Going Greek

I’m not someone that is particularly fond of admitting that I was wrong about something, so let’s go ahead and appreciate that this entire post is a revelation within itself. But while we are here I will go ahead and say it, I was wrong. Incredibly wrong. And thank goodness I discovered this before I let one of the greatest opportunities of my lifetime pass me by.

I was raised in a fairly conservative family full of aunts and uncles that for the most part went one of two places, Freed Hardeman or Auburn. My father’s two sisters both attended FHU, a smaller Christian college in Henderson, Tennessee and there were certainly no Greek organizations available to them there. My uncle and aunt on my mother’s side both went to Auburn but both my mother and my aunt were in band so they were immediately thrust into a group and had little time for themselves with the hectic schedule of an Auburn band member. My father transferred from Freed after completing two years there and entered the engineering program at Auburn which also left little time for a social life. Not only that, both of my parents had a wonderful Christian Student Center that they were blessed to be a part of. It was run by a brilliant and Christ focused man and wife that did everything in their power to keep their church functioning like a family. So needless to say, sororities and fraternities were not really things I was exposed to in life. Growing up I basically accepted all cliché and stereotypical assumptions of what “Greek life” really was. My view of sororities was based on the interpretation I developed from Legally Blonde and as far as frats I was under the impression that they were exactly what you saw on any public television show which in a brief summary consisted only of minor criminal acts and drunken evenings.

 When I came to Troy University as a freshman, I was broken. I had just lost my sister and I entered school with blinders on. I wasn’t open to anyone or anything, I was purely trying to survive my grief, and furthermore the idea of calling anyone a “sister” was acutely painful, so I completely ignored all encouragements to Rush and absolutely refused to expose myself to anyone in the Greek community. I am ashamed to say that over the past few years of my life I have developed a life view of intolerance. But not your conventional kind. I have seen a lot of things. I have had a very unique set of life experiences that have separated me from many of my friends. And because of the suffering I have witnessed and the people I have had the opportunity of serving that have stolen my heart, I developed this reverse racism towards the people around me. Throughout my first two years of college I began discriminating against middle to upper class white people. I was almost disgusted by them. I looked around campus at all the people in nice clothes with meal plans and paid for housing and hated them just for having things because of my compassions towards those that didn’t. I became close minded and hardened my heart towards people that had just as much of a soul as anyone else, just because they weren’t suffering outwardly. How awful of me. I had become exactly what I didn’t want to be, just by being more understanding towards one group of people than another. It’s great that I can walk into project housing and not be frightened and it’s awesome that I can speak to a homeless person without turning my nose, but it is just as sinful for me to develop preconceived notions about other children of God on this campus.

This summer God slapped me in the face. And I couldn’t be more grateful. In the spring semester of 2014 I came to the realization that I couldn’t financially afford another summer of mission work and I was devastated. I had also realized that I was a couple of hours behind in my classification as a junior and since graduating late is not an option, I needed to take at least three summer classes. So the decision was made for me to remain in Troy this summer and work as a waitress to save money and take the classes that were required. And let me tell you I could not have been more bitter about it. Not only is Troy downright suffocating in regards to its size, there was no one here and I was in school while my friends were doing wonderful things with their summer and I was a brat about it. I started work at the restaurant with the intentions of making money, not worrying about friends, and going home at the end of the night to continue pouting about how awful my summer was. That’s when a few lovely people entered my life like a whirlwind and turned it upside down. As the summer continued I was exposed to two of the first Greek people I had ever been around and they became my best friends. I was shocked to discover that they were nothing like I had expected them to be, and as I continued to be around them and meet their friends I realized that they were just people. They ordered water with their meals, not pitchers of beer. And we watched movies at their house, not crazy parties. They took me as I was, and they didn’t ask me to change. Throughout the summer my friend continued to encourage me to Rush, but I was still so unsure. I was going to be a junior, who pledges at 21? And what if no one liked me? And what would my parents think? She was more than patient and insisted that I do what was best for me, but that I needed to decide that for myself, not based on anyone else. I came to the conclusion that it has been a long time since I felt at home. I have been at Troy for two years and never found a place that fit. What’s more, it has been a long time since I have done something for myself. And I wanted this. I wanted to feel loved and encouraged by a group of people. I wanted to let my hair down a little and enjoy being a kid while I still had the chance. And most dear to my heart, I wanted sisters. So I did it.

I have always been scared to call anyone a sister. I had a sister. And she was the most perfect and wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Anytime she is forgotten or I feel as though she has been replaced it pains me. No one will be the sister to me that she was. But I can love like she did. I can be the sister she was to each of these ladies that will soon become mine, and when I ache for her I know they will replenish me with the love she can no longer offer. My sister loved big so it will take a small army to assist her. I miss my Bailey, and if she could be here I would choose her over any sister in the world. But I know her, and I know that if this is an opportunity for to feel loved and supported, and if there could be someone to care for me like she used to, she would want that for me.

The other day I was at a house getting ready for semi-formal (a frivolous event I never would have believed I would have been a part of, but alas) and as we were sitting there experimenting with makeup colors and burning our fingers on curling irons, Bailey came up. I don’t remember why or how but I sat there with these girls and felt completely comfortable pouring my heart out about her. And it was so comforting getting to talk about her, and share stories about this conqueror for Christ and have them fall in love with her just as much as everyone else does. And I was so thankful for that. But what shocked me even more was what followed. As we sat there, each girl began sharing their own story of loss. A best friend, a grandfather, a cousin. And this is when God molded my heart. I sat there in stunned realization that all of my assumptions about these women that I had developed over the years, were completely wrong. Just because they were beautiful and took cute pictures and went to fun events and associated themselves with letters, their lives weren’t perfect. They can’t escape that reality of living any more than I could. At the end of the day, life is a challenge for anyone that is a part of it. And no one is exempt from the harshness of pain or struggle. Everyone is battling something, everyone has personal obstacles, and no one’s is bigger or smaller than mine. As I sat there listening to the honesty of their convictions and their desires for their future and the lessons from their heartaches I knew I was where I belonged. So I am sorry. For spending too much time judging what I didn’t know. And thank you. Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for taking me as I am. Thank you for already loving me more than I knew was possible. Thank you for encouraging me to be my best self. Thank you for being willing to be my sister. And most of all, thank you for bringing me home.