Year in and year out, commencement draws a flood of visitors to PLNU’s campus. But what actually goes into preparing the campus for May 5?
According to Mark Pitts, vice provost for academic administration, a lot.
“You could make the case that planning for commencement begins the week after the previous commencement,” said Pitts, who has overseen two ceremonies at PLNU as well as ceremonies at Northwestern Nazarene University and Africa Nazarene University. “Each year, the PLNU Commencement Coordinating Council meets for breakfast the week after commencement to talk about what went well and what we could do to improve the next commencement.”
The calendar of events is prepared in the fall, and work begins in January on the commencement program. The preparation brings together many different strands of campus life.
PLNU President Bob Brower chooses who will speak. The Office of Church Relations helps choose graduates and parents to offer prayers.
The bands and choirs begin rehearsing around spring break for their performances during the ceremony. The Office of Strengths and Vocation helps usher guests to the Greek Amphitheatre.
The Office of Records works with students to make sure they have met all graduation requirements. Public Safety works on directing traffic and preparing security, and Physical Plant works on landscaping and preparing the Greek. They paint the Greek and erect additional bleachers that are used to seat the large crowd.
“It makes for a busy spring,” Pitts said, “but it’s an honor to coordinate such an important community event.”
According to Mark Galbraith, director of Public Safety, although the increased volume of visitors to campus creates some difficulties related to crowd control, it does not create any additional safety issues. In three years of directing security, he has not encountered any major security concerns, although he said paramedics are stationed on campus for potential emergencies.
For this year’s ceremony, people can expect a special section for students who have received academic honors (Latin honors, Phi Delta Lambda, Honors scholars and highest GPA), as well as a section honoring the five retiring PLNU faculty, said Pitts.
This year, PLNU Provost Kerry Fulcher will speak at the graduate convocation, and Robert Smith, PLNU professor of Scripture and preaching, will give the opening address at the undergraduate convocations.
“My hope for graduating students is that they take their desire to experience vital Christianity and carry it into the work world,” Smith said. “So much of the wisdom of the world comes from people with no commitment to our sovereign God. This way of thinking can often cross the line between gaining knowledge and rejecting Christ. I pray that those students leaving this institution have obtained the ability to discern where that line is.”
There will be three commencement convocations: graduate students walk at 10 a.m.; Arts and Sciences, School of Education and School of Nursing walk at 1 p.m.; and Social Sciences and Professional Studies walk at 4 p.m. Pitts said he is expecting good weather and more than 8,000 guests across the three convocations.

Tomorrow, April 24th, marks the day of the Senior graphic design portfolio review, which will display creative typography, illustration, logos, web design, branding and more.
Exhibiting their work from the past four years, participating students will have their portfolios reviewed by graphic design professionals.
Sponsored by the Offices of Strengths & Vocation, the event will host guest speaker Noreen Morioka, a partner of AdamsMorioka, a design and communications firm in Beverly Hills and New York.
“The portfolio review is going to be a great event where designers from across Southern California will come to review and critique our portfolio books,” said Daniel Heffernan. “I look forward to hearing fresh feedback from people who are shaping the design community.”
Alongside the professionals, PLNU students are invited to see the work of friends and classmates.
“We all worked extremely hard on all of our projects, and it will be nice to show our friends,” said Kristina Micotti via e-mail. “We have been designing our portfolios since last semester, and I cannot wait to be done and have a social life again and be away from a computer!”
The event will be held at in the foyer of Crill Performance Hall at 5:30 p.m.

A number of YouTube videos have surfaced lately regarding “stuff” people say (well, kind of). Having played soccer my entire life, I was particularly entertained by a video a high school soccer team made called “Stuff Soccer Girls Say.” After showing it to a few friends who don’t play soccer, I realized that most of the world probably wouldn’t find it humorous. The jokes centered on wardrobe choices, conditioning, team dynamics and other issues that pertain to soccer girls. I’ve watched it countless times now and find it funnier every time.
One part in particular, however, caught my attention. One of the girls was on the phone and repeated the same line throughout the video: “I can’t. I have soccer.” With regret, I realized how many times I’ve said that line in my life.
We athletes tend to let other parts of our lives slip through the cracks for the sake of our sports. We spend hours upon hours training, conditioning and honing our skills. Our weekends are filled with games and tournaments, and all our energy and focus is spent during practice. Whatever we have left we put toward schoolwork so that we can maintain the GPA that allows us to keep playing our sport.
Unfortunately, relationships seem to be put on the backburner. I can’t speak for all athletes, but I can certainly speak for myself. My first three years of college I did little to invest in relationships outside of my soccer team. I was either too tired or had too much homework or had to work ahead for a road trip that weekend.
My priorities were out of line.
The Lord began to challenge me in this area last semester. I realized that I only had one year left of college, and I didn’t want to waste it. As I began to fall in love with Jesus in a way like never before, I realized how important it was to love people the way he loved them. Ten years from now when I look back on my years of college, the relationships I made are going to be the only things worth remembering.
I am incredibly grateful that Christ challenged me with how I use my time when I still had one year left of college. I realized that the more time I dedicate to him and to loving his people, the more rejuvenated I am and the more energy I have to focus toward all aspects of my life. For the first time in my life, school and even soccer took the backseat.
And not once have I regretted my decision. Yes, the occasional bad grade or reprimand from a professor can sting, but when I step back and change my perspective from my own narrow one to God’s all-encompassing one, I realize that in the grand scheme of things it simply doesn’t matter.
I am not my own. I am Christ’s to use as he wishes, and his greatest command to us is to love him and to love others. My prayer is that others can learn this lesson earlier than I did.

by alexa mangrum
a&e editor

For PLNU alumnus Will Shine (’10), a music ministries major, music has always provided the perfect medium to translate to others how vocation and faith may interact.
A San Diego County native, Shine grew up with two parents who fostered a love of music into him at an early age.
However, it was Shine’s education at PLNU that truly offered him the opportunity to transform his approach to music into an outlet for ministry as well. Before embarking on a brief musical tour in Scotland, Shine stopped in San Diego from his present location of Kaneohe, Hawaii, last March.
Now the creative arts and worship director at Windward Nazarene Church and Academy, Shine discussed with The Point Weekly his background and beliefs about how music can communicate Christ.

