actual Scripture reading and discussion.  If this group had to be so big, this was the best compromise, the best way to deal with it so that everyone got to participate in discussions.  The three groups were not fixed; one of the leaders would split the groups at the spur of the moment depending on where we sat during worship and announcements.  One group usually stayed in the living room, one went in Joe’s room, and one went in Scott’s room.  Scott was never home during our Bible study, because he led a Bible study for freshmen on campus at the same time.

This week, I was assigned to Scott’s room.  I sat on the floor against his bed as the rest of my group walked in: Evan Lundgren, Courtney Kohl, Colin Bowman, Silas Penfield, Anna Lam, and Alyssa Kramer.  Alyssa was Joe’s girlfriend, and she had become a de facto third leader for the group; each week, Lydia took one of the three smaller groups, Joe another, and Alyssa the third.  I was a little disappointed that Rachael and Kendra were not in my group.  Maybe I would get a chance to talk to Rachael afterward.

“So we’re gonna start by reading Romans 15 and 16,” Alyssa announced.  “Just read it to yourselves, and we’ll discuss any impressions you have first before we get to the discussion questions.”  I opened my Bible and began reading, starting in chapter 15.  There was a lot in the chapter, including one verse which had become very familiar to me recently.  Earlier this month, I spent a long weekend at Winter Camp with the kids from church.  The youth pastor always makes a mix tape of Christian music, called the Edge Mix, to give to the kids.  Edge Mix ’98 included audio clips of students from the youth group sharing testimonies, and one girl quoted from Romans 15 in her testimony: “May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

No one had mentioned why we were doing two chapters tonight.  We always had only read one chapter per week in the past, and some of the longer chapters with more theological depth, like chapter 8, we had further split into two weeks.  We were not pressed for time, since we had two weeks left of the quarter to do something else before starting our study for the spring quarter.  My guess was that chapter 16 was not the kind of Scripture that gets taught or preached about often in terms of being practical for Christians living in 1998, so Joe and Lydia expected us to have little to discuss from chapter 16.  Most of the chapter consisted of the Apostle Paul telling the Romans to greet specific people he knew.

A few months ago, I had attended the National Youth Workers’ Convention, and the free gifts for attendees included something called the Serendipity Student Bible, which included discussion questions specifically for youth groups.  I was using this Bible at the time, and the questions for Romans 16 asked what kinds of things Paul pointed out about the specific people mentioned in the chapter, and what this could mean for us.  I noticed this as I read chapter 16.

When I was about halfway through the chapter, Alyssa interrupted, announcing, “You don’t have to read all the names in 16.”  Apparently I was correct that we were not planning on studying this part of the book.  But, in light of what I had recently read in my youth group study Bible, I felt a need to speak up.

“But,” I said, “by studying who Paul wrote to, and what he said about those people, we can learn a lot about what he valued in people.”

“That’s a really good point,” Alyssa replied.  “So maybe go ahead and read 16.”

After a few more minutes, Alyssa asked if any of us had any insights about anything we read.  “Looking at the people Paul greets in chapter 16,” I said, “there’s a recurring theme of helping each other.  ‘Greet Priscilla and Aquila… they risked their lives for me.’  ‘Greet Mary, who worked very hard for you.’  ‘Tryphena and Tryphosa, those women who worked hard in the Lord.’ ‘Persis, another woman who has worked very hard in the Lord.’  Working hard for the Lord and the Church was obviously important to Paul.”

“Yeah,” Courtney added.  “Especially at that time, early in the Church’s history, facing persecution.”

“Good point,” Alyssa said.  “Anyone else?”

“Some of these people from chapter 16 appear in other parts of the Bible,” Evan said.  “Like Priscilla and Aquila, they were in Acts.  Paul met them on his travels.”

“Gaius,” Silas added.  “Gaius is mentioned somewhere else.”

“What’s this ‘I, Tertius, who wrote down this letter?’  Verse 22?” Anna asked.

“What?” Courtney said.  “Tertius?  But Paul wrote this letter.  That’s weird.”

“Tertius was the scribe,” I explained.  I remembered learning about this in Professor Hurt’s New Testament class last year.  “Paul dictated his letters to someone else who wrote them down.  In some of the other letters, at the end, there will be a verse where it says something like, ‘I, Paul, write this in my own hand,’ because the rest of the letter was written by a scribe.”

“Yes,” Alyssa said.  “That’s what I always learned too.”

“Verse 3,” Evan said.  “‘Greet also the church that meets at their house.’ Priscilla and Aquila’s house.  It’s important to remember that churches met in houses in ancient Rome.  They didn’t have church buildings like we do today.”

“Yeah,” Courtney added.  “And later he says something about Gaius’ hospitality.  Hospitality was a big deal to Paul and the early church.”

We continued discussing Romans for a total of about half an hour.  Many more discussions emerged from analyzing Paul’s greetings in chapter 16, and eventually someone brought up some of the verses in chapter 15, the part we were actually expecting to study before I made my suggestion about chapter 16.  At one point, Courtney said, “I love how we spent most of our time on the verses that you said we could skip.”  Everyone laughed.


After our Bible study, we shared prayer requests as a group, then we returned to the living room.  Lydia’s group was there, in the middle of prayers.  Joe’s group had not come back out to the living room yet.  I quietly sat on the couch, next to where Rachael was sitting on the floor, and waited for them to finish praying, praying with them when I could.  When they finished, they looked up and opened their eyes.

“Welcome back, Alyssa’s group,” Lydia said.

Rachael looked up at me and made eye contact.  “Hi,” I said.  “Rachael, was it?”

“Yeah!” she said, smiling.  “What was your name?”

“Greg.”

“Nice to meet you!”  Rachael shook my hand.

“You said you go to University Life?” I asked.

“Yeah.  I wasn’t really clicking with my small group there, so I decided to come with Kendra to her Bible study instead.”

“That works,” I said.  “I’ve been to U-Life a couple times last year, when I was having some issues with JCF.  I know a few people there.”

“I wasn’t there last year.  I just transferred to Jeromeville this year.  I’m a kinesiology major, and the kinesiology department at my other school made some changes that aren’t really the direction I want to go with my studies.”

“Are things going better for you here?”

“Definitely!”

“Where was your other school?”

“Grandvale State.  In Oregon.”

“Really!” I exclaimed, surprised.  “I was there last summer!”

“You were in Grandvale?”

“Yeah, doing the summer research internship with the Grandvale State math department.”

