Tag Archives: Alumnae Weekend

This Little Light of Mine

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So far, so good.  My run of luck with extemporaneous speaking holds.  Every time I’ve been called upon to speak as the President of the Wesleyan College Alumnae Association, I pull something out of my….thin air.   Instead of sitting down in my study and crafting a wise and inspirational message, I compose in the car as I drive.  My remarks are scrawled on the back of Dairy Queen napkins or written in the margins of the program.

Thursday, as I finished up my tasks at work, I pulled a pink Post-It note off the stack and scribbled, “This Little Light of Mine…” and shoved it in my purse.  That was all I needed to get the idea going.  You’re humming it now, right?  Yeah, me too.

This-Little-LightBefore the Candle Lighting ceremony, it’s my job to give some words of wisdom to the graduating class.  Something that celebrates four tough years of diligent academic pursuits.  Something that encapsulates the sisterhood that we hold so dear. Something they’ll carry with them into the years after college, something that will call them back to the fold.  Something with a chorus that any three-year-old can remember.

Back in the fall, I had spoken with this same senior class at the beginning of their last year at Wesleyan.  The advice I gave them that day was:  “Do the Next Right Thing.”  They remembered!  On Saturday, I asked if anyone recalled the advice and my friend Paula (who’s heading to the University of Louisville for her MFA!) hollered it out.  So proud of her!  They made it–they did each little thing that brought them here, to the last few days before they graduate.

But, as it is with life, each accomplishment brings us to the next…”What next?”

And wanting to answer that question for the seniors?  THAT, is how I found myself doing something that scared the ever-loving shit out of me in the name of sisterhood and gifts.  

I sang.  I sang near a microphone.  A microphone that was on and pointed at my face.  I sang on a stage with 1000 people waiting to hear what I was going to sing.  Gulp.  

I am an expert at lip syncing.  I only sing in the car by myself.  Or in the shower if everyone else is out of the house.  I don’t sing.  

Seriously.  When I realized what I had just talked myself into up there on that stage, I wanted to pass out.  But I opened my mouth and croaked, “This Little Light of Mine…”

And a chorus of voices sang back, “I’m gonna let it shine!”

Huh.

I croaked again, “This little light of mine…”

“I’m gonna let IT SHINE!”  They were getting into it!

Bring it on home, Ashley!  Sell it to the cheap seats!  “This little light of mine…”

“I’M GONNA LET IT SHINE!”  

Before we lost momentum, I waggled my hands in the air and they kept going!  “Let it shine!  Let it shine!  Let it shine!”  

I honestly think if we had done the second verse, Michael would have jumped in on the organ or someone would have jumped up clapping.  The simple joy of that song just does something!  It. Was. AWESOME.  

That was the whole message I left with those young women:  When you leave Wesleyan, take that light that you’ve been given here and let it shine.  Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.  Because a candle can light a thousand other candles without diminishing itself. 

 

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Shine Through

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candle-139120_640Saturday morning, it was my privilege as the President of the Wesleyan College Alumnae Association to hear the beautiful sound of almost 1000 people sigh in unison.  I’ll never forget it as long as I live.  And it all started with me eavesdropping on a couple of little old ladies from a bathroom stall.

This was Alumnae Weekend, when classes return to campus to celebrate reunions; this year we welcomed the classes ending in 4 and 9.  We even celebrated two members of the class of 1939 who returned for their 75th reunion.  There’s a special luncheon on Friday for the “Golden Belles.”  That’s the class celebrating its 50th reunion–this year, the Class of 1964.

Before my duties began at the luncheon–the welcoming of dignitaries, the reading of the roll call, the recounting of their exploits five years before I was born–I ducked into the ladies room.  Three woman stood by the sinks, washing hands and fixing hairdos.  They didn’t notice me.

hands-195657_640They said how good it was to see each other.  And how sad it was that some faces were gone.  One said, “Time has passed so quickly!”  Another laughed, “How did we get so old?”  Then the third voice said, “But you know?  When I see my friends, even after all these years, their young faces shine through.”

That was the line that made the whole auditorium sigh when I told the story the next morning.  We Wesleyannes gather, every spring, for the highlight of our Annual Meeting–Candle Lighting.  Each senior chooses a Wesleyan alumna to light her candle, the symbolic act that marks her entry into the Alumnae Association.  It might be her big sister, her sister, her mother, a teacher, a mentor, a friend.  My candlelighter back in 1990, Mrs. Anne Strozier Threadgill, was in the audience Saturday with her sisters in the Class of 1949.  She was my English teacher in high school, and she taught my mother and father as well.

I lit the first candle.  Then, as the organ played, the light traveled, person to person, from the stage to the seats, from the front row to the back.  We stand in the twilight of the auditorium, all quiet and together, decade upon decade of proud Wesleyannes.  We join in a responsive reading of the Benson Charge, which was written by Catherine Brewer Benson, Class of 1840.

 

Part of the Charge reads:  “You of the Class of 2014 who are about to join the band of 9,000 whose privilege it has been to spend their years on the Wesleyan campus–remember that the privilege has been granted to comparatively few persons.  Remember that, as Emerson said, ‘large advantages bind you to larger generosity;’ and you owe it to the world to give to others the best that is in you.”

That’s what I treasure about Alumnae Weekend, getting back in touch with the privilege and responsibility of being a Wesleyanne.

In the glow of the candlelight, our young faces shine through.

This is the place where we will always be known.

This is the place where we will always find home.