Point Weekly: At what age did music enter your childhood?
Will Shine: I started playing as a kid. My dad was a professional guitar player for most of his life, and music was always all around me. I was an only child and my parents’ solution to that was when I was eight they bought me a drum set, and I was recruited by my dad as a local touring member for his classic rock and roll cover band, and I’ve been playing ever since.

PW: You graduated with a degree in music ministry, a pretty unique major. What influenced your decision to pursue this degree, and to choose PLNU for college?
WS: My senior year of high school, I got really into drums and was a year away from pursuing a music school, but I didn’t read a note of music. So a buddy of mine was going [to PLNU] and he was like, “You’ve gotta apply.”
I went into my admissions interview [at PLNU] thinking I was passionate about history. My dad was [also] a teacher, and I was like, “This is a good gig.” The admissions counselor saw I was plugged into my church [during high school] and that I had been developing a youth program there, and said, “You know we have a music ministry degree,” and that was the rest of the story. I was like, “Sign me up!” Why not take advantage of the opportunities?
I declared a major that I had no background in really, other than that I jammed with people. “Oh I like doing that! That sounds good…” That was the rest of the story. I didn’t read a note of music when I came to college.

PW: What does a music ministries major involve?
WS: Within the music department we work through what church music is and how to be an effective church musician in a church setting. From big Episcopal churches to rock-style churches, we looked at a wide smattering of style choices and asked, “What are our roles as artists? As musicians, as people who claim to be touched with this capacity?”
The program is very insightful because there are so many ideas about what it means to be a music minister and get paid, or to do it and to not get paid and there’s every kind of gray in the midst of that.

PW: What is your present position and how did your college experience integrate with your chosen vocation?
WS: I graduated and got two job offers from churches, one in Huntington Beach, Calif. that was a comfy part-time that let me live in San Diego, as I was in a band at the time. But in the seventh month of my employment there I got a strange call from some of the friends I had made in Hawaii at a junior and senior high school camp, saying that their music director had to go because his wife was in the military and was being re-stationed. I had toured the camp while at PLNU with the summer ministry teams, and knew the camp director, PLNU alumnus Will Campbell. I was like, “I have a nice job; that’s really flattering, but why would I leave it?” [But,] I ended up there. It just felt right.

PW: How has your role there expanded your approach to music and ministry?
WS: Hawaii is on a very different end of the spectrum in terms of how church is done and what the process involved is. I don’t know what a correct vision of the church is but from what I understand, the church is an opportunity for people who know and love Jesus to go out and serve their community. In Hawaii I discovered I am called to be a good musician, but I am called to be just a loving person. So, that’s what the philosophy behind what I do is.
Do I need an electric guitar to do that? No! But is it awesome if that [guitar] can be a vehicle through which I meet people where they are? Yeah! But, if my neighbor calls me up and needs me to go scrub their toilet [instead], I better go scrub their toilet…and if they want me to sing them a song, coincidentally I’m good at doing that, or so I’ve been told.

There was a point last semester when I didn’t think I would survive being a PLNU student, editor-in-chief of The Point Weekly and running cross-country. I wasn’t getting much sleep, I was cranking out homework at the last minute, workouts were rough and any semblance of a social life was nonexistent. Lots of people asked me, “Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you spending 20-25 hours a week working on The Point Weekly when you have so much going on?” I felt like I didn’t have a very good answer.
But now, looking back on this year as it comes to a close, I think I do. Why have I worked on the PW editorial staff? I’ve worked for that final product, being able to physically hold something in my hands each week that I helped put together. I’ve worked for the flush of excitement and pride I feel when I see someone browsing through The Point Weekly in Bobby B’s, the library or on Caf Lane. I’ve worked because I want to make sure our school newspaper adequately informs, entertains, enlightens and challenges our campus community and holds those in leadership positions accountable. I’ve worked because I love the group of people with whom I’ve shared this responsibility, friends I probably wouldn’t have gotten to know as well if it weren’t for the paper. I’ve worked because I love journalism, and I love seeing the impact it can have on our Point Loma bubble. I’ve worked for you, our faithful readers. And it was worth it.
Your Editor-in-Chief,
Lainie Bird

Abby Hamblin
News Editor

So this is the part where I’m supposed to talk about all the great memories I had with my fellow Pointers (like embracing mutual obsessions with Beyonce) or dote on some of the more weighty stories (there were some doozies) or even express what it was like to give up so many hours a week, including Saturday and Sunday nights into the wee hours of the morning, ultimately leading to the demise of my (pretend) social life.
But my year working for The Point Weekly wasn’t really about any of those things. It was about you. And I hope you felt that way. Amid all the tense investigations and controversial storytelling, you, the Point Weekly faithful, were the nucleus of it all. Each week we critiqued every word of the paper and brainstormed ways to improve and better serve PLNU readers. I was honored to join a tradition of excellent journalism, and I hope this year lived up to it.
To me, The Point Weekly is a place for wrestling with contentious issues, reporting the truth—even if it isn’t what is popular—and telling the compelling stories of our very own students, staff and faculty. If at least one story from the black and white opened your eyes, dug at your emotions or provoked thoughtful conversation, then that’s all that matters.
Abby Hamblin, News Editor

