Bethel University - Spire Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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Dad had already gone to work. Mother helped me squeeze the last tennis racket and clean box of underwear into a car already bulging at the windows. As I turned the corner, I saw her standing in thedriveway alone. A door had been silently closed behind me. As my ’67 Oldsmobilc thundered onto Bethel’s campus, no one ran to meet me. Considering the gross tonnage I had transported to college with me, it was no surprise. Those first few days were so lonely. I was put in a New Dorm suite with all upperclassmen transfers. Being the only freshman proved to be a mixed blessing. Words previously unimportant to me, such as ‘snuggy’ and ‘swirly’ suddenly became existentially authentic experiences. Yet that year was so warm, so fresh, so naive that 1 shall never forget it. Moving to the Old Campus the next year somehow symbolized the transition that was occuring in my life. The days of making gelatin in the girls’ lavatories seemed to fade as I was confronted with the grim spector of choosing a major. Wc painted our room a blaze yellow. It was so bright, we wore sunglasses to get to sleep. Wc were still a little crazy; but adulthood, like a midnight fungus was gradually making its way into our lives. (Use of the first person plural is intentional, referring to an equally unbalanced roommate—now a member of the faculty.) Junior year was one of frentic activity and involvement. Issues seemed so vital, policies so apocolyptic and change such a life or death matter. But with “age” comes melancholy. When my roomates graduated that year, I am afraid I did as well. Last fall as my ’67 Olds thundered onto campus I looked for a nervous and lonely freshman boy standing in front of New' Dorm. When I stopped to ask where he had gone, no one knew. It seems he had gone on. ROBERT MOELLER When I first came to Bethel as a sophomore, I came with a determination to grow in my personal relationship with God. However, as I became increasingly involved in academics, in extra-curricular activities, and in an off-campus evangelization ministry, I began to abbreviate my periods of solitude with the Lord. In spite of setting aside less time for “practicing the presence of God,” my spiritual life seemed to progress at least adequately; nothing was in dischord. However, the summer before my senior year, a crisis shook the foundations of my faith. Although Christ gave me the strength to weather this crisis, I came to school the following September aware that my communion with God had deteriorated over the last year. I began to realize that no class, no chapel service, no ministry—in spite of their value—could ever serve as a substutute for my time alone with God. As one Christian scholar says: “Show me a man or woman that consistently spends time alone with God and I will show you a man or woman whom God will use to transform the world. I leave Bethel desiring that each of us will be aware of the importance of consistent fellowship with Jesus Christ, and therefore be able to echo the prophet Jeremiah in saying, “Thv words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart; for I am called by thy name, O Lord, God of hosts.” DAVID KIRBY

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Never before have I been so tied to or affected by a place and the people that have lived, worked, grown, learned and hurt within it. Looking back, I’m flooded with memories of days when the things I was learning were so exciting that I could hardly keep silent, of chats with friends sprawled on dorm floors amidst popcorn and cocoa, of days in choir when I felt like a member of God’s angel chorus. But times like these cannot erase the hurl and pain of the very hard moments: countless nights of reading pages and pages of history, writing papers, struggling to stay awake after three hours of sleep the night before, being angry at having to study longer than others to receive the same grade, jealous of the time they could spend with friends, times of not understanding relationships with people, of feeling I was never quite doing my best, of praying that God would end it all because I just could not take any more. Yet, before I came to Bethel, I asked God to teach me what I needed to learn about being his child. So I should not have been surprised at being faced by pressures and problems, for it was through them that I came—in pure exhaustion— to Jesus, knowing full well that I could not live one iota of a day without dependence on Him for strength, guidance and wisdom. God could not have picked a better place for me to begin learning such things. Although I am quite willing to move on, Bethel will always be very special to me. EARLEEN PETERSEN Bethel: What does it mean to me? I am thankful for the opportunity to have studied here. As a freshman, I was not mature enough academically, emotionally and spiritually to have gone to a school where I would have been totally on my own. Bethel was a good place to grow and become independent. In that respect I am profoundly grateful to have had professors who worked with me and friends who cared enough to listen to my thoughts, hopes and dreams as I struggled to become a whole person. And yet, there have also been countless frustations with Bethel. Bethel College is not perfect and neither is anyone who works or studies here. I become frustrated with those who feel it is a piece of heaven. Bethel could be more effective if it could get away from the image of being an isolated warm cocoon for Christians. Christian colleges fill a definite need and Bethel has affected my life tremendously. But 1 do think that Bethel fosters a dangerous dependency on itself as an institution. As a senior, I see Bethel’s greatest asset in the professors. Many of them could be making twice the amount of money at a state university, but because of their dedication to the Lord and their concern for people, they arc at Bethel to help us become mature Christians and thinkers. Their effect on my life is beyond value. While I am thankful for the opportunity of having attended Bethel, I am also looking forward to graduation and new experiences. ESTHER SPERRY

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The threshold tells me “cross,” and still 1 stand; “Another moment, please. I’ve only just arrived, and come so fast.” If 1 had known the path would be so swift— faster than my steps, it seemed, esealator-style— I might have walked more closely with my friends, or raised my eyes more often, lent a hand. I might have made the minutes count. But now another passageway begins, and there’s so much of me that I must leave behind the door; Time always takes his due. But it’s a fair exchange, 1 think; Now for then and begin for end. I smile, and step across, and turn the bend. MARTHA BARKER