“That’s crazy!  I wonder if we knew any of the same people?  Did you go to a church in Grandvale?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Grandvale Baptist.”

“I went to Valley Community Church.  I don’t know anyone from Grandvale Baptist.  What was it like?”

“I went to the college and career Bible study.  It was okay, but I probably would have taken my time and looked at other churches if I’d been staying in Grandvale for longer.  And I didn’t have a car, so I needed something close by.”

“That makes sense.  But, hey, it was nice meeting you.  I need to get going, I have a midterm tomorrow to study for.”

“Good luck! I’ll see you around!”

“Thanks!”

I stuck around a little longer to make small talk, particularly with people who were not in my discussion group.  Kendra asked me about The Edge and said that she was considering youth ministry.  That would be nice, to have a new leader whom I was already friends with.  I told her that Adam White, the youth pastor at church, would be the best person to contact with questions.

Unfortunately, I never saw Rachael again.  She did not come back to Bible study, and I never saw her on campus.  That seemed to be a recurring theme in my life; I would meet someone that I wanted to get to know better, and I would never see the other person again.

On the way home, the rest of the night, I kept thinking about our extended discussion of Romans 16.  I usually thought of the Apostle Paul as some kind of great Christian leader; after all, he wrote about a third of the New Testament.  But back in his time, before there was a New Testament, he was a guy doing God’s work, and he had friends, brothers and sisters in Christ who were important to him.  Paul’s books in the New Testament were originally written as letters, personal correspondence between him and important people in his life.

I had brothers and sisters in Christ who were important to me too: my Bible study, the rest of my friends from JCF, the other leaders at The Edge, everyone else I knew at church.  Rachael may not have become part of my group of friends, but that was okay.  Wherever life took me in the future, I could always find a community of believers just by looking for a church.

At this point in my life, though, I was hoping that life would not take me very far; I was happy enough as a part of Jeromeville Covenant Church, volunteering as a leader with The Edge, that I was content to stay in Jeromeville for the rest of my life.  There was a time when I never would have expected to feel this way, given the liberal university town politics that dominate Jeromeville, and I knew that life would change once I was no longer a student.  But I was putting down roots in the community, something I never had back home in Plumdale, and Jeromeville was really starting to feel like home.  Of course, life would not turn out the way I had planned, but I had no way of fully understanding all that would happen to me at that time.

Readers: Tell me about someone you met once and never saw again, and why you wished you had met that person again.

If you like what you read, don’t forget to like this post and follow this blog. Also follow Don’t Let The Days Go By on Facebook and Instagram.

January 23, 1998.  An almost perfect Friday. (#161)

~ Greg Dennison ~ 10 Comments

In the winter of 1998, I began every school day with my internship in Mr. Gibson’s class at Jeromeville High School.  I was starting to feel like I was learning more about what not to do when I was a teacher someday.  Jeromeville was a university town, the locals placed a high value on education, and parents often bought their students fancy, expensive graphing calculators for math class.  The predominant model at the time was the Texas Instruments TI-82.  In those days, the Internet was emerging as a mainstream technology, and the kids all knew either how to download games onto their graphing calculators or copy games from their friends’ calculators.  Mr. Gibson’s teaching style was lecture-based and kind of dry, and half the class was tuned out, playing games on their calculators.  That just made me sad.  I thought about telling this to Mr. Gibson, but as a 21-year-old undergraduate intern, I did not feel right questioning a veteran teacher on his teaching style.

 As I was leaving, I passed by Jeromeville High students on their way from first to second period.  I saw a familiar slim brown-haired girl with glasses approaching; she was a senior named Sasha Travis, and she and her family went to my church.  I usually saw her in passing as I was leaving the high school after Mr. Gibson’s class, and I knew her well enough to wave and say hi.

“Hey, Greg!” Sasha exclaimed.  “How are you?”

“Pretty good.  Glad it’s Friday.”

“Me too!  Have a good weekend!”

“Thanks!  You too!”

I went straight to the university campus after I left Jeromeville High, as I always did.  I parked my bike near the Memorial Union and walked inside.  With almost an hour before my next class, I had time for one of my favorite daily rituals: reading the school newspaper, the Daily Colt.  At some point in my childhood, I started reading the local newspaper regularly every day, and I have done that ever since.  Jeromeville has a local newspaper, but my roommates subscribed to the nearby big-city newspaper, the Capital City Record, before I had any input into the issue, so these days I read the Record every morning before I leave the house.  That was how I got most of my news on the major issues of the day.  Then at some point during a break between classes, I would read the Daily Colt to get campus and local Jeromeville news.

I did not always read every story; I skimmed or outright ignored the ones that were less interesting.  I saw a story buried on page five about some plant pathology professor who had won some award, which I was about to skip until I noticed the by-line under the headline: “BY SADIE ROWLAND, COLT CAMPUS WRITER.”  Sadie was my friend, so I always read her articles.  I might see her tonight at Jeromeville Christian Fellowship, and if I told her I read her article, maybe she would like that.  It would give me something to say to her, at least.

After I read Sadie’s article, I found Joseph Tomlinson‘s weekly column. The Daily Colt was published Monday through Friday, and each of the five days of the week featured a different student columnist.  Typically two of them wrote about political issues, one from a liberal perspective and one from a conservative perspective, and the other three just wrote about their lives as students at the University of Jeromeville.  Joseph Tomlinson was in his second year of being the conservative columnist, and his column this week was on Jeromeville’s obsession with “small-town feel.”

The Jeromeville City Council had a distinct anti-corporate bias in those days, which is still the case today.  A running joke among Jeromevillians was that one cannot buy underwear in Jeromeville.  The local leaders believed that large chain department stores did not belong in a small town like Jeromeville.  While I saw the value in supporting small, locally owned businesses, I was hesitant to support government interference in the free market.  Also, this position was built on false pretenses to begin with, because whatever it was once, Jeromeville was not a small town anymore.  Sixty thousand people lived in the city limits, and another eight thousand lived on campus just outside the city limits.  And with no clothing stores in Jeromeville, people had to drive eight miles north to Woodville or twenty miles east to Capital City to shop, putting more pollution in the air.  The chain stores all went to Woodville instead, even though Woodville had only three-fourths the population of Jeromeville.