Cory Saul
Features Editor

Sometimes I felt like an informant. For the last two semesters, I held a job in Student Development and an editorial position on The Point Weekly. Yes, I admit, I may have once or twice snuck away from my desk with pivotal information to make a quick call to a reporter.
As a journalist on the third floor of Nicholson Commons, I’d see or hear things and wonder, “Do these people know what I do?”
Of course they did; I personally delivered their stack of newspapers every Monday. Nevertheless, while my fellow Point Weekly staff members were complaining about not being able to get interviews, I was sitting at my desk, talking to Jeff Bolster about Ke$ha. A pack of RDs once asked if I’d pause my work so we could watch the latest SNL digital short. Instead of returning them, Caye Smith once gave me a pair of jeans that didn’t fit her son.
Every day I arrive at work, I am faced with a beautiful, humbling and assuring fact: Our school is run by wonderful people. The longer I am a member of that office, the more I realize how little we are hiding. Sorry, but there are no grand conspiracies, no decisions that are made without heavy consideration and no villain rubbing his hands together, saying, “Good… good.”
And to be honest, that’s what The Point Weekly has been trying to tell you all along.
Cory Saul, Features Editor

Alexa Mangrum
A&E Editor

My time as A&E editor has been the textbook definition of “interesting.” Before “interesting” gets read as a “never want to see a copy of The Point Weekly again” kind of “interesting,” let me explain. . . .
In less abstract adjectives, my time at The Point Weekly brought opportunities that have challenged and changed me in ways that a year ago were wholly unforeseen.
Throughout the year, A&E was formed on a key word: possibility. Art, like faith, always offers the capacity for conversation. Both challenge our awareness of who we are, where we’ve come from and where we wish to go. Both deepen our relationships, internally and externally.
Foremost, working for the paper has given me a crash course in the vital role story plays in our daily lives. We are people of story; whether printed or said aloud, the story continues far beyond what any page can contain. Working for the paper has shown there are spheres of our story that probably will never make it to print or become immortalized in an InDesign layout.
Yet A&E has centrally shown to me that the community formed around our collective words is vibrant, unique and creative—a description that applies and extends to the PLNU community, and is in no way limited to the stories told in The Point Weekly.
The Point Weekly has become a family to me that will live on in stories—lots, lots, lots and lots of stories, that are probably suited to another page, so for now? Back to “interesting.”
All things Point Weekly, from weekly Monday meetings to de-stressing Sprinkles style with the fellow editors, every contributor, staff member, reader (and of course our amazing adviser Dean Nelson) has helped to make my PW experience weirdly wonderful and entirely unforgettable (aka “interesting,” in the best way imaginable).
Alexa Mangrum, A&E Editor

Hallie Steiner
Copy Editor

I wake up on Mondays feeling like P. Diddy. I’ve had very little sleep, I don’t know what happened the night before and I need to grab a paper as soon as possible to see if I’ve messed up.
While usually my mistakes are only noticeable to the AP-savvy elite, I will never live down the time I let the headline “a pychologists advice column” go to print. Note the two major errors and the sound of face meeting palm.
But my experience with the newspaper has not been all shame– I did get to rub elbows with the Loma famous, take part in ethical debates and learn more about our campus than I ever thought I would. Plus I had the added perk of getting to hang out with Dean Nelson on a weekly basis. And I’d like to take this opportunity, now that the year is over and my position of power is no longer at stake, to come out: I was the inspiration for most of the Awkward Sea Lions. This was not a choice; it’s just the way I am. I thank you all for providing me with your support and community.

In all seriousness, this has been one of my favorite years. The Point Weekly staff has some of the most hardworking, silliest and downright most lovely people I have ever met. I don’t know what my Sundays will be like without them (probably, sadly, lacking in “Parent Trap” references). I am so grateful for each person who came in week after week to make this publication. It was amazing to feel like such an integral part of this school, like the voice of the people.
Being part of the newspaper has shown me what a great place I’ve lived in for the past four years. I know it seems like we try to push the boundaries, but it’s only because we love this place so freaking much. We love asking the hard questions, we love the people and we love giving voices to as many as possible.
Point Loma PLNU, for everything you’ve given me, thank you.
Also, P. Diddy seems like a lovely gentleman and I apologize for my first paragraph.
Hallie Steiner, Copy Editor

John Castillo
Layout Editor

Remember a year ago, when I was not planning on doing The Point Weekly again? Yet here I am, not a student, and still doing it? Filled with Hallies and Annies, Wellness Centers that are not so well, surfboards, baseballs and financial need brochures, which obviously didn’t help me, this year has left its mark in the Loma history books.
Once again, I was a part of history. I have left my mark. This is my final piece here at PLNU. There’s no way I can afford to come back. This is how I’m leaving PLNU: reflecting on my hopes for the future. I want to teach graphic design. I want to inspire as I’ve been inspired. For those who have time here, I encourage you to study abroad; it’s the most life-changing experience. Make the most out of the time you have at PLNU. Be yourself. Make lasting relationships. Get involved. I did. So even though I don’t get to walk down the Greek in cap and gown, and even though I won’t get a 30-cent tassel to hang from my rear-view mirror, I can leave knowing that I left my mark.
“I’m on the in!” (Despite never finishing my degree at PLNU.)
John Castillo, Layout Editor

