Home Is Where My People Are: The Roads That Lead Us to Where We Belong by Sophie Hudson Page B
Authors: Sophie Hudson
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long as everybody else felt like it was a good idea.)
(And if it wouldn’t inconvenience anyone, of course.)
So for that first half of my sophomore year, the recurring theme or motif or whatever you want to call it was ALL THE PEOPLE. We went out to dinner, we took road trips (including one particularly memorable one when Daph and I listened to the Doobie Brothers all the way to New Orleans and back, but I will not share the details of that trip at this juncture since I have a son who can in fact read and I would prefer not to be a stumbling block on his personal path to godly behavior and also holiness), we cheered at football games, we visited each other’s hometowns, we hung out in our dorm rooms, we sang together in our cars, we spied on crushes, and we raided the giant Magic Markers in the Chi O house so we could make each other door signs for birthdays or big dates.
A big ole pile-o-relational-fun is what it was.
But what I couldn’t seem to figure out —wonder though I did —was how to incorporate all the “walking with Jesus” business into my life at college. Oh, I gave it mighty good lip service and might have even crackedopen my Bible a time or three, but to put it in Southern Baptist terms: I was strugglin’. I don’t know that anyone had me on a prayer list or anything like that, but I was standing on the edge of the wilderness.
And something about that wide-open wilderness —even though I knew it was vast and endless and lonely —was strangely appealing to me.
Late October was when the Chi Os usually held officer elections for the next calendar year. And listen. I know that for lots of folks the whole sorority/fraternity thing isn’t worth much more than an eye roll. I get it. In fact, now that I’m a mama, I have approximately zero desire for Alex Hudson to join a fraternity when he gets to college. That being said, my own experience with sorority life was pretty idyllic, and my memories are happy ones.
I’m glad we had this talk.
So when elections rolled around the fall of my sophomore year, I didn’t really have any burning desire to take on a pressure-packed leadership position. Come to think of it, I’ve rarely had a desire to take on a pressure-packed leadership position. I love to be involved with different organizations and causes, but my preferred place for doing that is at a considerable distance from any sort of spotlight and/or attention. Perhaps this is why, when I was in seventh grade and had my first opportunity to run for a student government office, I looked at all the options and thought, Well, assistant secretary seems like it will be just my speed.
In fact, I’ll never forget the night I asked my daddy to sign the permission slip so I could run.
“I think it’s great that you’re running,” he said. “But don’t you want to aim a little higher? Maybe take on a little more responsibility?”
“No, sir,” I replied. “I think I’m good. This will be perfect.”
It was maximum involvement with minimum risk, a pattern that I’m sort of ashamed to tell you has held steady for the better part of thirty years. Keep in mind that from the time I was sixteen until I was about twenty-eight, there was nothing that seemed more appealing to me than working as a background singer for James Taylor. To my way of thinking, it was theperfect job: not too mainstream, not too trendy —but a loyal, established audience that makes for a safe performance environment.
(The fact that I had next to no talent in terms of singing was never a consideration.)
(I felt certain that we’d work out all of those pretend details for my pretend job at my pretend audition.)
Well.
When that year’s Chi O officer elections were over, I was the new corresponding secretary, a role that couldn’t have been more perfect for my behind-the-scenes-please personality. The corresponding secretary had two primary responsibilities —checking the mail and writing thank-you notes
(And if it wouldn’t inconvenience anyone, of course.)
So for that first half of my sophomore year, the recurring theme or motif or whatever you want to call it was ALL THE PEOPLE. We went out to dinner, we took road trips (including one particularly memorable one when Daph and I listened to the Doobie Brothers all the way to New Orleans and back, but I will not share the details of that trip at this juncture since I have a son who can in fact read and I would prefer not to be a stumbling block on his personal path to godly behavior and also holiness), we cheered at football games, we visited each other’s hometowns, we hung out in our dorm rooms, we sang together in our cars, we spied on crushes, and we raided the giant Magic Markers in the Chi O house so we could make each other door signs for birthdays or big dates.
A big ole pile-o-relational-fun is what it was.
But what I couldn’t seem to figure out —wonder though I did —was how to incorporate all the “walking with Jesus” business into my life at college. Oh, I gave it mighty good lip service and might have even crackedopen my Bible a time or three, but to put it in Southern Baptist terms: I was strugglin’. I don’t know that anyone had me on a prayer list or anything like that, but I was standing on the edge of the wilderness.
And something about that wide-open wilderness —even though I knew it was vast and endless and lonely —was strangely appealing to me.
Late October was when the Chi Os usually held officer elections for the next calendar year. And listen. I know that for lots of folks the whole sorority/fraternity thing isn’t worth much more than an eye roll. I get it. In fact, now that I’m a mama, I have approximately zero desire for Alex Hudson to join a fraternity when he gets to college. That being said, my own experience with sorority life was pretty idyllic, and my memories are happy ones.
I’m glad we had this talk.
So when elections rolled around the fall of my sophomore year, I didn’t really have any burning desire to take on a pressure-packed leadership position. Come to think of it, I’ve rarely had a desire to take on a pressure-packed leadership position. I love to be involved with different organizations and causes, but my preferred place for doing that is at a considerable distance from any sort of spotlight and/or attention. Perhaps this is why, when I was in seventh grade and had my first opportunity to run for a student government office, I looked at all the options and thought, Well, assistant secretary seems like it will be just my speed.
In fact, I’ll never forget the night I asked my daddy to sign the permission slip so I could run.
“I think it’s great that you’re running,” he said. “But don’t you want to aim a little higher? Maybe take on a little more responsibility?”
“No, sir,” I replied. “I think I’m good. This will be perfect.”
It was maximum involvement with minimum risk, a pattern that I’m sort of ashamed to tell you has held steady for the better part of thirty years. Keep in mind that from the time I was sixteen until I was about twenty-eight, there was nothing that seemed more appealing to me than working as a background singer for James Taylor. To my way of thinking, it was theperfect job: not too mainstream, not too trendy —but a loyal, established audience that makes for a safe performance environment.
(The fact that I had next to no talent in terms of singing was never a consideration.)
(I felt certain that we’d work out all of those pretend details for my pretend job at my pretend audition.)
Well.
When that year’s Chi O officer elections were over, I was the new corresponding secretary, a role that couldn’t have been more perfect for my behind-the-scenes-please personality. The corresponding secretary had two primary responsibilities —checking the mail and writing thank-you notes
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