Recently, the corporate chains won a rare victory in Jeromeville with the opening of Borders Books.  This upset many people, but a bookstore was classy enough that it did not anger Jeromevillians as much as something like Walmart would have.  Joseph Tomlinson pointed out in his column that one of the City Council members owned a bookstore, so he should have recused himself from votes related to Borders because of a conflict of interest.  I agreed.  “Vote no on Small Town Feel,” Tomlinson concluded.  “Small Town Feel violates the American concept of freedom.”  I always do, Mr. Tomlinson.  I always do.


On Friday nights, I attended the large group meetings of Jeromeville Christian Fellowship, back on campus.  When I arrived that night, I found an empty seat and sat down.  A guy with bushy blond hair wearing a collared shirt, slacks, and a flat gray driver cap sat next to me a few minutes later.  I had seen this guy around JCF before; he always stood out to me because he was more well-dressed than the typical university student, and because he wore cool hats.  “Hey,” I said as he sat down.  His name tag said “Jed.”

“Hi,” Jed replied.  “What’s up?”

“Not much.  Just glad it’s the weekend.”

“I know!  What was your name again?”

“Greg,” I said.  Then I pointed to his name tag and asked, “Jed?  I know I’ve seen you around before.”

“Yeah.  Jed.  It’s nice to meet you.” Jed shook my hand.  “What year are you?”

“I’m a senior.  You?”

“Freshman.”

“They’re starting, so we should probably be quiet,” I said in a loud whisper as I heard the worship team start playing. “But It was nice to meet you.”

“You too!” Jed replied.

As I stood and sang along to the music, I turned around and saw that, while I had been talking to Jed, Sadie Rowland had arrived, sitting in the row behind me.  I smiled and waved, and she waved back.

An hour and a half later, after the talk and more worship music, I still had no plans for afterward.  I was about to ask Jed if he was doing anything, but he spoke first.  “I need to get going,” he said.  “I’ll see you next week?”

“Sure,” I replied.  “Have a good weekend!”

I turned around, hoping that Sadie was still sitting behind me; she was.  “Hey,” I said.

“Hi, Greg!  How are you?” Sadie asked.

“Good.  Just been busy with school.  How are you?”

“Same.  I had a paper due today.  I finished it at the last minute.”

“You finished it.  That’s what’s important.”

“Right?”

“Hey.  I saw your article in the Daily Colt today, about that professor who won the award.  It was good.”

“Thanks!” Sadie replied.  “It was interesting researching and writing that story, but I’m hoping to get moved to local politics next year.  That’s really what I want to write.”

“I know.  They need a conservative voice on the Colt, even though they probably don’t want one.”

“Yeah, really.”

“I guess they have Joseph Tomlinson, but he’s just a columnist, not a reporter.”

“Joseph Tomlinson is great!”

“Yes!” I agreed.  “He’s hilarious, and insightful too.  I loved his column today on Small Town Feel.  Jeromeville can be pretty ridiculous.”

“I know!  You’ve been here two years longer than I have, so I’m sure you’ve seen more of the Jeromeville ridiculousness.”

“Definitely.  Like the ‘historic’ muddy alleys where mosquitoes breed, but they won’t pave them because of the neighborhood’s historic character.”

“Wow,” Sadie said, rolling her eyes.

“And you know about the frog tunnel, right?”

“Yeah.  That’s so weird.”

“I know.  One City Councilmember was quoted as saying she wanted to build connections to the frog community.”

“Like the frogs have any idea what’s going on,” Sadie added.  “But, yeah, the media is so biased.  The newspaper back home keeps calling our house trying to get us to subscribe, and my dad is like, ‘Stop calling me.  I don’t want to read your Commie trash.’”

I laughed.  “That’s a good one.  I should try something like that next time someone calls me trying to sell me something.”

“That would be funny.”

“Yeah.  So how was your week?  What else did you do?”

“We had Bible study yesterday.”

“Nice,” I said.  “My Bible study is huge.  We do a few worship songs together, then we split into three groups to do the actual study part.  We come back together for prayer requests at the end.”

“Which one is that?  Who are the leaders?”

“Joe Fox and Lydia Tyler.”

“How big is huge?”

“We average probably between twenty and twenty-five each week.”

“Twenty-five!  That’s too big for a study group like this.  Why is it so big?”

“It’s exactly what I said was going to happen. JCF has moved so much toward groups for specific populations.  You’re in a Kairos group, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Those are handpicked by their leaders, and people like me never get included. And there’s the group for transfer students, and the group for student athletes, and the two groups just for women.  All of us who don’t fit those categories only had one group left to choose from, so that group ended up huge.”

“I don’t think the Kairos ministry is supposed to be about excluding people, but I get what you’re saying,” Sadie observed.

“I’m concerned with the direction JCF is going.  There’s also a group specifically for Filipinos, and I’ve heard someone say that next year they want to make more groups specifically for people from certain cultural backgrounds.  How is that not racist?  Aren’t we supposed to treat each other equally and not be segregated by race?”

“That’s messed up.”

“I know.  Paul said in Galatians that there is no Jew nor Greek, for all are one in Christ Jesus.”

“Exactly!  Maybe you should tell Dave or Janet or one of the leaders your concerns.”

“I have.  Didn’t do any good.”

“That’s too bad.  What are you guys studying?”

I told Sadie that we were going through Romans, and I tried to remember specifically what insights I had that I could share with her.  She told me about her Kairos group and everything that they had learned.  Her group seemed to have the same kind of studies as other groups, but with a specific focus toward preparing student leaders, which was the stated mission of the Kairos ministry.

“You have any exciting plans coming up?” Sadie asked me a bit later.

“Not this weekend.  But in a few weeks, I’m taking the basic skills test I need to get into the teacher training program.  And then I’m going straight from there to meet up with the kids from church at Winter Camp.  I’ll be joining them a day late.”

“Winter Camp sounds fun!  What is this test?”

“It’s required for anyone wanting to be a teacher, or a substitute, or anything like that.  It looks like it’ll be pretty easy.  It’s just meant to show that you have the equivalent of a ninth grade education.”

“Really?  Only ninth grade?”

“Yes.  And a lot of people are complaining that teachers shouldn’t have to take the test.  They say it excludes people who would otherwise be good teachers.”

“How?  How can you be a good teacher without a ninth grade education?”

“I know!  They say it’s racially biased.”

“Of course.  Everything is racially biased these days.”

“If I had kids,” I said, “I wouldn’t care what color skin their teacher had, but I certainly would insist on a teacher who could do ninth grade reading and math.  If you’re a teacher, you need to understand more than just the material you’re teaching.”

“And that’s why you’re gonna be a great teacher.”