Miguel Covarubias
Opinion Editor

Add together the Awkward Sea Lion, a Camron Cluff comic, some pieces that are angsty, profound or funny, and you get the opinion page, which I’ve had the privilege of putting together for the past year.
The task has been stressful, fulfilling and, at times, ego-inflating. Like all the other sections, the opinion page is dedicated to presenting the truth whether flattering or insulting—a key component of journalism and Christianity.
As a Christian, the opinion page has given me the opportunity to have my beliefs challenged and restructured when necessary. It has taught me to be “quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger” (James 1:19), which is a lesson I will take with me when I graduate.
Now, I leave semi-sure of what lies ahead but comforted in the truth that I will never fully know what may come after my walk across the Greek. At times like these, I read the words of Madeleine L’Engle, “Do not seek to comprehend. All shall be well. Wait. Patience. Wait. You do not always have to do something.” And it usually is.
Miguel Covarrubias, Opinion Editor

Ethan Linstrom
Senior Web Editor

It’s been four years since I walked up Young Hill for the first time. Having finally made it to the top, I can’t help but reflect on the countless breathtaking sunsets, relationships come and gone and wisdom imparted.
Standing with five years of the college experience behind me, and nothing but a single finals week and the Greek amphitheatre in front, there are a few individuals I’d like to specially thank. Dr. Dean Nelson and Dr. Robert Thompson, it has been an absolute pleasure to learn from you. Lastly, I couldn’t have done this without my brothers in Christ who were ever sharpening.
PLNU, thank you for your time.
Ethan Linstrom, Web Editor

I usually introduce myself to people as “Hana Eades from McArthur, Calif. I’m the proud daughter of a seventh-generation lumberjack. I’m kind of a big deal. …”
That being said, it shocked my family to see how I was dressed to report in Ocean Beach (OB). With the help of my eco-friendly roommate and my own skill of working with hair, I transformed my proud lumberjack-loving, tree-killing and non-recycling self into a complete and total hippie. With dread-like hair, layers of floral-printed skirts, a baggy shirt, numerous necklaces, bracelets and anklets, and bare feet, I walked the beach and mingled with the locals under the pier.
OB consists of more than brown sugar-like sand, a gorgeous fishing pier and decent surf. The region serves as a venue for self-expression and community.
“The wall” located beneath the pier serves as a venue for local craftsmen, musicians and speakers of many beliefs. Numerous people line this area to skateboard, smoke, talk and live.
While walking on the boardwalk next to “the wall,” a unique rhythm of bongo drums, guitar music and the sound of smoke rings beautifully collided with the hum of crashing waves and hiss of detracted water against the sand. A constant cycle.
I stood on the wall, stared out at the giant, raging, salty puddle, and took it all in—at least until my thoughts were interrupted.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met you before,” came a casual but intimidating voice from behind my right shoulder.
“That’s because I never introduced myself,” I said, keeping my focus on the ocean.
“The name’s Joe.”
“Joe. Hi. I’m Hana.”
My neatly manicured hands met his dirt-covered fingers for a handshake.
OB is Joe’s kingdom. He knows, by name, all the usual musicians who play on the sidewalks for a living.
Joe wore a bulky hemp necklace with a seashell tied onto the end, which appeared to have been made by a local craftsman whose stall was set up 20 feet away.
With his shirt untouched by cleanliness and holes in his jeans, Joe spends his time strolling the sidewalk and mingling with the musicians in his kingdom.
When our conversation ended, I stood back on the wall to listen to the drum circle’s hypnotic rhythm mesh with the sound of waves. There was no structure to the beats. No organization. No sheets of music. No conductor. No distractions from self-expression. It was dizzying and mesmerizing.

By the wall, a young man who sings and plays guitar sits next to stacks of pamphlets that claim to be the truth of the Gospels. Another guy—through a small and oddly shaped glass structure hidden in the palm of his hand—offers earth’s natural but temporary escape from mental pains of life. Other people find release in the bars—with loud music and flashing lights—that serve the nectar of the earth to wash away sorrow and encourage raging happiness of life, if only for one night.
Larry doesn’t get caught up in the business of this lifestyle. He does not wear a watch; he counts time by the moon. He has no agenda to keep. No office meetings. No monthly bills. No gym membership to discontinue.
However, he does worry about his weight and health. He might not have the influence of Fitness Magazine or Men’s Health, but he does know that eating only bread isn’t great for his physique.
Sitting at a spot called Alligator Rock, Larry threw unwanted breadcrumbs near his feet to feed the pigeons.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked him, guitar in hand.
He nodded and didn’t say anything for nearly an hour. He just played the same three chords on his out-of-tune acoustic guitar—over. And over. And over, while mumbling a melody I couldn’t understand.
“How long have you played guitar?”
“Many moons.”
More silence.
People strolling by looked briefly at me, cracked grins, glanced past Larry and kept walking.
Larry finally spoke again, this time more than two words.
“That’s the first time in many moons that guy has smiled to me. I’m pretty sure he was smiling at you though.”
“Do you see him often?” I asked.
Larry nodded and set aside his guitar to give me a chance to show my musical abilities.
“Do you sing?” he asked after I offered a couple songs.
I nodded and kept on picking.
“Well,” Larry adjusted his position on his rock to face me, “let’s hear it.”
Nervously, I sang one of the cheesy romantic songs I wrote years ago. It is about falling in love under a palm tree, only to wake up and have the whole experience be a dream.
“Sorry I’m not very good at playing like this,” I confessed. “I’ve never just sat and played for people next to a sidewalk.”
“Oh, that’s OK. You’re still a rookie.” With a slight grin, he reached back for his guitar.

