Olivet Nazarene University - Aurora Yearbook (Bourbonnais, IL)

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You - (l)yu, ye- pron. 2: )NE That ' s who it ' s up to. One. You. When, as they once said in a much earlier book, it comes down to brass tacks, you ' re the tack it comes down to. Decide on a major. Do some- thing with your spare time. Join a club, campaign, preach, teach, sing There are diff erent kinds of gifts, but the same spirit. There are differei kinds of service, but the same Lord-lMfe are different kinds of working, but the same Qod works all of them in all men. 1 Corinthians 12:12 Whoever believes in him is not CQndej i§d but John 3:18 There ' s a choice to e made. I! It - (l)it,- pron. 5: What counts. Decisions were made. v fday of your college career; it vfos no different than any day you have .oa m. the real world. These three sections ore, to a point, ' a nttl pKl- osophical. You have to read the if into everything you see — conjujp up the memories - that ' s the purpose this book will serve in years to Jome. It is what coui|its. Not the pet peeves, not the decimal points. It is your box of big decisions your blood, your I at Oliv( substance of the school. You were it I Qod, its life. Anc to You. jt. You were the it was, andi ai 2 OPENING

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Aii] o] a 1988 Olivet i asKarene University, Kankal ee, Illinois 00901 Texture isn ' t always de- fined by touch. Seventeen hundred textures walked up cold, smooth steps, collected on sun-heated, regimented bricks of the quad. The textures of Olivet: Chapman ' s jagged walls — tweed and wool in winter — textbook pages — a football in the clotting mud — sleek summer tans . . . Those are the tangibles. But in 5, 10, 25 year reun- ions, they probably aren ' t the ones that will stick. We ' ll associate them with people — intangible textures that will resurface and remind us what we felt here. Section one is full of them: A scientist — that girl ' s eyes — someone praying — an artist — her laugh — his shout — rich kid — quiet boy — an athlete — a work- aholic . . . Seventeen hundred feel- ings. Whatever your texture was — it touched many oth- ers. Whether it was grating or caressing — that ' s up to you. Timbre Once the rough bark is cut through, once the case crashes away and the rings are ex- posed — what ' s the core made of? Timber! you shout as the exterior slams down in a mist of sawdust. And fimJbre you find. Not resin. Resonance. The long note that rings in the air. The note of a voice or a sax- ophone that makes you tip your head back and close your eyes. The note of an angelharp inside you when the pastor talks right to your heart. Timbre isn ' t heard — it ' s felt. That ' s what section two is all about. You felt it thousands of times from people around you. The note didn ' t come from the sax — it came through it, and the resonance and depth it contained were part of the player. The preacher didn ' t talk to you, God talked to you, through him. Timbre. Depth. The inside. How long does it ring in the air? How far did the empathy pierce? It ' s up to you. Normally thrash is a verb. I thrash. You thrash. He, she, it thrashes. One day, in some skateboard park or punk rock basement, it be- came a noun. He ' s got thrash. She ' s got thrash. Section three ' s got thrash. It ' s enthusiasm. Expres- sion. Did you ever do anything different? Did you ever peek out of the glass bubble? Whenever it was that you ran too fast, indulged a lit- tle too much, laughed too loud, cried too hard, whenever you were you and that meant not being like anyone else . . . You, she, he, it had thrash. What would you do to get it? Well, that ' s up to . . . right, you get it. S y A A A A A TITLE PAGE 1

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