The Magazine of Southwestern’s Student Association2015-2016 Issue One

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Letter from the EditorI never actually thought that this, of all things, would be my message to you for the first

issue of Status. Hopefully I did a good job and made a magazine that you all will enjoy, but this will be the only one I have a direct hand in this year.

This is because I have resigned my position as Status Editor. It wouldn’t be a surprise to me if this comes out of left field for many of you and I see no

reason why it wouldn’t. Until now the only people who knew I made this decision were my close friends and select faculty. This choice didn’t come easily and is the product of many days of thought.

Like many of you I have dreams for the future, and almost all of them rely on the success of my education. Recently, however, it’s felt like my ability to focus and stay ahead of my studies has been lax in comparison to other years. In reality there are many reasons for this, but in the end I realized that I had simply become too busy.

So why does this all matter to you? Choose what you spend your time on wisely. Do as well as possible on your schoolwork and make that investment mean as much as you can. Yet, don’t over extend yourself. College is more than getting a grade; it’s about starting your life in the real world. The friends you make here will be with you for years to come and I’m lucky to have some great ones.

Don’t overcommit to the point that you have to start making sacrifices. If you start to be too busy ask yourself if some things are truly important and will have a healthy impact on your experience. Study hard, make good friends, and seize the opportunity that college lays before you.

-Andrew AustinTable of Contents

Letter from the Editor-2-

A New Chapter-3-

The Casual Side of Dr. Ken Shaw-4-

10 Things Every Freshman Should Know-5-

Meet the Writers-6-

Devotional-7-

Serial-8-

Contributors-Back Page-

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A New ChapterA Welcoming to the Freshmen

Hello! If you are a returning student, wel-come back to SWAU! *woop woop* I’m so glad you chose to continue your journey here! And if you are a freshman or transfer student, welcome! *confetti* I’m so excited that you are here and I hope this becomes one of the best experiences of your life as it has become for me.

I hope you have enjoyed your summer as much as I did. Now it’s time to start those lovely things called classes so that you can get that A. Believe me, I feel just as unprepared to start this year as you probably do. But, whether we’re ready or not, it’s started so we might as well embrace it, right? Obviously the start of a new school year can be a daunting experience; especially at a new school. New professors, classmates, and (if you live in the residence hall) a roommate.

I can still remember the uncertainty that came with starting my freshman year this time last fall at SWAU. To be honest, it was rather over-whelming at times. Trying to get my class sched-ule figured out, those numerous trips to Findley, and finally getting to “Step 7” were probably the more difficult parts of starting my freshman year.

Also, one thing that seems to be rather inevitable is the "Freshman 15." If you want to keep it off, the gym will be your best friend. Working out is always more fun when you have a workout partner so grab a friend or a random

person (if you’re into that) and put the work into staying in shape.

If you’re coming in as a freshman you most likely went through CORE. Hopefully that was as helpful for you as it was for me. By the time school started I had a group of people that I knew were in the same situation of just starting college that I could relate with. That was definite-ly my favorite part of starting my freshman year.

If I could sum up my experience of fresh-man year into two words of advice, it would be “time management.” This is going to be one of the best times of your life so don’t get so caught up in your studies that it becomes (as a friend put it) like the responsibility of being married with kids. Unless you’re a nursing student...I’m sorry. On the other hand, you’re here for an education, so find the happy medium and have an awesome year!

I can already see the family atmosphere of SWAU coming together at the beginning of this school year and with all that said, going to college will be one of the most exciting and rewarding experiences of your life. In a couple years, you will look back and see how far you’ve come. And I hope SWAU is a huge part of that.

-Victory Rigdon

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The Casual Sideof Dr. Ken Shaw

Dr. Shaw isn’t the normal university president. In an interview he shared some answers to a couple common and uncommon questions that may help you know him a bit better.