“Aww,” I smiled.  “Thank you.”

“We definitely need good teachers.  A lot of my teachers in high school were ready to retire and just there for the paycheck.  And, of course, I had a history teacher who was really liberal.  He and I used to get into arguments all the time.”

“That would have been fun to watch.  I wish I had been in your class to see that.”

Sadie laughed.  “I could have used your support.  I did have one other friend who used to jump into those arguments and take my side.”

“That’s good.  I had a friend kind of like that in history class, but he usually started the argument with our teacher, and I’d join in.  He was kind of annoying, but we had a lot of classes together, and I liked having a conservative friend.”

“Annoying how?”

I told Sadie about Jason Lambert and how he could be kind of loud and argumentative, and also about the time he asked out the girl that I wished I had the guts to ask out.  But I also told her some good things about Jason, like the project we did in Spanish class where I was a bully taking his lunch money.  Jason’s character used a magical growth drink called La Leche de Crecer, at which point we paused the recording and replaced Jason with a six-foot-seven football player, who proceeded to take revenge on my bully character.  Sadie told me about some of her more memorable high school friends, and some of the parties she had gone to with them.  She had a bit more active social life than I did in high school, apparently.

“Hey, did I tell you I’m going to Washington, D.C. for the spring and summer?” Sadie asked after the conversation about high school reached a lull. 

“I don’t think so.  What’s this for?”

“An internship with my Congressman from back home.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah!  I’ve met him a few times.  My dad volunteered for his campaign.”

“That’ll be good experience for you.  When do you leave?”

“April.  I’ll go home for spring break, then stay there for two weeks, then I’ll be gone until the middle of September.  I’m going on planned leave for spring quarter.”

“That’s exciting!  I’ll miss seeing you around spring quarter.”

“I know!  I’ll miss everyone here.  And I’ll miss Outreach Camp.  I had so much fun there this year.”

“I know.  I have to miss Outreach Camp too, because I will have started student teaching by then.  The school where I’m teaching will start earlier than UJ.”

“Do you know where you’ll be student teaching yet?”

“No, but probably not Jeromeville High.  The professor who runs it says the student population in Jeromeville doesn’t reflect what we’ll see in the average teaching position around here.  Jeromeville families tend to be wealthier and more educated.”

“That makes sense,” Sadie observed.

“Greg, Sadie, time to go, you two,” I heard Tabitha Sasaki’s voice call out from across the room.  I looked up, confused.  The room was empty, except for me and Sadie, and Tabitha, who was carrying the last of the worship band’s equipment toward the door.  I looked at my watch.  Sadie and I had been talking for over an hour, long enough for all of the hundred or so others to go home and the staff and student leaders to put everything away and clean up the room.  And I had not noticed any of this.

“I guess we have to go now,” Sadie said.  “I should get home and go to bed anyway.”

“Did you drive here?  Where’d you park?”

“I’m over in the lot by Marks.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said.  I grabbed my Bible, Sadie grabbed hers, and we walked out into the dark but clear night, with no moon and only a few stars visible beyond the streetlights lighting the path we walked.  “You said you just turned in a paper?  Does that mean this will be a relaxing weekend?”

“Unfortunately, no.  I have a midterm Monday.”

“That sucks.  But good luck.”

“Thanks.”

We had arrived at Sadie’s car by that point.  “It was nice talking to you,” I said.

“You too!  I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.”

“Good night, Greg.”

“Good night.”

I walked toward my car, but before I unlocked my car, I watched Sadie drive off.  I got in the car and began the trip home a minute later.

If I could live my university years again, knowing what I know now about life as an adult, I would take more chances.  I would not have wasted this opportunity, getting thoroughly lost in conversation with a cute girl, and walking her to her car, only to watch her drive off without attempting to make some kind of future plans.  I did not know exactly what to do; I was always just trying to be a good Christian and be friends first and not rush into dating.  But this did not work for me, because I did not know what to do once I was friends with a girl.  As a student, I was surrounded by others in more or less the same stage of life as me.  I did not come to realize until my thirties that life would never be like that again.  As I write this in my mid-forties, I have grown apart from many of my friends, and I have found it difficult to meet people and  make new friends.  If I had been able to see the future on that winter day in 1998, if I had known the directions that mine and Sadie’s lives would take, I would have done everything imaginable not to let her just drive away that night.  Things might not have worked out between us, but at least I would have known that I tried my best.

Readers: Tell me in the comments about a night you wish could have ended differently.

I updated the Dramatis Personae. Some of the entries were badly out of date. And Sadie didn’t even have an entry; she was just listed, with no last name, under “Others from JCF.” If anyone is looking for hints of what will happen in the rest of Year 4, it is noteworthy that two characters who were just briefly introduced in this episode now have their own entries already…

If you like what you read, don’t forget to like this post and follow this blog. Also follow Don’t Let The Days Go By on Facebook and Instagram.

November 14, 1997.  Kind of brilliant, but really weird. (#153)

~ Greg Dennison ~ 6 Comments

“I’ll see you tonight at JCF?” Sarah Winters asked as we left our math class in Younger Hall and crossed the street toward the Quad.

“Yeah,” I replied.  “Have a great day!”  I watched Sarah walk toward the Memorial Union as I walked diagonally in the other direction, crossing the Quad from northeast to southwest.  It was a sunny but cool November Friday morning, and many of the trees on campus were in the process of shedding their leaves.  Beyond the Quad, walking past the library and across Davis Drive, I noticed piles of leaves accumulating along the edges of walkways.  I continued south beyond Evans Hall, where I would go later tonight for Jeromeville Christian Fellowship; apparently Sarah would be there too.  I walked past the law school building to the University of Jeromeville Arboretum, a park-like public garden of trees and plants from around the world planted along a mile and a half of dry creek bed that had been converted into a long, skinny lake.  I walked past some succulents, their fleshy spiked leaves radiating from the ground, to a bridge a few feet wide connecting the north and south banks.  I stayed on the north side of the waterway and continued walking west on the path to the next bench, about fifty feet past the bridge, and sat, overlooking the waterway and a tall oak tree of the type that grew naturally here in the western United States.

Last year, I attended a convention in Urbana, Illinois, hosted by the parent organization of Jeromeville Christian Fellowship.  The convention was for university students and young adults to learn about missions and opportunities to serve Jesus around the world.  I was a newly practicing Christian at the time, many of my friends were doing these kinds of projects during the summer, and I wanted to learn more about what was out there.  Every attendee received a Bible that included in the back a plan to read through the Bible in a year, with a few chapters to read each day from three different parts in the Bible.  Next to each day’s readings were a checkmark.  Yesterday I had checked off August 8; I knew that I was a few months behind, and I had stopped trying to finish in a year.  I would just get through the entire Bible in as long as it took.

