Despite all the advice given me to the contrary, I submitted only one college application. I had made up my mind; I was going to attend Anderson University, a small Christian college in Indiana. Acquaintances from church teased me, suggesting that I only wanted to go there because Sandi Patti had attended there. In reality, that fact rarely crossed my mind. My interest in AU was spawned by the performance of a group of students at my church during the summer when I was taking voice lessons from my choir director. They were just a few years older than I was, and they were taking God's message all over the country. If being a student at AU could offer me that opportunity, then that was what I wanted to do.
During the summer of 1989, just before the beginning of my senior year, my family travelled to Anderson and met briefly with some staff and faculty. During those meetings, I discovered the music business degree program. How exciting! I could be in class learning to do more of what I already loved: writing songs, creating instrumental and choral arrangements, etc. I arranged to visit the school again during the fall so that I could find out what college life was like.
I returned to Anderson in September and spent a weekend with a friend who was a freshman. I slept on the floor in her dorm room, ate in the cafeteria with her, and attended a couple of classes. I tagged along to impromptu gatherings in other girls' dorm rooms and was welcomed with open arms. This was the kind of college experience I wanted.
In January, 1990, my acceptance letter finally came. Orientation would be held in April and August. My father and I made plans to attend the one in April, which conveniently conflicted with the senior prom for which I had no date.
My parents planned a creative graduation party for me. I had few friends who were my own age. They invited as many of the students from my original resource room group as they could contact as well as one of my first teachers. Some friends from church, a couple of other friends who attended different schools, and some neighbors also attended. Everyone signed his/her name in puffy paint on a huge card so that I could read it. Cake was eaten and gifts given, and I began to anticipate the changes that would take place that fall.
The summer following my senior year was a difficult one. I had not learned some of the vital life skills I would need when I went away to college. I refused to go away to a rehabilitation center--I wanted to spend my summer relaxing, and I was more than a bit embarrassed about the fact that I was learning things my sister had been doing since she was ten years old. How humiliating to be coached on the proper way to hold eating utensils and cut meat at the age of 18! I would almost rather have hid in a hole than done it. I didn't want strangers teaching me. I knew that I needed to learn the skills, but I lashed out emotionally at authority figures who tried to teach me. If learning new skills was going to be so stressful, I needed to do it in the comfort of my own home and from people who could allow me to have my emotional tantrums and wouldn't laugh at the silly reward system I devised to motivate myself to learn. Big girls shouldn't need charts with stars on them; but I did.
Ironically, I did not find learning stressful when it occurred informally or when my teacher was a friend. One friend who was several years older patiently answered my questions about her techniques, encouraging me to try new skills and letting me know that she had felt the same feelings.
I learned to allow myself the freedom to experiment with cooking and cleaning methods, and by doing this I was able to discover what worked for me and discard what did not. As I gained more experience, I experimented with new recipes as well.
Over time, I also learned to communicate with my parents about my needs and to set up times when teaching would take place so that I could prepare myself emotionally. I also developed ways to help them understand how I learned and what information was most helpful to me.
Finally, the big day came. My parents packed the car full of boxes and suitcases, and we all headed for Anderson. The dorms were not open yet, so we stayed with my great-grandmother for a week.
During that week, Dad learned to be an orientation and mobility coach. He enlarged a campus map on a poster board and traced all of the sidewalks and buildings with puffy paint. I carried the map with me during the first few weeks as I learned my way around campus, first with Dad's help and then on my own.
I was excited during the first few weeks. I felt many of the same feelings that I had felt when I attended summer camp. I eagerly reached out to meet new people, and I sat on the edge of my seat in class.
My euphoria began to vanish as the semester wore on. Despite my efforts to reach out, my worst fears were coming true. I was seen as a novelty more often than not, and students often perceived me as dependent if I accepted help or walked to class with a group. I began to rebel against the perception, walking to class alone and often eating in my room in order to avoid the cafeteria, where I needed the most help. For the first time, I sought out a counselor, knowing that I needed help to cope with my loneliness and depression.
In the spring of my freshman year, I moved into a private room. I longed for the companionship which I perceived other students had with their roommates. During this time God blessed me with a friend who later became my roommate. She and her boyfriend faithfully included me in many activities, ate with me in the cafeteria, and encouraged me and prayed with me when I felt most alone.
In the summer of 1991, I went to a school in New Jersey to learn to work with a dog guide. I returned home with a black Labrador retriever, Elli. Elli was not only a good guide; she was also a stable presence during the turbulent years to come.
My struggle for social acceptance would continue to cause problems throughout my college career, eventually leading me into unhealthy dating relationships and an unhealthy marriage. Confronting this aspect of my life would prove to be my greatest task both spiritually and emotionally.
Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry.
The tempter came to him and said, "If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread."
Jesus answered, "It is written: `Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.'" (Matthew 4:1-4)
God created humans to be social, to have fellowship with each other and with Him. Fellowship is a natural emotional need just as food is a natural physical need. Jesus did not deny his hunger--he couldn't. And I could not deny my need for fellowship with other people. I needed to face the pain of my loneliness and the reality of the temptations it presented me: the temptation to settle for something less than God's will in my relationships; the temptation to give selfishly, hoping that if I gave enough someone would give back; the temptation to accept sexual advances from people with whom God forbade sexual activity; the temptation to become bitter and forsake assembling with others for worship because they did not recognize my need for fellowship; the temptation to expect others to see my need without my communicating it... The list is very long, and on many counts I failed to live as I would have lived if I had depended on Christ to meet my need for companionship by leading me to the people with whom God meant for me to have fellowship.
No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it. (1 Corinthians 10:13)
God is gracious and merciful, and He does not cast us aside when we stray. He calls us back to Himself, and He is faithful and just to forgive. In the spring of 1998, I moved back into my parents' home and helped them prepare for a cross-country move. Leaving the house I had lived in since the age of seven was difficult; for the house was like a rock for me, a place to go home to when nothing else was stable.
Yet the move was a very positive step in many ways. I had much time for thinking and confronting my emotional and spiritual baggage, and I found a therapist who could offer a program to help me learn some basic skills for coping with my emotions and communicating with other people. I began to learn that accepting my need for growth did not mean that I was the only person who needed to grow--things are very rarely so black and white. Accepting my need to grow was the first step in a very freeing process.
Jesus replied, "I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. Now a slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. (John 8:34-36)
Free indeed... Free to love, to experience joy in spite of trials, to have needs and hopes and dreams, to have weaknesses, to feel pain, to heal, to mature into the person God is creating me to be! Where I once walked with a heavy heart, I can walk with confidence in Christ as my brother and God as my Father.
This chapter is excerpted from the e-book, Growing Strong. The full text is available from Sarah Jane's for $5.95.
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