People continued to pass us as if we weren’t there. Occasionally, a kind but foreign face would look down and smile at us.
When other locals walked by, they would exchange greetings with Larry similar to those seen in an office space.
“Hey Larry, how’s it goin’?”
“Oh, you know, hangin’ in there.”
“Well, take it easy. See ya later.”
Larry is originally a “Detroit boy,” as he calls himself.
“Many moons ago,” said Larry, “I worked a white collar job for General Motors.”
He straightened his imaginary tie and looked at himself through an invisible mirror. Through the years, his pay had decreased, times had become more difficult, jobs had changed and he had eventually landed in San Diego. After working for several different employers locally, he was welcomed with open arms by the bench that faces Alligator Rock.
“They took that bench out,” said Larry, “so I just sat on this rock. They got a new bench now,” he pointed across the sidewalk, “but I decided I liked my rock. This is my rock.”

It takes humility as well as self-confidence to sit on the ground next to a sidewalk and play the guitar for a living. One kind lady with clean clothes and unscuffed shoes walked up to compliment my hair and offer me food. Crackers with peanut butter. I struggled to accept it.
I don’t need that, I thought to myself. I attend PLNU and I have a pantry full of food in my apartment. The last thing I need is some rich woman giving me food out of pity.
Larry declined the free food, but the woman wouldn’t leave until I took it.

I suppose I’ve been wrong about the American dream all along. You don’t need to go from rags to riches in order to have all that you could ever want.
Larry lives right next door to multi-million dollar homes. People who ride custom bicycles pedal past him. He watches those who wear matching sweat suits and therapeutic running shoes jog past him. People walk to the beach and cover themselves in tanning oils or lotions and praise the San Diego sunshine.
Larry’s bike is missing chunks of paint and the chain is in desperate need of WD-40. The laces are fraying on his sneakers, and holes are growing in the soles. His clothing is far from the latest fashion and his skin is worn like leather.
Yet he still gets by, only with fewer possessions than others. OB has been a home for him to feel welcome and comfortable. He finds joy in the pigeons, and appreciates conversation.

OB, with its sandy shores and free-spirited atmosphere, welcomes adventurous travelers. Jeremy and his girlfriend hitchhiked from Boston to San Diego in about a month. I met him sitting on the rim of a fire pit. He was peacefully writing in a black-and-white speckled Mead notebook.
“Are you a writer?” I asked as I approached the stranger.
“Who isn’t?” he responded.
He wore a collared shirt with a nice sweater over it, clean khaki pants and well-worn shoes.
“I’m keeping a journal of my adventures,” said Jeremy, “so that my friend back home can live vicariously through me.”
Jeremy briefly shared the tale of his adventure of traveling to California, owning almost nothing but the clothes on his back.
“I live the life that comes to me and I enjoy it,” he said.
He thinks that truck drivers are extremely kind and have interesting stories. He said they are very wise and experienced.
The only thing I could help him with was providing directions to Fort Bragg in northern California. I apologized for not being able to help him financially, but he assured me that it was fine.
“Conversation is worth far more in currency than money.”

You know those moments of awkward eye contact? I had several of them while “undercover” in OB, but one in particular stands out from the rest.
A young guy slowly walked by as I was randomly hula hooping with a stranger and stared at me, trying to figure out where he had seen my face before. I locked eyes with him and we stared at each other until—ding!
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I asked, mid-hula.
“Yeah, from McArthur!” he laughed as he hugged me.
We had a glorious moment of feeling the comfort of seeing a familiar face. We spoke for a few brief minutes—I had to explain my project and why I was dressed the way I was—and we departed, saying we needed to hang out sometime. No phone numbers exchanged, no e-mail addresses given. Perhaps we will run into each other again in OB.
That’s the thing. We rely on technology for constant communication so that we are always aware of who is dating whom, what the weather is going to be like tomorrow and what the latest fashions are.
I have discovered that we are so caught up in the routines of our daily schedules that we wear “business” as a badge of pride, rather than being genuinely attentive to one aspect of our lives at a time.
My most valuable possession is time.
If “money can’t buy happiness,” then what can?

As a chemistry professor and undergraduate research director for almost 50 years, Dr. Vic Heasley has been instrumental in building an intellectually rigorous science department at PLNU. He has authored or co-authored 80 publications in peer-reviewed journals, as well as a laboratory textbook, and has received 44 research grants for a total of $1,040,427 since 1964. He still reviews for the Journal of Environmental Science and Technology, the Journal of Organic Chemistry and the National Science Foundation, and has been active in major areas of campus and departmental leadership as well.
Dr. Heasley recently reflected on his first teaching experience in the summer of 1963. Just out of his Ph.D. program, he was sitting in the front of the class when the dean of students walked into the room. The dean looked around and wondered aloud when the professor would show up. Reflecting on that moment almost 50 years later, Dr. Heasley joked, “That wouldn’t happen now. …”
Though it has been many years since he was mistaken for a student, Dr. Heasley has retained a young perspective and remained connected with his students. He has often emphasized the necessity of remembering what it is like to be a student. To him, his students are more than just a livelihood: “The students were my major source of enjoyment and fulfillment at PLNU. … Each student meant a new and different relationship. These relationships and friendships kept me going for so many years.”
It has been said, “No man is a failure who has friends.” In this regard, whether in the classroom or the lab, Dr. Heasley is one of the most successful men I have ever known.

