I’ve never been a big fan of guns — at least, not in real life. In movies, they’re exciting, dangerous and (dare I say it) sexy. In terms of media and the ideals guns symbolize (i.e. freedom, protection, power), it’s easy for someone to be a gun enthusiast in theory. America’s love for guns in the media has only strengthened the impression that Americans are aggressive, violent and power-hunger in every aspect of life. As individuals we know this isn’t true.
Take a second and imagine and an 18 story building. The Alico Building stands at 22 stories, so start there for a reference. Next, expand that building over 434 acres (just under two times the size of our campus), and imagine it is no longer a building or a huge shopping mall.
I could feel nothing. For more than six months I felt nothing. I was stuck in a fog. I could not see. I could not hear. I felt stuck in the gray. I breathed in light, but I lived in darkness.
With summer just around the corner, it’s obvious that many students (including myself) are looking solely at the break as our primary point of concern. But should we be so concerned with summer that we hurry the coming weeks away?
One morning I frantically rode my bike trying to make my 8 a.m. class, and as I approached the bike rack, I hit the brakes — and promptly ran into the bike rack.
Imagine this: a world without time. What would it look like? Everything human eyes have ever swept across has been touched by time.
Baylor has provided me with many opportunities, and I will be forever grateful. There has been one thing missing from my undergraduate education, however: any form of debate or political consciousness on campus.
Poets and preachers, theologians and therapists — care-givers of all kinds, — will tell us that mourning is a life-long project. It’s ongoing, meaning, we are all letting go of something all the time. Maybe that’s why Jesus got to grief so quickly in the Beatitudes. It’s number two on the list, “Blessed are those who mourn.”
Thursday morning started off like every other Thursday morning — nothing new, nothing special. I walked into my Art History class 15 minutes early, like always. Then my professor began to play music, like always.
Nothing makes me sadder than when I’m talking with someone about a book or movie based off a book and they say, “Oh, I don’t read.”