Starting with the basics, he loves Mex-ican food, so he’s in the right place, and his favorite type of music is Gospel quartet and classical. He also played the euphonium in a small brass group. Dr. Shaw loves to play golf and when he’s not busy he tries to play once or twice a month. Some of his goals for this school year is starting on the five year strategic plan and working on the school’s 10 year accreditation that’s coming up in a few months. I also asked him what his favorite Bible character is and why. “Besides Jesus, I love Nehemiah since he got a lot done with God’s will and power even with the naysayers saying he couldn’t do it.” If he had one super-power, he thinks it would be really cool to fly.

You can’t have Dr. Shaw without Mrs. Shaw so I asked how they met. They went to the same high school while she was a fresh-man and he was a sophomore. An activity they enjoy doing together is walking every morning and traveling to different places. His favorite place to have ever traveled to was Ireland over this past summer. His favorite part about Southwestern Adventist University is the students. He says it’s a great mix from all over the United States and beyond with a mix of different backgrounds and cultures that makes Southwestern special.

When asked what piece of advice he would give to students he said, “To deal with topics and issues at the moment they come up

and don’t put them off, making them bigger and bigger. Also, don’t dwell on the past, but focus on the future.” The best advice given to him is similar, and is about dealing with things in the timeliest matter.

The last question I asked him was if he could go back in time where would he go. He wanted to go back to East Tennessee where he was raised and see the different colors of the seasons along with the surrounding beau-tiful mountains. He also wanted to go back to Jerusalem during the time period of Jesus and experience all the sights and sounds for him-self, as well as listening to what the professors had to say in the synagogue. Dr. Shaw is a great guy and gave some great advice.

The next time you see him, say hello and thank him for being our university presi-dent!

-Scott Wallace

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10 ThingsEvery Freshman Should Know!

1. GO TO CLASS! Showing up is half the battle.

2. Bring all the supplies you need to class. Pen-cils and paper are a rare commodity in college.

3. Be active in school activities and functions.Your “best friend” should not be your gamingsystem.

4. Don’t forget about your worship credits! It’slike leaving the lights on when you leave yourhouse: you don’t really think about them untilyou get the bill.

5. Schedule time in your day for leisure andrelaxation. The best built engine is useless if it’sburnt out.

6. Be kind to everyone, but everyone does nothave to be your friend. That’s how you makeenemies.

7. Time lost procrastinating is not found thenight before the test.

8. If a professor took the time to write it on theboard, he/she will take the time to put it on thetest.

9. Don’t be afraid to ask your professors forhelp: it’s what they are paid for.

10. Commit Proverbs 3:5,6 to memory.

-Jordan Shelton-Greene

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Meet the WritersVictory Rigdon

I’m a sophomore communication student and weekend personality at the Christian radio station here on campus. I was homeschooled all the way through high school and grew up just a few minutes from SWAU. In high school, I played basketball and ran track. I also played soft-ball for a season but we won’t talk about that... In my spare time, I can be found reading books, binge watching TV shows, hanging out with friends, traveling, or browsing Pinterest for inspiration (I know that sounded very cliche’ but don’t judge me). To me, YOLO means making risky decisions in laser tag. WalMart is my playground and the otter is my spirit animal.

Kylie Kurth

Kylie is a sophomore English major, with an emphasis in writing. Hailing from the Midwest, she has lived in Indianola, Iowa (near the capital, Des Moines, which is French) for most of her life. That’s the corn state, in case you were wondering. At the moment, she plans to go into editing or publishing after graduation, but her passion lies in creative writing, as she would like to be a novelist. Favorite pastimes include art, music, tennis, hiking, netflixing, cuddling with her cat and dog, and of course, reading and writing. She loves discovering new things during her jour-ney with Christ.

