We might have signed up for two years
of study, but it was up to us whether we decided to stay or not. This was
determined by our agreement to fulfill our part of the bargain following the
rules campus set for us and our academic success.
Our first semester was a ‘trial
period’. Although Bible School didn’t believe good test scores proved we met their
mission of developing a stronger relationship with Jesus Christ, we were still
encouraged to study hard. We were allowed to fail a maximum of 6 tests. If we
passed this limit as well as failed to comply with several warnings, the
director could arrange for our prompt return. Bible School was not interested in
students who simply wanted to have a two year vacation.
My grades were a test for me. Always
having achieved high scores in my primary education, I learned to deal with
becoming a lower-than-average student. Not once did I ever receive an A.
Perhaps this could have been partly because it was the first time I took
classes in a foreign language.
Although each time I received a B or C, I knew
in my heart that my pride was being placed on trial.
That’s why it didn’t take
me by surprise when we received our easiest test back on ‘Church History’ with
a B. Everyone else had gotten an A! But due to a careless mistake I received a
B! Really God? You couldn’t just give me this one? Just this one! The one
everybody else passed perfectly. It was frustrating. embarrassing, and humiliating. . .are these last two synonymous? Sorry. Sometimes I quickly
put my test away before the person next to me could ask. But like many humans, I
learned to adapt and while I was not proud of my low scores, I no longer cried
as I had in Kindergarten whenever I received anything lower than an A.
It made
me see that there were other things more important than the grade. It was not
about that, but what we did with the words we received each day. It was about
living with kindness, helping my neighbor in the dorm or in the kitchen during
our volunteer hours.
Perhaps I no longer felt getting low
grades was the end of the world, but nearing the end of my first year I had
gotten a few D’s. I remember not wanting to think about how many exams I had
already failed. Having to go back home before graduation worried me some. I kept that in the back of my thoughts, never quite allowing it to consume my immediate attention, but my fear was still there, usually popping up after a test
.
.
Now that I look back I see the hand
of God’s mercy which permitted me to remain. It was sometime when I had failed
exam 3 when Brother Reuben called me into the chapel during our working hours.
I had been worried at first. Did he catch me talking during class? Brother
Reuben was a sort of assistant that helped run the chapel during the classes.
He reviewed the video recordings and helped administer our exams. Students had
told me that he saw everything! So I suppose it was normal to be a
little intimidated by the man. He held a position of authority which we
respected.
One day during the class break, he had asked to see me afterwards during my working hours. I wasn't worried at first. I was rather thinking I would get away from work for a short while. It was as the hour grew nearer that I began to feel nervous, my brows became unconsciously tight knitted with worry as I swept. . . shaking my head, occasionally as if that motion could diffuse the possible outcome. Somewhere in my thoughts I knew that forgetting about the status of my grades would not eliminate the problem, yet I still refused to think about it.
As I entered the chapel from my
afternoon job of sweeping, I wiped my tennis shoes in the doormat while some male students
busily vacuumed the inside and polished the pews. I hesitated a moment before
knocking on his office door that stood at the right side of the entrance. I
heard a few voices within and stood back a moment before he finally stepped out
to speak to me.
“Gracias
Charly, we’ll look at that later” he dismissed the man that worked the cameras
every day. He was even shorter than Brother Reuben whose eye level was only slightly
above my own.
“You
wished to speak to me Bro. Reuben?” All the while I raked my brain to find some
fault for which I assumed he wanted to speak about.
His face was as serious as ever.
Brother Reuben’s face never betrayed anything. He was a quiet man who seemed to
be somewhere around his forties, with no signs of graying. Had I not seen him
around his wife and child on occasion, I wouldn’t have thought him a very
affectionate person.
“Yes,” his thin lips were pressed
tightly, “I wanted to discuss some of the questions of the exam with you.” You
do? I was surprised when he pulled out my test and pointed to some that had
been marked incorrectly. “Are you sure you don’t remember this?” He went on to
give me keywords to clue me into the correct answer. I was shocked at first. Why
are you doing this? I wanted to ask. Why are you helping me? Does he do
this for other students as well? I wanted to ask, but I feared that doing
so might break him out of this spell and he would come to his senses.
On one of these occasions when Bro. Reuben had called me afterwards to see him about one of my tests, I nearly
broached the subject, “Brother Reuben, how many tests have I failed already?” I
was almost afraid of the answer.
“Four” he answered simply. He wasn’t
as blunt as Sister Yoli, but he was a man that was resourceful with his time.
“How many are we allowed to miss?”
The rule book wasn’t exactly fresh on my mind near the end of the year.
“Six, but hna. Zara” he called me by
the Spanish inunciation of my name, “We’d like to prevent that from happening.”
I nodded, not wanting to do anything to change his mind. By all means
continue! I thought. Sometimes I felt some guilt. He’s not exactly
giving me the answers, and I hoped I wasn’t the only one in this position,
but I feared too much to ask because I really didn’t want the tables to turn
and have to go home before my two years were fulfilled.
Brother Reuben amidst his stiffness
saved many of my C’s from becoming failing D’s. I continued to learn constantly
on campus that people were always much more than what they appeared to be,
those you might be afraid of or begin avoiding might become a good friend.
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