Sue Atkins
by jacob roth
sophomore in broadcast journalism
sports editor

I’ve had the pleasure of learning at PLNU under Dr. Sue Atkins for two years now, but thanks to New Zealand, that’s all the time I’ll get with her for now.
As a broadcast journalism major, I never thought I’d get involved in the school newspaper— let alone as an editor. But last spring I discovered in Dr. Atkins’ Intro. to Journalism class that a pen and a notepad brought me just as much joy as a camera and a microphone.
Dr. Atkins taught me the basics of sound journalism. And judging from the scores I received on the first couple of stories I turned in, I needed all the help I could get. Since then, I’ve learned to get SAD when making ethical decisions, and, if you’re not careful, Q&As can become lazy journalism (but I still included one in this issue anyway. Mwa-ha-ha-ha).
In the past two years, I’ve developed a love for writing that I thought impossible for someone whose only failed tests in grade school were in penmanship.
This fall, I, along with a handful of other slightly insane broadcast journalism majors, enrolled in an intensive course producing endless numbers of news packages (OK, really like five or six… but I could’ve sworn it was like 1,000) to hone the necessary skills for our desired field. Dr. Atkins, as well as Dr. Greer, critiqued our work and gave us not-always-so-welcome feedback. She even (gasp!) wouldn’t let me cover sports every time. It’s like she was trying to keep us from limiting ourselves or something.
But when I look back on the improvements my classmates and I made in just a few short months, I have no doubt that we’ll find jobs upon leaving PLNU, even if it’s a job in middle-of-nowhere Missouri— I mean Missour-UH.
Thanks to Dr. Atkins, I’ve expanded my horizons beyond sports and into all sorts of media. Wherever I end up, I’ll owe a large part of it to PLNU’s favorite Missourian-turned-Kiwi.

Dale Shellhamer
by parker horn
senior in chemistry & philosophy
contributor

The impact of Dr. Shellhamer’s retirement extends across more than just the chemistry department; in many ways, the extent of his contributions to PLNU are incalculable. Over the course of Dr. Shellhamer’s 39-year career, he has received 19 research grants totaling more than $800,000. He has written 66 publications for major research journals, two textbook chapters and has acquired one patent. He was a member of the prestigious Executive Committee of the Fluorine Division of the American Chemical Society for three years. In addition to all of this, Dr. Shellhamer has directed PLNU’s acclaimed undergraduate summer research program since it began in 1974.
The true extent of Dr. Shellhamer’s contribution to the university cannot be explained by grant dollars and prestigious publications. His legacy is something that is felt by anyone who has studied science at PLNU. Dr. Shellhamer inspires students and colleagues alike with his tireless enthusiasm and selfless dedication. Dr. Shellhamer exudes such a dynamic presence on those he interacts with that he has become a living legend to his students.
If you ask one of his students to describe him, you will be regaled with tale after tale: “He used to fly his plane to work,” or, “He burned down the Santa Monica post office in grad school,” or maybe something a little more cryptic like, “You have to ask him about the Russians and the toxic artificial blood.”
Dr. Shellhamer’s time at PLNU has shaped departments and lives. His career is an almost ineffable mix of tireless effort, self-sacrifice and legend. His career at PLNU is something that can be told only by the stories he inspires and be shown only by the lives he has changed.

David Barrows

by victoria king
senior in sociology
contributor

My first course with Dr. Barrows, Introduction to Sociology, was a window into the world of critically analyzing and studying the structures and norms that exist in our society. I loved the class for that… and the yummy homemade scones and snacks he would bring in for us.
Even in a large general education class, he learned everyone’s name quickly. I soon learned he had genuine interest in his students.
During his time at PLNU, Barrows viewed students as adults, capable of being challenged by class topics relevant to people, society and current issues affecting our world. He always created time for students to share personal experiences, and was willing to learn something from them in return.
In times of intense discussion, Barrows retained a “poker face” that wouldn’t give anyone the slightest idea about what he thought, leaving us to come about our own conclusions. Yet, even with his serious nature, I’d often hear his chuckle in the midst of vibrant conversations in class.
Barrows’ classes inspired me to discover a part in society in which I could be passionately involved. During after-class conversations about what I wanted to do later in life, Barrows would always reply with something like, “You want to do something that makes your heart go pitter-patter. In other words, you want to do something you love.” A true encourager and academic model, Barrows has been an inspiration to me and numerous others.
The sociology department will be losing a gem, but it has been extremely honored to have Barrows on staff. His classes and words have always had a lasting impression on me. They kept me contemplating after I stepped out of the classroom, and still do today.

How did you become involved in the adaptation of “Blue Like Jazz”?
I got an e-mail from [director] Steve Taylor that said, “You’re on the list of actors we’re considering for the part.” I read it [the screenplay] and thought, “Why hasn’t this story been told?” I wrote [Tayllor] back and said, “I’m a 1,000 percent in! Thank you for the offer.” And he e-mailed me back and said, “That wasn’t an offer… but I promise I won’t offer the part to anyone else before we meet.” So we sat down and met and I got the part.