I read the verses for August 9 and prayed about what I read as I looked up at the oak tree.  Coming to this bench to read the Bible between classes had become my routine on school days for several months.  I had often heard talks and sermons about the importance of spending time with God first thing in the morning, but this routine seemed to work better for me.

On Fridays, I only had my two math classes.  I worked part time as a tutor that quarter, and I had one group that met on Fridays, in the afternoon after my other class.  After I finished reading, I headed back toward the Quad and the Memorial Union.  I planned to look for a table in the MU where I could sit and do homework until my other class started.  I had math to do, and it was the kind of assignment that did not require my full concentration, so I could work on it and not get distracted inside a busy student union.  Maybe I would even find friends to sit with, I thought.

As I looked around the tables, I did in fact find friends to sit with.  I saw Todd Chevallier, Autumn Davies, Leah Eckert, and John Harvey from JCF talking to Cheryl Munn, one of the paid staff for JCF.  They had pushed two tables together, and there appeared to be room for me to join them.  As I approached, Autumn smiled and waved.  Cheryl, who was sitting with her back to me, turned to her left, waving her arm toward me, holding her palm out at arm’s length, and said, “Out.”

What did I do?  I thought.  Did I accidentally say something inappropriate that had made me a pariah within JCF?  Was this another one of the cliques that had formed within JCF, doing some kind of exclusive Bible study that was only open by invitation?  Maybe no one was mad at me or trying to exclude me; maybe someone was just sharing something sensitive and did not want to share with people beyond a close circle of friends.  “Sorry,” I said, starting to back away.  Maybe I would not be sitting with friends this morning after all.

“Greg,” Cheryl said, motioning toward the table.  “Come sit!”

“You just told me not to,” I said, confused.

“Huh?  I was just telling Leah that she was on that side of the table, with her back to the wall, and she could see out.”  Cheryl made the same sweep of her arm, gesturing in my direction toward the rest of the room where others sat and a continuous stream of people walked by.

I stood for a second, puzzled, then laughed.  “Oh!” I exclaimed.  “I didn’t hear any of that.  I just saw you put your arm up, and all I heard you say was, ‘Out!’  I thought you were telling me to get out.”

“No, no!” Cheryl said.  Autumn laughed.  “Please, sit down!”  Relieved that I had done nothing wrong, I sat in an empty seat on the end of the table.  Cheryl and Todd sat on my left,  Autumn and Leah sat on my right, and John was facing me on the other end. “How’s your morning going?” Cheryl asked.

“Good.  Only two classes today.  Then I have a tutoring group this afternoon.”

“How’s tutoring going?  You like it?”

“Yeah.  It’s good experience, now that I know I want to be a teacher.  I’m going to do another internship in a classroom at Jeromeville High winter quarter.  I did that last spring, and I really liked it.”

“Did you guys hear Jeromeville is getting an In-N-Out Burger?” Todd asked excitedly.

“No!” Autumn exclaimed.

“Is that place good?” Leah asked.  “I’ve never heard of it.”

“I used to live in California,” Todd explained.  “It’s huge there.  It’s so good.”

“There’s one now in Gabilan, near where I grew up,” I said.  “My parents went there and said it wasn’t all that good.”

“That’s weird,” Todd replied.  “Everyone loves In-N-Out.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime.  I love burgers.”

“Hey, are you going to JCF tonight?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Romeo + Juliet is playing at 199 Stone tonight.  We’re probably gonna get some people together to go.  You wanna come?”

“Sure.  Is that the new Romeo and Juliet movie that came out not too long ago?”

“Yeah.  With Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes.”

“Okay,” I said.  Those actors’ names did not mean anything to me, I did not follow movies closely, but I was always looking for opportunities to hang out with friends, especially those that did not require a lot of work on my part to plan.

“Isn’t Leonardo DiCaprio in that Titanic movie that’s coming out soon?” Autumn asked.

“Yeah,” Todd replied.  “That one’s gonna be good too.  I heard they built a replica of the actual Titanic for the movie, just to sink it.”

“Wow,” I said.


I was running a little late when I got to Jeromeville Christian Fellowship that night, since I made spaghetti for dinner and spilled it all over myself, necessitating a change of clothes.  The worship team was already playing when I arrived, and the room was mostly full.  Maybe the spilling of the spaghetti had been divine intervention, I thought, because as I walked into the room, I found myself looking directly at the back of Carrie Valentine’s head.  She sat a few rows down, one seat in from the aisle, with an empty seat next to her.  I walked over to her, pointed to the empty seat, and nervously asked, “Is anyone sitting there?”  Hopefully she understood what I was saying over the music.

“Go ahead!” Carrie replied, smiling.  I sat next to her.  As we sang along, then listened to announcements and a talk delivered by Cheryl, I realized the great irony of this situation.  I was sitting next to a cute girl.  This would provide an opportunity for a conversation afterward.  But I could not make plans with her, because I already had plans tonight, to go to the movie with Todd and Autumn and all of them.  Go figure.  Nevertheless, after the ending song, I asked Carrie how her week was going.

“Good,” she said.  “I just had a midterm today.  I don’t think I did very well.”

“Maybe you’ll surprise yourself,” I said.  “I’ve been trying to get ahead on reading and studying, because I’m gonna miss class Thursday and Friday next week.”

“Why’s that?”

“Some of us from Jeromeville Covenant are taking a road trip to San Diego, for the National Youth Workers’ Convention.”

“That sounds like fun!”

“It will be.  Apparently a lot of big-name speakers will be there.  And a lot of Christian bands play live there.”

“Like who?”

“DC Talk.  Audio Adrenaline.  Five Iron Frenzy.  The OC Supertones.  I don’t remember who else.”

“Wow!” Carrie said.  “San Diego is nice!  Have you been there before?”

“I haven’t.  I’ve only been as far south as Disneyland.  So this will be a new experience for me.”

“Have fun!  I’m jealous.”

“Thanks.  I’m excited!”

“How is that going, working with the youth group at church?  You work with junior high kids?”

“Yeah.  It’s a lot of fun.  Over the last few weeks, I did an unofficial project, not an actual church activity, where I made a movie based on some characters I created several years ago.  I got a lot of kids from the church to be in the movie.  And I filmed some of it at church, like we used the youth room for a school dance scene.”