Scott Wallace

My name is Scott and I’m a Communication major in my senior year. When I’m not doing school work I enjoy taking photos, reading, listening to music, being out in nature and randomly getting distracted on the internet, haha (you can learn a lot ;D). My favorite color is blue. I love Asian food and a good home cooked meal, plus desserts are sweet so I love those too! I enjoy playing basketball and the occasional soccer. I love pandas and spending time with my family and friends! :)

Jordan Shelton-Greene

Jordan is a Communication major with an emphasis in journalism. His hobbies include writing, hiking, camping, being a food connoisseur, traveling, singing, going to plays, and intellectualization. His inspirations are his father, the authors, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, as well as Socrates. The list of his personal favorite books includes The Chronicles of Narnia, The Schwa Was Here, Till We Have Faces, The Great Divorce, The Odyssey, and the Bible. Known for being one of the more outspoken and opinionated journalism students, Jordan has a love for the written word and the stories that it can tell.

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“Look at me!” I yelled as I zoomed down the hill on my bicycle, headed for a homemade jump that consisted of a board and two cinderblocks. “Look at me!” was the common phrase of the kids in my neighbor-hood as we attempted “daring” tasks that were sure to impress. As campers at summer camp, before we would leap off the diving board to do a flip, twist, or what often ended up as a belly flop, we would yell, “Watch this!” As we grew older, that phrase changed to “check this out!” as we hastily formed a ski jump on the Pennsylvania snow ski slopes and then stepped into our bindings to “catch some air” before the ski patrol would come and destroy the jump.

“Look at me,” “watch this,” and “check this out” were often followed by black and blue bruises, stitches, limbs in casts, or an oc-casional frantic call to 911. "Pride often really does go before a fall" (Proverbs 16:18). The desire to draw attention to oneself is almost universal. Children, teenagers, young adults, and senior citizens all desire attention. The desire to draw attention to one’s self began in heaven. Lucifer’s subtle message was and still is “Look at me.” Notice the difference: God deserves our attention and praise, the enemy of God desires it. Ministry is living out praise for God, MEnistry is drawing attention to one’s self.

As we begin this new academic year, new freshmen, new classes, new opportuni-ties, it is natural to want to impress others. To excel academically, to impress athletically, to lead musically, or to win an elected office can all be good endeavors if the glory is directed back to God. However, we have to think about what motivates us: Is the desire to impress

others? To impress God? To draw attention to ourselves? As students, staff, faculty, and administration of Southwestern Adventist University, we have all been led by God to this university. We have all been called to minis-try –the service we offer to God because He is worthy of our best for His service.

Too often, though, there is the tempta-tion to allow “ME” to become mixed up in the calling to minister for Christ. When we wor-ship our talent more than the One who gave us the talent, that is MEnistry. When what we do for others is to just “pad” our resume instead of coming from a heart filled with concern for others, that is MEnistry. Philippians 2:3-4 (NIV) says, “Do nothing out of selfish ambi-tion or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.”

Southwestern Family, this year it is time to Engage in Ministry. We must genuinely seek ways to use the talents, skills, and gifts that God has given us for the glory of the One who has given us the gifts. This year, be a part of a small group, volunteer with the Food Pantry, help lead a children’s Sabbath School class, participate in a praise team, volunteer to greet at one of our local churches, do random acts of kindness, take time to pray with and for others. There is only one remedy for MEm-istry and that is true ministry. This year, no matter what your major is, Engage in ministry.

-Pastor Russ Laughlin

MEnistry or MinistryA Devotional Thought

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Statushad taken Michael as his squire when he first arrived in Ithiria; Lord Titus who had trained him in the art of swordsmanship, complimenting that which was already in his Angari style. At the age of fifteen, it was Lord Titus who had knighted him, and set the knight’s loral upon his head. No one had been a better master, better mentor, or better friend, then Lord Titus. Only Denbar, Michael’s childhood friend and fellow knight, was closer.

Lord Titus even cared about the small things that others might have simply thought inconsequen-tial. As of late, Michael had misplaced a very import-ant dagger. It had been a present from his parents upon his knighthood, along with the blade that was sheathed at his side. Both were made after the Angari fashion: long, slender blades without guarders, the handles fashioned from the black antler of a black stag. These gifts were precious to him, and he had gone almost mad when he had found the dagger had gone missing. It was Lord Titus who had taken the initiative and made the order aware of his plight. He still asked daily if Michael had been able to recover it. What ‘viper’ would be so considerate, so caring? Perhaps the lore of his people was wrong. Maybe it was possible for a snake to shed its scales.