From “True Blood” to “Prison Break,” many of your roles have been intense and very eclectic. How do you choose roles and why the role of Don?
As an actor I just want to tell stories that spark conversation, that are controversial, that are exciting. I love good conversations. All the different things that people want to generally avoid, I gravitate toward talking about in my real life.

How did you relate to the character personally?
To me, this is a quintessential American story. Even though I didn’t necessarily grow up very religious, I had friends who went off to college, where they encountered the most conflict about who they thought they were.
Attending college, whether it was liberal college or not, and having a faith were in opposition. They went to college with this beautiful set of beliefs that sort of evaporated, and unfortunately they never really visited them again.

How did you prepare for the character?
Most of the work I do is in my imagination… just putting myself in the other person’s shoes and going, “Here’s who I am in the circumstances in my life. How many steps or decisions would I have made that would have put me in that circumstance?” and then I work with believability.
Obviously, I’m not Don. I’m not trying to be Don, but I am Don at a younger age and I did want to bring in Don’s voice as much as I could.

How did having a large set of backers impact the way you approached the film?
The whole movie was driven by passion. Coming on set, we had all these backers on Kickstarter.com who put a face to our audience, so that was really something special.
It was like, “Wow, this isn’t our movie anymore,” because all of the sudden we had 4,500 cooks in the kitchen. Not that they were lording over us, but there was a sense that we had a responsibility to do justice to these people who had put their hard-earned money behind our movie.
Everybody on set knew that something special was going on, that BLJ wasn’t your average independent film. Everybody on set was so fervent to make the movie, and all of it was driven by the whole idea that we were making something important by people who wanted us to make it.

donald miller

The book “Blue Like Jazz” has been described as a message, not a story, which is the reason why readers of the book might find many of the elements changed. What was the intention behind adapting the book into a more linear story?
Whenever you adapt a book to film you have to change it. If you don’t change it, you’re going to have a really bad film. The name, the character [of Don], the location, the topics in the book that are discussed… those [elements] an audience would say, “This is all going to be familiar material.”
People who are familiar with my books don’t tend to be people who’d ever go see a Christian film. The genre is critically panned, so we’re hoping to exist in our own world for a little while.

The movie is filled with a lot of comedy; how did you draw the line between comedy and satire toward Christian culture?
A movie lives best in extremes. If you have a movie that’s taking place in one of the most Godless campuses in America, then we’ve got to be in the cheesiest church, right?
There’s only one negative portrayal of a Christian of in the film and it’s [Pastor Kenny].
Now [because] we have one negative [Christian] character a lot of people are like, “You’re slamming the church. You’re not being objective.” But he’s not in there for comedic relief; he’s in there because he characterizes what people disassociate from about Christianity. They think he’s cheesy and hypocritical. . . . You have to have that character in there to show the viewer that, “Yeah, I can’t stand that guy,” but then we overload him with all these Christian characters.

Because the movie doesn’t really fit in either genre of wholly secular or Christian, how do you approach criticisms from either camp?
I don’t understand why someone can go see a thousand movies and then when you call it “Christian,” they act all different.
People want it [BLJ] to be different, [but] it’s really interesting that someone would go to a movie and view it differently than every other movie they see. [The movie] is not a sermon… if you try to figure what the message is… no, it’s not a sermon. It’s a story.
We engage and understand story because of facts that exist in our reality. I wanted to tell a story that I think millions of people experience and live through and don’t talk about.
We want to give people a character to live through so they feel like they’re not alone. So [that] two people in the same theater can have the experience like, “I’ve had that happen, too!” In terms of a “Here’s what we want to do” [message], the movie doesn’t have it.
At PLNU there’s probably a lot of drinking, there’s probably a lot of people hooking up on campus and there are probably a lot of people pretending they’re not doing that. They’re playing make believe. That’s a personality disorder that’s dualistic. That’s someone who’s not integrated; their bad side is not in touch with their good side. I’m hoping that people see [the film] and go “I don’t want to hide that.”
I wanted to make a film that says, “We’re not playing make believe: This is who we are.” People say that [the culture of Reed] doesn’t exist, but it does exist. It’s all over America! So I think that we’ve depicted something real, and most people go, “That’s a little off.”
You look at Jewish or African American culture or so many other cultures and they love laughing at themselves. Christians do not. And it’s a shame-based thing….“Well if people laugh at me, I’m not going to have any friends. I’m going to go to hell.” So we hide our sin.
We don’t laugh at ourselves and it’s really unhealthy.

steve taylor

As a Christian, how has your vocation as a filmmaker intersected with the approach you wished to take with “Blue Like Jazz”?
Because my Christian faith has been such an integral part of my life, it tends to come out no matter how I’m working or what I’m working on. It was never a part of the plan to be part of an institutionalized Christian genre, and I think we’re at the same place in filmmaking now. The idea of “Christian movie” has become calcified; now it means a movie that’s safe for the whole family and ties everything up at the end. It’s very much a movie for the choir. You’re not making a movie for a wider audience.

What would you define as the typical “Christian movie audience,” a demographic you intentionally tried to move away from?
The “Christian movie audience” [goes] to the movies once or twice a year. We knew that was not our audience, so we tried to make a movie that was for people who go to the movies every weekend, and that tends to be a younger audience, and of course the book has a younger appeal anyway.

