Dear Freshman,
Welcome to Judson. I know you’ve heard it a thousand times, but we’re glad you’re here. It’s taking us a while to get used to you, and I’m still struggling with all of your names—there are so many of you!—but every time I see you all in a group, I find myself praying for the hundredth time that this place can become home to you.
By now, you’ve been here long enough to know that we’re a little strange. If we have over 300 students, we chatter endlessly about how full the place is. Mention a recent graduate, and you’ll find that almost every student who ever passed her in a hallway can rattle off her full name, major, minor, roommate history, and craziest feats. You’ve undoubtedly had something called a junior-soph ask you to sit on her blanket to listen to older students sing about graduation and talking ivy hallways.
Honestly, the strangest thing about it is how normal it all becomes. I read an email a while back that simply said, “The cow family would like to reserve the seal after the serenade on Sunday night. Thank you.” In response, I simply looked at the sender’s name, thought, “Oh, I didn’t know she was matriarch,” and continued scrolling.
I was in your shoes not too long ago. I lived in Kirtley 313, the room said to be haunted by Anne Kirtley. My blanket overlord was the scarecrow in her pageant, and the first sign I made her was held together with staples and someone else’s cardstock. I cut across the hockey field instead of taking the sidewalk because it seemed shorter, even if it wasn’t, and I tripped at least three times in the hole over by the J. My friends and I camped in the third-floor hallway to commiserate about JUD 101. I may wear a cap and gown on Rose Sunday now, but I know what it’s like to be where you are. Many days, I miss it.
Again, you’ve probably heard this plenty of times by now, but treasure these relatively carefree days. When you stand in black closed-toed shoes and sing the senior prayer song to your little sister on Rose Sunday in 2018, you’re going to wonder where the time went.
That being said, there’s something else I hope you feel as you stand there that day on those bricks. I know you’ll think that it’s hot out. I know you’ll think that you hate dress shoes. If I were the betting type, I would bet that you’ll get your tassel stuck in your eyelashes at some point. But I hope you’ll feel like you are surrounded by family.
When I stood on the brick path in cap and gown last Sunday and led my class in our prayer song to my little sister class, I felt, as a senior once told me I would feel, that we had become something of a family. We don’t always get along, no—I wish I could tell you that that would change, but I don’t know if I believe it’s possible—but we know each other. We survived pageant together. We put together the big-little banquet this past spring. We volunteer one another for too many things. We learned to lead our little sisters through traditions, and now we’ve stepped into our own big sisters’ shoes to sing to you at serenades and watch our little sister class take care of you.
My prayer for you this year is that you might come to know how much you matter here. I am praying that you become a family, knowing one another and lifting one another up when life gets harder, traditions get later, and the time between you and graduation gets shorter. I pray that when you get to my place and lead Judson onward to Siloam you would feel as much a part of Judson as the bricks beneath your feet, because you will be. Judson is a special place, my dear Freshman, and when you graduate, crazy stories will be told about you, too. Our weirdness binds us together, and we may be big and ferocious, but we want to invite you in.
When you next walk across campus, take a look around you. One day, someone will look around at this place and find it hard to picture it without you. I cannot wait to come back on J-Day after I graduate and see you woven into our story.
Until then, though, be careful of holes in the hockey field, visit the art hermits in Mead, join a club, take stereotypical pictures on the seal and in front of Jewett, play in the miniature lakes when it rains, walk to As Time Goes By to visit Mr. Charlie, and get a coffee mug in the library. Oh, and if you haven’t met Dr. Gilchrest’s kids—they’re adorable, and you should.
I’ll see you in the dining hall.
Much love,
Sara Jean
Your Senior Class Song Leader
