The Parish

Arrangements

"So Paige, where are you going to go to grad school?"

We were sitting in the dark, purple and blue living room of her house on Highland Street. It was the middle of May, and the week before, I had walked across the stage and received a very expensive, yet very satisfying piece of paper from the University of Montevallo. This piece of paper stated that I, Paige Gingrich, had graduated Cum Laude with a Bachelor's of Art in Sociology and Deaf Studies from Alabama's only public liberal arts university.

It also stated that I was not qualified for any job. Ever.

Ask me if that thought ever crossed my mind.

No, not once.

Why not? you ask.

Well, because rewind three semesters earlier, about a half mile from that house on Highland Street. Insert a first semester junior (yes, junior) who was earnestly praying about what her major should be--it was crunch time after all. This girl was sitting in a Deaf Education class and clenching her teeth together as hard as she could not tobawl like a baby at the story of a hearing mother of a deaf child. This mother was relaying to the class, tearfully and slightly embarrassed, her feelings of isolation and lack of support as she ventured down an unexpected path with what felt like no support, love, or help.

Guys, at that moment, there was a thought that consumed me from my head to my toes: "This is a problem for the Church."

Thank you Holy Spirit.

That day I swapped my major from Spanish (bleh) to Sociology (yay!) in hopes of becoming an Early Interventionist in Alabama, in hopes of providing support for families of children with disabilities, in hopes of being the Church.

And when God tells you to do something, it might look weird to the rest of the world, but that doesn't mean it's not right. This is why I was confident having a degree that some might label "useless".

Fast forward:

Jenneyb (yes, "Jenneyb"; it is pronounced, "Jenney B"), was sitting on her worn-out leather couch, staring at me over her thick-rimmed black glasses in that dark, blue and purple living room of hers. She gave me one of those infamous looks of hers, the one that says you can't get away with ____, and asks a question that I had truly, truly never thought about, "So Paige, where are you going to go to grad school?"

I laughed. An uncomfortable laugh, mind you, one of those laughs that I give in that rare moment when someone surprises me and I'm not quite sure what to say.

"Well, Jenneyb, I've never thought about it." (Honesty: the best policy).

That look, "Well Paige, why not?"

Here, friends and readers, I began to say "I don't know", which if you have ever had a conversation with Jenneyb, you know that is not an acceptable answer. So, I swallowed it and replaced it with a shrug. Way better.

She considered me for a minute before taking a deep breath and rearranging herself on the couch, "What do you have to have to go to grad school?"

My sassy self answered, "I would need to go for free."

Jenneyb nodded, "Alright, then that's what we'll pray for."

I rolled my eyes. People don't go to grad school for free. People don't walk on water, talk to burning bushes, donkeys, or survive three days in the belly of whales, either. You might not think these are acceptable comparisons. I would bet you've never been to grad school. "Yeah, ok, Jenney," I am obviously testy, because I have dropped the b. "We'll know I'm meant to go to grad school when I can go for free."