Suzanne’s First Weeks

Love and Ruination: An Engaging Tale of Two Clashical Christian Schools

Chapter Seven (I skipped a chapter so you might get to know Suzanne a bit)

In the meantime, Suzanne was getting her feet under her as well. She did not have anyone like Broderick to deal with, but there were still issues. There are always issues, are there not? What are we put into this world for, if not to deal with issues?

The rupture with Riverfront had not been kept alive at Cornerstone in the same way that it had been over at Riverfront. Or perhaps it would be better to say that things had largely blown over at both schools, for the most part, with most of the people, and the only place where it hadn’t really blown over was in the heart and soul of Broderick. But he was Avery’s problem, not Suzanne’s problem. Suzanne briefly thought of Avery again, and then shook her head. That won’t do.

Suzanne didn’t have anything like Broderick to deal with, but she did have to deal with a few angular features and jagged edges that had to be considered as leftovers. These edges were downstream consequences of the rupture. Riverfront was an ACCS school, and Suzanne had been to every ACCS conference held ever since she first began working in Christian education. Cornerstone had gravitated over to SCL, not out of conviction really, but rather as a good way of staying away from Riverfront. That had been the initial reason, but the simple fact of long association had of course had its impact. ACCS had clearer lines and harder edges, not tolerating the deeds of the Nicolaitans, or anyone like them, while SCL was softer, and friendlier depending, and overall smudgier. Some of that smudge had drifted into some of the departments in the secondary at Cornerstone.

The challenge was that Suzanne was now the head of an SCL school, but she was an ACCS “type,” a fact that was pretty clear to everyone after about a week. And there were two teachers that she had in her employ, English and History respectively, who were just as clearly SCL “types”—all the way in and up to their necks. Misti Bennett was the English teacher, and she looked like an NPR listener, burlap book bag and all. Joan Kennedy was the History teacher, older than Misti, a striking black woman, and she looked like she kept NPR playing all night long. That, and she usually had two burlap bags with her. If quasi-feminist evangelicalism gave out halos, she would have had at least a couple.

Right after lunch on a Wednesday, the two women appeared at Suzanne’s door, tapped lightly on the door, and asked if she had a moment to spare.

“Certainly, certainly,” Suzanne said, motioning them in. Uh oh, she was thinking. “I do have a few minutes, but then I need to leave for an appointment. But I do have five minutes. Please don’t think me rude when I have to leave. It won’t be because of anything you said.”

The two women sat down, and then looked at one another a bit nervously. After a few seconds, Joan cleared her throat, and took the lead.

“We are here,” she said, “because we wanted to follow up on a comment you made in our faculty orientation meeting yesterday.”

“Sure thing,” Suzanne said, leaning forward. Now she was curious. The faculty meeting had been a standard issue faculty meeting. No sparks, no tension, no nothing, What could this be about?

“You mentioned that you had been at ACCS last year, and you even quoted from one of the talks . . .”

The lights came on, and Suzanne held up her hand. “Just so we don’t get lost in the weeds right away, I also attended the SCL conference the year before that. And I quoted from one of those talks too. From Bryan . . . Bryan Nelson, that’s it.”

Joan pursed her lips. “Yes, but Nelson speaks for both SCL and ACCS. He flits back and forth. He’s a flitter.”

Suzanne smiled at that. “Well, yes. So do I. Flit, I mean.”

Misti smiled too, but Joan kept a straight face. “We really do appreciate that you are new here, and we have every intention of giving you the benefit of the doubt . . .”

While not doing so, Suzanne thought to herself. Then she followed it up with a pointed admonition aimed at herself. Careful, careful, Suzanne. One of these days you’re going to say what you are thinking. Then where will you be?

But out loud she said, “Ladies, I do appreciate the concern. And I know I am new here, but I am not new to the world of classical Christian schools. I think I know the lay of the land. I have been attending both conferences for years, and have concerns about both associations, and have been greatly blessed at both. And I do know all about the crackle in the air. And when the board here interviewed me for this position, this very issue came up and I spoke with them about it forthrightly, as I am doing with you now. There will be no surprises.”

Joan’s eyes had narrowed. “Yes, you say you have concerns in both directions. But where would your biggest concerns be?”

Suzanne had decided early on in the conversation, as soon as she knew what it was going to be about, that she was going to plant a flag somehow. This was something else her dad had talked with her about. Good old dad.

“Oh, with SCL, of course. No question. Good day, ladies. I really need to be going. I am not shutting this off—I will make a point to pursue this with you later.”

Misti had taken the hint and stood up. Joan followed her, but much more slowly. “But why more concerned?” she asked as she moved slowly toward the door. Suzanne had also stood up and was herding them along. “May we ask why?”

“Certainly,” Suzanne said cheerfully. “No secrets here. I used to be a feminist, and I can still smell it when men are afraid of me. It used to empower me, but it drives me crazy now. And that kind of thing happens half the time at ACCS, but all the time at SCL. ”

The door closed behind the two women, and Suzanne smiled, a little grimly. Trouble there, maybe. No, no, not maybe. Certainly. Some women really like that smell.