“That sounds like so much fun!  How did the movie turn out?”

“Pretty good.  A little unprofessional looking in some spots, but it was fun.  We had a watch party after youth group this week.  Not a whole lot of people stuck around, but it was fun to watch the movie on the big projector screen in the youth room.”

“Nice!  I’ve never done anything like that.  My sister and I used to make home movies sometimes when we were kids, but nothing as complex as what it sounds like yours was.”

“That sounds like fun too,” I said.  I smiled, looking into Carrie’s big brown eyes, desperately trying to think of something to say to keep this conversation going.  I wondered if Todd would be okay with me inviting her along to see Romeo + Juliet?  “What are you doing tonight?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Carrie replied.  “I heard some people were going to see Romeo + Juliet, but I don’t know if I want to go.”

Perfect, I thought.  Carrie knew about the movie without me having to be awkward.  “I’m going,” I said.  “I think you should too.”

“I’ll wait and see how I feel later.  I need to go talk to some people from my Bible study before they leave.  But maybe I’ll see you at the movie tonight?”

“Yeah.  I’ll talk to you soon.”


William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet, spelled with a plus sign but pronounced “Romeo and Juliet” like the play it was based on, was the movie that made actor Leonardo DiCaprio a household name.  I did not know much about the movie, except that I vaguely remembered hearing about its existence last year.  The lecture hall at 199 Stone Hall showed second-run movies on weekends, and this was often a destination for people hanging out after Jeromeville Christian Fellowship on Friday nights.

Carrie did end up coming to the movie.  A group of eight of us walked down Davis Drive from Evans Hall to Stone Hall, the next building to the west.  When we left, I was in the middle of telling Autumn about the Dog Crap and Vince movie that I made with the kids from church.  Autumn and I were near the back of the group, and Carrie was closer to the front.  As we walked into the theater, I could not position myself next to Carrie without looking conspicuous and awkward.  When I sat down, Todd was to my left, then Autumn, then three more people between Autumn and Carrie.  The aisle was on my right.  Carrie was here, but I was not sitting next to her.

When I was a freshman, movies at 199 Stone would be preceded by classic cartoons, an experience normally associated with past generations of moviegoers.  This tradition had fallen away at some point since then; tonight the screen showed a silent slideshow of advertisements before the movie started.  The lights darkened, I saw the name of the movie studio appear on the screen, but I became confused when a television with a news broadcast showed up on the screen.  Was the movie starting?  Was this the movie?  Surely this television was not part of the movie, since Shakespeare’s play was set in the sixteenth century.

The reporter began talking about the Montagues and Capulets.  Those were Romeo and Juliet’s respective families, so this was definitely the movie, but why did Verona look like a city in a gangsta-rap music video?  What were these police cars and helicopters?  I quickly realized that what I was seeing was not going to be a faithful reproduction of Shakespeare’s work.  Instead, the story had been adapted to a modern urban setting, with the Montagues and Capulets rival crime families.  As the movie continued, I noticed that all of the characters still spoke their actual lines, unchanged, from the Shakespeare play.

It was kind of brilliant, but it was really weird.

As the movie continued, I noticed more and more creative interpretations of Shakespeare’s words for a modern-day context.  The police chief was named Prince, for example, and it took me a while to realize that he filled the role of the actual Prince of Verona as written by Shakespeare.  The characters fought with models of guns named after the blade weapons used by Shakespeare’s original characters.  Even with these changes, though, it still seemed odd to me that these gangbangers spoke in Shakespearean vocabulary and iambic pentameter.

When the movie ended, as the credits played, I stood and stretched.  “That was weird,” I said disdainfully.

“That was so good!” Todd exclaimed.

“It was weird!” I repeated, louder.

“You didn’t like it?”

“It just seemed really unnatural having modern characters use Shakespeare’s language.”

“That’s what makes it so good!”

“I don’t know.  I guess it just wasn’t for me.  Thanks for inviting me, though.”

“Any time.”

As we walked out toward the parking lot, many of the others talked about how much they loved the movie, and I remained silent.  I tuned out the conversation, so I did not find out what Carrie thought of the movie.  I did not want to say any more bad things about the movie, in case Carrie loved it as much as Todd did.  I may have already ruined any chance I had with Carrie by not liking the movie, and I did not want to open my mouth again and make things worse.

I never watched that movie again, although now, with a quarter-century of hindsight, I would not rule out giving it another chance if the opportunity arose.  Maybe I would enjoy it more knowing from the start that the movie was a combination of Shakespeare’s words and a modern-day setting, and not having my thoughts darkened by the frustration of not getting to sit next to Carrie.

Why was it so difficult to ask a girl out?  Why was this process so difficult for me to understand?  Romeo and Juliet had no such problems.  Romeo crashes a party because he wants to bang some other chick who he knows will be there, he and Juliet see each other, he goes to the balcony, and boom, they were in love that night and married the next day.  What was wrong with me that love never dropped into my lap like that?  Of course, as a direct result of all of this, Romeo and Juliet both end up dead after a few days.  Maybe it was for the best that my life did not turn out like Romeo’s life; this story was, after all, a tragedy.

Readers: Was there ever a movie that all your friends liked but you didn’t? Tell me about it in the comments.

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February 24-28, 1997.  Cambria’s anthropology paper, and Bible study begins falling apart. (#122)

~ Greg Dennison ~ 16 Comments

For the last few weeks, I had been setting my alarm for 5:30 in the morning.  I kept hearing from my Christian friends about the importance of starting every day in Scripture, so I had been trying to do that.  Shawn and I shared the largest bedroom in this apartment, and Shawn woke up just as early to travel across the Drawbridge to Laguna Ciervo for student teaching, so I was not waking him up by doing this.  I wondered, however, how effective my Scripture reading really was, considering that I spent much of my extra time being miserable about having gotten so little sleep and nodding off while I tried to pray.

I decided to try something else today.  I did not wake up quite as early, and I packed my Bible in my backpack and brought it to school with me.  After my first class, I had an hour free, the perfect time to spend with God.  I also had the perfect place in mind.