What are the challenges of using film to express topics of faith?
I understand why those “kinds of movies” [Christian films] can seem off-putting or cheesy because it’s really, really hard to express on film. You have to do it by creating action and conflict and it’s just really tricky. When I see a movie that does it well I know how hard that was to pull off. People assume that [filmmakers] go in [and say,] “Oh, we’re just going to churn out whatever we can,” and call it good, but it’s tough. Dramatically, it’s the biggest challenge we’ve got.

It is with a mixture of sadness and excitement that I have decided to leave my role as university chaplain at Point Loma Nazarene University; sadness at the close of a chapter of my ministry with and among you, the amazing student body of PLNU, and excitement for a new chapter of discipleship ministry and soul care among the local churches of Redding, Calif.
I am privileged to have shared life with the PLNU community and am continually overwhelmed by God’s grace and love displayed in lives of students and their stories of transformation and healing. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to have served in such a rich capacity and will continue to pray that the radical hope of the resurrection of Jesus be made manifest in and throughout all your endeavors. You have trusted me with your journeys and lives, inviting me to walk alongside, to keep watch and pray through difficult times and to celebrate successes and joys for which I am honored.
I am convinced that the essence of any ministry is a life together, rooted in Christ and empowered by his Holy Spirit for love and service. My four years at PLNU, though brief, have been an expression of that type of community and have challenged me, as well as encouraged me, toward a deeper expression of being Christian. With this sentiment in mind, I want to thank the PLNU community for the last four years; they truly have been a gift.
As a final expression of my gratitude, receive this prayer that a dear friend and mentor once prayed over me: “May the road always rise up to greet you, may the wind ever be at your back; may the sun shine warmly upon your face, and the rains fall gently upon your fields; and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Goodbye PLNU: Becky Modesto

by becky modesto
director of community ministries
contributor
As I’ve considered how to say goodbye to PLNU, a certain verse keeps coming to mind. It’s the verse I felt God gave me through George Williamson while I was trying to discern God’s will about accepting this new job opportunity: “All people are like grass,” Isaiah 40 proclaims, “but the word of our God stands forever.”
This might sound a little depressing, but I take great hope in these words. My time at PLNU has been incredibly rich. It’s enabled me to flourish in ways I didn’t dream possible. I’ve journeyed with some incredible people. I’ve learned from and have been shaped by my students. I’ve been challenged and sharpened by the faculty and staff I have served alongside. I’ve been empowered and supported by the administration. I’ve been loved and encouraged by my colleagues in Spiritual Development.
I can’t express how grateful I am to all of you. Yet, as I consider the words of God in Isaiah 40, my greatest hope is that God has been glorified and that his word has been lived out well through my time here with you.
I’m sad to say goodbye in many ways. I will miss my students so much. Their passion to serve God has inspired me. I’m amazed at how diverse and creative God’s call is upon the lives of those who love him. Almost every student ministry originated from a student answering God’s call to love a certain group of people or to serve in a certain way. Hundreds of leaders over my 10 years of service have dedicated countless hours to ministry on top of their demanding lives as students.
Students, I will miss you all the most. It has been such an incredible privilege to serve with you. Thank you for teaching me, loving me and being Christ to me in such tangible ways.
It’s also been so rewarding to play a part in creating the new program Community Classroom. I’m grateful to all the faculty and staff who have played critical roles in shaping and forming this exciting program. What an incredible journey! How rich it has been to brainstorm with brilliant minds and wrestle together about how to serve our students and the community through this new program. Also, it’s been so wonderful to learn with the first immersion student cohort. You all have been incredible! Thanks for your partnership in this endeavor. I look forward to seeing how this program continues to grow. I’m excited that my new job with the Price Charitable Foundation will allow me to still participate in many ways.
I want to close by referring again to God’s word: “All people are like grass.” The grass withers and in its place new grass grows as the breath of God blows over it. But God’s word lasts forever. We’ll come and go and things will continue to change, but thankfully God is faithful. Goodbye, PLNU. I am grateful for you all.

To our baby,
Your mother and I wanted to let you know how much we love you
We don’t know you
I don’t know her

Condition of your heart uncertain; beats have yet begun
People say having a child instills unexplainable love
Will you show us when you come?
I watched the sun rise this morning

I saw your smile, a beautiful forewarning
The innocence of your soul was the warmth on my face

Radiant rays penetrated inside with grace, deep and visceral
A feeling beyond visual
A description insufficient with any use of the literal

I love you
Even if you turn out to be a ginger

As for my role in your life
And your mother’s, my wife
We will share with you, our hearts
Only death has the power to break us apart
Even then, I contend, never to let go of your hand

We cannot discern the decisions you will make
Or the path, no doubt confusing and contradictory, you will take
No intentions to control your life by remote
You will always be our baby, but we will let you go
You aren’t truly ours, there is something you should know

You were created quite intentionally
By divine design we can’t comprehend mentally
One day you will understand the under-riding undertow
As the ebb and flow stretches your heart and waters your soul
Sowing the seed, which allows you to grow

There is a light you won’t always see, but it always exists
An abstract idea, truer than the purest wish

Follow your heart, regardless of criticism
Fail, Fail again; you will succeed at some point

Give what you can, but make sure you receive the love you need We are all human, all our hearts bleed

Don’t listen to cliches, they will only get you enmeshed
In a society that abides by the safety of paved roads and telephones
Instead, make up your own
You will not go wrong, you will never be alone

Patience prevents haste and develops a capacity to love
Love insists integrity, which encompasses honesty
Love also yields patience; cyclical, like the circle of life
Understanding this will carry you through joy and through strife

For now, I am the child, but one day you will be mine,
the aforementioned kid