By Julia Arnold-Hess
I was 19 when I stepped off a Greyhound bus in downtown Cleveland, alone and weary from the day-long journey. I gathered my baggage, much more than I could carry comfortably, and awkwardly hobbled to the curb in front of the station. Lacking a viable alternative, I got into a sketchy-looking taxi with an even sketchier-looking driver, and was eventually deposited unscathed onto a lawn on the campus of John Carroll University. It was the first time that I, a transfer student, had seen my new school in person. First impressions were good; it was sunny and peaceful, with leaves of tall trees casting shadows on the grass below.
Thirty-odd years later, I can see that same lawn from my office window. And I can also see that transferring to John Carroll saved my life.
Thinking back, I remember how overwhelmed I was at 19. It's easy to forget the unique stress of young adulthood. Choices made between the ages of 18 and 22 have a way of sticking, as do the consequences of choosing poorly. Possibilities abound, and with them, chances to take the wrong path. It's unsurprising then that some students become lost, emotionally and spiritually, with more troubles than they can carry on their own.
My former school—so different from the small college feeling at John Carroll—was a large, noisy, urban university. While some might be energized in that environment, I felt lost in the chaos. Over time, my personal problems piled up, seeming to grow claws and fangs. Finally, I resolved to switch to a smaller school, hoping for a fresh start.
John Carroll proved to be the right choice. I thrived in the nurturing environment of its small campus. I made lifelong friends, one of whom I ended up marrying. Classes were smaller, and the professors knew our names. One of them, Jim Krukones, is still a faculty member and now a colleague. Three decades later, he still remembers the topic of my senior history capstone paper. Yes, his memory is uncanny, but it speaks to an investment of time and care and energy that he and many other JCU professors had (and have) for students. Engaged teachers lead to engaged students, and the result is an education like no other.
At John Carroll, I could pay attention to what felt like my authentic self. In the quiet that I found here, I was able to grow in my relationship with God. I joined the campus RCIA program and received the sacrament of confirmation in St. Francis Chapel. I made an eight-day silent retreat, guided by memorable spiritual directors like Fr. Joseph Schell, S.J.
Through many different retreat offerings at Jesuit institutions of higher learning, students (above) are able to attend to their inner lives, reflect upon ultimate concerns, and grow in their relationship with God, or however they perceive the transcendent. Photo courtesy of John Carroll University.
No longer in defensive mode, no longer feeling lost, I could be open to God's call and the deepest longings of my own heart.
Here, I became free to become a person for others.
In gratitude for this, I try to embody the kindness I encountered here by helping students as much as possible in my administrative role. I know this is also true for so many thousands of alumni for whom smaller Jesuit institutions—not just John Carroll, but Spring Hill, Rockhurst, St. Peter’s, Canisius, LeMoyne—so many of whom are committed to making a positive impact in their communities decades after their graduation.
Small, Jesuit institutions are priceless and worth preserving because they allow for lost young people like me to become found. Will they be lost amid the large-scale changes taking place in higher education today? Not on my watch.
Julia Arnold-Hess is an administrative assistant for Mission-Based Scholarship Programs at John Carroll University.
The featured cover photo (above) is courtesy of John Carroll University.