As he pondered all this, Michael suddenly found himself in front of massive iron doors that lead to the throne room. While lost in his thoughts he had almost forgotten the reason he had left his room in the Knigthts Tower. King Barlum had summoned him, which seemed a little out of place. Since the last attempt on the king’s life, few had been allowed into the throne room, not even the queen or the king’s son. These were dangerous times in Ithiria. After almost three years of peace, the Zanthians in the south were on the march. Tensions in the kingdom were high, as daily the Zanthian army pressed further and further north. Some thought that King Barlum was taking the matter too lightly, and that it was time for a new, more military king.

Now Michael stood before the throne room doors, sweating in his armor. He had only ever been before the king twice: once when he was knighted and again when he had been sent to deliver a letter of good favor from the king to his parents in their castle at Nellwood. Two sentries were posted at either end of the doors, but upon seeing Sir Michael they moved in sycrinized formation and pulled the huge doors open. Michael walked slowly and cautiously into the room, its many tall ebony pillars and gilded, vaulted ceiling

Dead of KnightSir Michael Conroy walked briskly down the

long, tapestried hallways of Barlum’s Keep, the velvet carpet that ran the length of the corridor muffling his heavy, armored steps. Still, his chainmail and armor plates clinked and chinked softly with each step, sounding out of place for the otherwise silent night. The moon was full, shining through the northern win-dows and illuminating the hall. It fell on Michael as he passed, making his gilded armor shimmer, pale and bright. He carried his helm under his arm, his long, chestnut hair pulled back into a bun. Whenever the moonlight caught his eyes, they shone like green fire, and when he stepped past a window into the shadow of the wall they were once again dark green, like the forest.

As he walked, Michael glanced up at the ban-ners hanging from the ceiling and on the walls; crest of great houses. He knew many by sight: the red bear of Rawrum, the winged shoes of Corrier, the crow of the Kaukins, the axe of the Tombins. He passed the banner of his own house: the black stag of Conroy on a white field. The same black stag adorned his breast-plate, as well as the flowing white mantle that hung from his shoulders. The Conroys were a very new fam-ily to the kingdom of Ithiria, having been one of the first to swear allegiance to the crown after The IthoAn-gar War. His own people had called them traitors, but his father had always said that there were few greater honors then to fight beside a noble rival. As those who were bested, they owed their fealty to Ithiria.

Other banners he knew, but they were from a time long past; the white lion of House Marstin, the hare of Jackfoot, the tortoise of Malfry. His eyes fell quite suddenly on one banner on the south wall; the black viper of Verdun. Michael averted his eyes quick-ly from that standard. It had frightened him even as a child, when he was first brought to Barlum’s Keep to be a squire. The writhing black snake on a red field with piercing red eyes had haunted his adolescent dreams. To the Angari, the snake was a symbol of evil, decep-tion, and trickery. It was a snake who had convinced the first man to turn away from Mowsi, the Creator. Yet here in Ithiria, the Verduns were a house of great repute, power, and honor, with none being more hon-orable then Lord Titus Verdun. It was Lord Titus who

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Statusreminding him of the belly of some giant, bejeweled beast. Truly, it was a sight to behold; an honor for any knight.

Yet as he approached the throne, Michael began to feel a strange, creeping sensation crawling up his spine. Something wasn’t right. Where was Bardon? He was suppose to be Throne Guard tonight, yet he was nowhere to be seen. He had never gotten along well with Sir Bardon.

“The Hammer,,” partly due to the elder knight’s rash and reckless approach to diplomacy and partially to his hatred for the Angari. Bardon had been against Michael’s knightship from the very beginning, wanting instead to have him kept prisoner to ensure the Con-roy’s loyalty. But neither the king nor Lord Titus would allow it. Since then, there had been tension between the two. But as his fellow knight, Michael had tried to be as pleasant to his elder as he could. But where was Bardon now?