The University of Jeromeville Arboretum extended for a mile and a half along the south end of campus, following a dry creek bed that was now functionally a long, narrow lake.  On its banks were planted trees and plants from around the world, a long, narrow strip of nature right on campus.  I walked directly south from my class in Wellington Hall, past Shelley Library, past Evans Hall where Jeromeville Christian Fellowship met, past the administrative offices in Marks Hall, and past the law school building, which backed up to the Arboretum.  I turned right and walked westward along the path on the north bank of the creek.  A large oak tree stood to the left with a cluster of succulents on the right, and the water tower loomed about two hundred feet away.  I continued walking a little ways and found a bench on the side of the path, in front of some kind of large bush, overlooking majestic oaks on the other side of the path. I sat down and opened my Bible.

In December, I traveled to a conference held by the parent organization of Jeromeville Christian Fellowship. All attendees received a Bible that included a plan to read the Bible in a year, a few chapters from different sections each day.  Today was February 24, but I was quite a bit behind at this point; the last day I had read was February 12.  I read the passages from February 13 next; I was not trying to catch up anymore.  I was beginning to accept the fact that I would not finish in a year, and that was okay.

After I read, I prayed for a while.  I thanked God for this beautiful place to sit on campus, with birds chirping, squirrels running up and down trees, and ducks swimming by.  I prayed that I would stay calm and focused in studying for upcoming midterms.  I prayed for the urban missions project that my friend Taylor Santiago would be part of this spring and summer.  I prayed that I would know the career that God was leading me to.  I prayed for anything and anyone else I could think of, including Chloe, my Bible study co-leader who had recently stepped down from that position without sharing why.


The rest of that day was uneventful in a good way.  I had been home for about half an hour that afternoon, sitting at my desk working on math, when I heard the doorbell ring.  I was expecting a visitor, but it always made me nervous having someone enter my private home and see how I lived.  I had gotten used to the idea of sharing my home with roommates since the four of us moved to this apartment in September, but it still did not feel ideal.

I walked down the stairs to answer the door, but Brian was already downstairs; he got there first.  “Hey, Cambria,” he said.

“Is Greg here?” Cambria asked.

“I’m here,” I said, walking down the stairs.

“What are you guys up to today?” Brian asked.

“I’m interviewing Greg for a paper I’m writing,” Cambria explained.  “You ready, Greg?”

“Sure,” I replied.

Cambria Hawley was a freshman; I knew her from JCF.  She appeared to have mixed European and Asian heritage.  She was of average height, with brown hair and an athletic build from having played water polo in high school.  Cambria was named after a beach town in central California; her parents had vacationed there before she was born, and they liked the town’s name well enough to use it for their daughter.  I do not remember if I knew the story behind Cambria’s name yet at the time she came to our apartment.

Last week at JCF, Cambria had asked me if she could interview me for a paper she had to write in an anthropology class.  “I need to interview someone who experienced a change in their culture or belief system,” she had told me.  “Like someone who moved to another country, or someone who practices a different religion than they grew up with, or something like that.  I remember that you said you grew up Catholic, so I think you would have an interesting perspective on this.”  I had told Cambria that, yes, she could interview me, and this was why she had come over now, three days later.  She sat at the dining room table and took out a notebook and a pen from her backpack; I sat next to her.

“How old were you when you left Catholicism?” Cambria asked.  “And what exactly would you call yourself now?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.  “‘Christian’ seems a little vague, since technically Catholics follow Christ too.  ‘Evangelical Christian,’ maybe?”

“That’ll work.”

“It was a gradual process at age 19 and 20.”

“So this was recent?  I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.  Last school year.  I lived alone, and I wanted to stay in touch with my friends from freshman year now that we weren’t all in the dorm together.  They were all involved with JCF, so I started going to JCF large group with them.”

“That was fall quarter?  Of last year?”

“Yeah.  1995.  As I started making friends at JCF, I started hearing a lot about having a relationship with Jesus.  And something about my JCF friends just seemed different, in a good way.  One day during winter quarter, I was having a rough day, I saw Janet McAllen on campus, and we just got to talking.  She started asking me if I knew Jesus.  I wasn’t sure what she meant, so she explained to me how sin created separation between God and humans, and Jesus died to pay the price for that sin so that we could have eternal life and a relationship with him.”

“So it was mostly the influence of friends, more so than family or a pastor?”

“Yeah.”  From the way she asked that, I wondered if she was connecting my answer to something specific that she had learned in class, such as a list of ways that people may be influenced to leave their belief systems.  “Well, the McAllens are campus ministry leaders, that’s kind of like pastors in a way, but they’re friends too,” I added.

“Were you part of a Catholic church before?  What happened when you left?”

“Yes.  I went to Mass at the Newman Center.  And I didn’t leave right away,” I explained.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t feel like I had to.  Catholics believe in Jesus too, and the things I was learning at JCF helped me understand the Catholic Mass better, how all the rituals have their roots in deep worship experiences.”

“Interesting.  So why did you leave?  You go to Jeromeville Covenant now, right?”

“I started seeing more and more that the Catholic students didn’t really know Jesus, and many of them didn’t want to.  To them, Catholicism was just part of their culture; they weren’t really serious about living out their beliefs.  And the people in charge at the Newman Center had some questionable interpretations of what they claimed to believe.  I was in a place where I needed to learn more about the Bible from people who were actually living it out.  And just like with JCF, I had a lot of friends who went to J-Cov, so I started going to church with them.”

“And when was this?”

“October.”

“Just this last October?  Wow, that really was recent.”

“Yeah.”

“How is being a Christian different from being Catholic?” Cambria asked.

“There is much more of an emphasis on my personal relationship with Jesus, on really knowing Jesus personally.  And there is less of an emphasis on rituals, saying the right things at Mass, going to Reconciliation, stuff like that.”

“Reconciliation?”

“It’s also called ‘confession.’  You talk to the priest about ways you have sinned and what good things you can do instead.  Evangelical Christians focus more on telling God your sins yourself, in your personal prayer time.”

Cambria wrote some notes, then proceeded to ask me more questions, including asking about my family and friends’ responses to my newfound Christianity, and about changes in my everyday life that came about as a result of this.  After about half an hour of talking and answering questions, she told me that she had enough to write her paper.  “Thanks for letting me interview you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.  “I hope that helped.”

“What are you up to this week?” she asked.

“Just the usual.  It’s gonna be another busy week of school and work.  I have The Edge Wednesday and Bible study Thursday.”  I chose not to tell her that tomorrow I was going to University Life, another Christian group on campus run by a different church.  I had been feeling disillusioned with JCF at times, and I had been checking out that other group.

“What’s The Edge?”

