As a senior in high school, scrambling through that giant pile of college advertisements, my list of "things I look for in a university" had to get super specific. I mean, if I was going to be feeding my kids soup for the next 20 years until I finally gave those student loans the boot, I wanted it to be for the sake of a worthwhile educational cause. So, I started getting choosy, thinking about what really mattered in a college. I even developed a system for sorting pamphlets into the "heck no techno," "hmmm...probably not, but I'll dangle that admissions counselor by a thread a little longer," and "yeah, I think you could make all my varsity dreams come true, so I'll definitely give you a shout out this Wednesday at prayer meeting when peeps ask me where I'm thinking about going" piles.
Some colleges made it into the final rounds of the decision making process, only missing my tuition check by a few yards. John Brown, had you not roomed me in an "we-secretly-have-Mennonite-sympathies" suite during your version of SCOPE/GROW, you might have been the one. And Hardin-Simmons, you almost had me with that free CD; it's not your fault you had to go and locate yourself in (excuse me as I spit) Texas. U of A, you were definitely in a close second; if only you had appreciated my papier-mache volcano project as much as you did that Japanese-Indian-Korean-Pakistani-American kid's independent cancer research and given me that Fellowship instead, we could have had a beautiful life together.
Other universities were a no-brainer, their fliers going straight from the envelope to the shredder. Wellesley Private Women's College, thanks for the invite, but you just didn't comply with my stay-at-home-mom fall-back plans. Yale, it was fun going on that emotional roller coaster with you, but some acceptance rate statistics would have been nice along with the bumper sticker, personal interview, and 2007-2008 handbook you mailed me. And Liberty, ooohhh, Liberty. You had me for a split second with that colorful add frequenting the pages of WORLD magazine. Your mission statement and scholarship options were pretty legit. You just made one slip up: you included a picture. Yeah, sure, the girl standing on the steps of your chapel was really pretty, and some might have been fooled by her super relevant t-shirt complete with ambiguous slogan and tree graphic, but I was cunning. I knew what to look for, and my scrutinizing eyes could not miss the blaring statement sent by that floor-length khaki skirt...DRESS CODE! You went straight to the "heck no techno" pile, Liberty, faster than I could flip channels from 700 Club to MTV Cribs. Yes, yes, I know. I did ask for a Christian liberal arts education, but I had no intention of getting doc martins, an IMB logo-polo, and a head prayer-shawl in the mix. Better luck next time.
So, after months of googling, GROW-ing, alumni-facebook-stalking, essay writing, campus-visiting, and the occasional session of spontaneous weeping, I finally decided that Ouachita was it. With my down-payment on its way to Arkadelphia, I took comfort in knowing that I had made the right decision. I had been told that, in fact, Jesus went to OBU. And "by golly," I thought, "if it's good enough for Him, surely it's good enough for me."
Naturally, I struggled to suppress my shock when I arrived on campus to discover that, in spite of boasting to be as good as Liberty except "like not fundamentalist and stuff," Ouachita did indeed have its own set of clothing do's and don'ts. Sure, you might not find them printed in the Tiger Handbook, but you would find them engraved somewhere else: on the hearts and minds of Ouachitonians.
Perhaps that spaghetti strap and jeggings combo I rocked last week wouldn't land me in Keldon Henley's office, but it would merit me a concerned spot on the Wednesday night prayer line-up, if not by name, under the not-so-unspoken heading of "those girls." You know "those girls:" "those girls who have not yet had the 'being-sensitive-to-the-struggles-of-their-brothers-in-Christ' revelation." We need to really keep "those girls" on our hearts. Perhaps, if worst comes to worst (i.e. leggings as pants or heaven forbid, something strapless!) the situation may call for a little loving dose of confronting via a friend, an anonymous 'girl-don't-you-know-that-outfit-is-only-suited-for-street-corners' note, or better yet, a passive aggressive blogpost. :)
Freedom, grace, no longer being a slave to sin? These are all grand concepts, and Ouachitonians like to help keep them happenin' through intensely specific social conventions. Though at first I was wary of the subtle clothing regulations, I have come to realize their benefits. I mean, it is nice to be able to sleep soundly at night knowing my righteousness is still intact. Not to mention that it majorly cuts down on the number of quail that I have donate for my personal atonement every spring. (I especially appreciate this latter repercussion around tax time. I can never figure out if temple sacrifices are deductible!) Said conventions also sure do make all those passage about sexuality and adultery and stuff a lot more comfortable to sit through in Sunday School when I know that I am guilt free thanks to extreme personal discipline, the gouging out of one of my eyes, and the commitment of my brothers to gloves, turtlenecks and MC hammer pants.
I only have one suggestion I would like to submit for Ouachita Dress Code consideration. I feel that my addition would be immensely helpful in our striving toward modest-is-hottest communal living. Two words: Invisibility Cloaks. In fact, why not just replace all previously unspoken rules with just this one? We could rid ourselves of a lot of ambiguity by simply investing in a campus-wide set. We're already giving incoming freshman beanies these days. So why not throw a little 100%-purity guarantee into the mix, Harry Potter style?
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