No fancy new clothes. No fancy new notebooks. The is graduate school. More specifically, this is divinity school where would-be pastors, scholars, and non-profiteers pay thousands of dollars in return for median incomes. But we knew this much.
Three days of orientation down and two years to go in obtaining my Masters of Theological Studies degree at Duke University. While my fellow classmates bury their heads towards the Ph.D., I’m the odd-duck-out who wants to start her own business, working in the publishing world to advance young feminists’ voices. The city of Durham is miles away from the lights of my Bay Area home but its ground is fertile for change.
At the very least, I’ll finally get to meet some men. Don’t misunderstand. I’ve met THE man, a quite lovely, burly, little man who I’ve wedded my life to for the past four years. But I want to meet men who will partner with me on the faith-filled feminist journey. Years of working in non-profits and publishing houses have washed me in the feisty aroma of estrogen. But the work can’t be done alone. Our liberation as women depends on their liberation as men in the life of the church.
Despite the young gentleman I recently met at a pre-orientation luncheon who looked passed me to my husband and asked what he would be studying, I have high hopes for my young classmates. That they would listen. That they would be changed. And that they would teach me a thing or two about fixing the ball bearing on my old-fashioned bike. Not to stereotype or anything…