“The junior high youth group at J-Cov.  I met some kids from there after church one week.  And Taylor Santiago is going away for the spring and summer to do a mission trip, so he asked me if I would be interested in taking his spot on the youth staff.”

“That sounds so cool!  I would love to be a youth leader!”

“It’s been a lot of fun so far.  I’ve only been there a couple weeks.”

“Whose Bible study are you in?  Is this a JCF group?”

“Yeah.  Evan Lundgren is the leader.”  I started to say that Chloe had been the co-leader, but I thought her recent decision might not be something to share with the world. I just said, “He had a co-leader, but she quit last week.”

“Quit?  Really?”

“Yeah.  I don’t know what was going on.  Evan said she wouldn’t be part of the group anymore, and that she had some decisions to make.  From what he said, it makes me think that she isn’t a Christian anymore..”

“Oh my gosh,”  Cambria said, sounding concerned.  “It sounds like there’s gotta be something else going on with this girl.”

“Yeah.  But it wasn’t my place to pry.  We were down to just five people last week.  Me, Evan, Jonathan Li, Jill Nguyen, and Amy Kilpatrick.  And I’m hearing that they want to keep expanding the Kairos ministry next year, and add other small groups that are specifically for certain kinds of people.  I’m not in any of the cliques that get picked for the Kairos ministry, and I don’t fit any of those categories, so I don’t know if there will be a Bible study for me next year.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a group next year,” Cambria said.  “They have to have one for everyone.  I’m gonna be in a Kairos group, but I know there will be other groups.”

“No offense, but why do they have to handpick future leaders like that and have separate groups for them?  It just feels exclusionary.”

“Hmm,” Cambria said.  “I had never thought of it like that.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m just frustrated with the way this year’s group is falling apart.”

“Five people in a small group doesn’t have to be a bad thing.  You can have a more involved discussion.”

“That’s true.  I could probably step up and be more involved in the discussion, too.”

“There you go.  It’ll be a good group for the rest of the year.”


Evan and his roommate Jonathan hosted our Bible study at their apartment fall quarter, but in January Evan said that their other roommate needed the house for something on Thursdays, so they would not be able to host anymore.  I volunteered my apartment, after checking with my roommates to make sure it was okay.

On the Thursday night after Cambria interviewed me, I put my studying aside and went downstairs with my Bible after I heard Evan and Jonathan knock on the door.  While the three of us made small talk about how classes were going, Jill arrived and joined our conversation.  A few minutes after that, Evan said, “We can get started now.  It’s time, and I think it’s just going to be the four of us tonight.”

“Amy isn’t coming?” I asked.

“No,” Evan said.  “Do you know Glen Marshall?”

“Yeah.  Kinda.”

“Amy went on a date tonight with Glen.”

“Hmm,” I replied.  Since being involved with JCF and Jeromeville Covenant Church, I had heard multiple talks and lessons warning against becoming romantically involved with non-Christians.  Glen’s housemates all went to JCF, and I had heard them repeatedly mention that Glen was not a Christian, particularly whenever the lesson at JCF or church involved sharing the message of the Gospel with friends.  Why was a Christian girl like Amy interested in this Glen guy?  And why do these rules, which seemed to make it even harder for me to find a girlfriend, not apply to others?  Of course, I knew that I did not want a non-Christian girlfriend in the first place, but it still bothered me that people were not following the rules.

We had begun a study of 1 Corinthians in January, at the beginning of the quarter, and it appeared likely that it would take us the entire year to finish.  During the study, my eyes drifted ahead on the page to a part of the book that we had not studied yet, where Paul wrote, “Now for the matters you wrote about: It is good for a man not to marry.”  It seemed like my Christian friends often made jokes about this verse, and the gift of singleness, but many of them ended up in relationships, so they obviously did not take it literally at face value.  But it was hard not to feel like God had forcibly thrust the gift of singleness upon me, and upon few to no others.


Jeromeville Christian Fellowship met the next night, and afterward I asked Cambria how her paper turned out.  “I think I did well,” she said.  “I wrote about how you went from a more ritual-based belief system to one based on an individual relationship.”

“Yes,” I said.  “That sounds right.”

“And you went from a complex belief system to a simple one.”

“Hmm,” I replied.  Something about the way she said that surprised me.  I wondered if “complex” and “simple” in this case had specific meanings in that field of study, because I had never really thought of evangelical Christianity as being any less “complex” than Catholicism.  But maybe she was right.  Evangelical Chrisitanity offered a simple plan of salvation: just believe that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior.  Catholicism had hoops to jump through and sacraments to perform, or at the very least a much stronger emphasis on these than evangelical Christianity.

But if Christianity was so simple, why did I feel like there were so many rules to follow?  Why did some people get picked to be in Kairos groups and others did not?  Why did I have to get over the head with messages about how being single is a gift from God, and how Christians should only be in relationships with other Christians, only to see Amy skip Bible study to go on a date with a non-Christian?  Something about this did not seem simple to me.  From what I heard, Amy and Glen did end up in a serious long-term relationship.  I do not know if Glen ever found Jesus.

And if it were actually true that Chloe had turned her back on Christianity, what would happen to her?  Could one who was saved by Jesus Christ be lost?  I had heard that Christians interpreted the Bible differently on that topic.  Regardless of one’s position, it was entirely possible that Chloe was really good at following the rules to give the appearance of being a good Christian, but had never had her heart completely transformed in the first place.  Only God knew what Chloe really believed in her heart.  I prayed that night that she would find her way back to Jesus.

I spent all weekend thinking about what I really believed.  I did not feel like I had an unusually strong or close relationship with God, but knowing that a Bible study leader like Chloe could just walk away from Jesus made me wonder if my faith was strong enough.  Was I a good enough Christian?  Did it mean anything that I often got left out of the cliques at JCF?

I knew that Christianity was not a religion of following rules.  But I was seeing more and more that many Christians acted like it was.  They also acted judgmentally toward those who did not follow the exact same rules as themselves. I recognized that I was judgmental sometimes as well, such as how I disapproved in my mind of Amy’s date with Glen.  It was difficult to discern sometimes which rules were God’s actual commands and which were cultural.

I do not know what happened to Chloe; I did not see much of her after she stopped attending JCF.  I hope she found her way back to Jesus somehow.  While I still had a lot of unanswered questions about myself, I knew that all I had to do was keep seeking the answers in prayer and Scripture.  God’s Word would never steer me wrong

Author’s note: Have you ever made a major change in your cultural or religious beliefs? Tell me about it in the comments.

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