The closer Michael got to the throne, the greater the suspicious feeling grew. He could see the the king now. His majesty was slouched in his golden throne, his chin to his chest, his mouth slack. His royal robes lay limp on the floor. It was not King Barlum’s custom to slouch, Michael knew. He was old, yes, but not ancient. It was Lord Barlum that had lead his house to victory in the Three/Fourths War many, many years ago, and set the golden griffin flying high from the ramparts of the castle. King Barlum was a strong, yet gentle king, though at the moment he had taken on the appearance of a man who had drunken too much ale. Perhaps the king was dozing? It was almost midnight.

“Your Majesty,” said Michael, kneeling before the throne and bowing his head before the king. He waited to be acknowledged. None came. It was not the place of a knight to be impatient with a king, so Michael waited. Moments passed, and the silence that had been following Michael in the hallways filled the room like water, drowning him in anxiety. “ Your Majesty?” he inquired again, lifting his eyes ever so slightly towards the throne. High above, the light of the full moon streamed thought the many windows of the throne room, causing everything they fell on to be bathed in silvery light.

In an instant, Michael’s heart was in his throat and he sprang to his feet with a great cry, rushing towards the throne. The light of the moon had shone briefly on the king, and Michael’s eye had caught the faintest glint of blood dripping from his mouth.

Though the transient shaft made pale all that was in it, the blood was dark and deadly red. As Michael reached him, he had just enough time to catch the king as he slid silently off of this throne. He could feel the blood seeming from the king’s wound as he cra-dled the dead monarch. Michael felt along the kings back, trying to find the vile weapon that had been used to murder his lord. His hands closed upon what felt like the hilt of a dagger, and immediately his own blood ran cold.

He knew the feel of that hilt. His fingers knew the grip well. It was the same as the grip of the blade at his side. He pulled the dagger from the king’s body and threw it across the floor. As it spun across the tiles, still stained with blood, the shafts of moon light fol-lowed it like divine fingers: a slender, guardless blade with a black antler hilt. It was Michael’s lost blade. Fear gripped Michael suddenly. For a moment, he was again a child coming into the throne room for the first time, its largeness making him feel small and alone.

“Bardon!” he shouted. “ Lord Titus! Guards! Anyone, come quick! The king has been murdered!” His voice echoed through the room, reverberating off the ceiling and reaching his ears hollow and unan-swered. A sudden movement flashed out of the corner of his vision. A figure disappeared into the shadow of one of the pillars. Michael couldn’t see it well, but he thought he was able to make out a silver shape against a greek cloak. The Fang twins, Gendel and Lendel, bore the silver wolf on a green field. Could it be one of them?

His thoughts were broken off by another movement on his right. He turned, still holding the dead king, and breathed and audible sigh of relief. Out from behind of of the pillars stepped Sir Bardon. The huge knight towered over Michael, his all black armor baring the white hammer of his house. His face was as hard as stone and just as sculpted, chin covered by a thin, close shaved beard.

“Bardon,” said Michael frantically. “ Thank the Creator you’re here! Go find Lord Titus quickly. The king has been murdered!”

“And how did that happen,” replied Bardon, calmly as if Michael had just told him that the sky was black at night.

“Someone must have come into the throne room while I was still making my way here,” said Mi-chael. “ He was murdered with my missing dagger.”

“Isn’t that a coincidence,” said Bardon. “ You come to the throne, and just happen to find your

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Statusdagger lodged in the king’s back.” A sly smiled played across the face of the elder knight. “Wouldn’t it be more likely that you were the one to murder the king?”

“Of course I didn’t murder the king!” ex-claimed Michael. “How could you think such a thing…” In his mind another question suddenly formed. “Where have you been? When I entered you were nowhere to be found. You could have saved him! Why weren’t you here to protect the king?”

“The old griffin should have been able to pro-tect himself,” said Sir Bardon dryly. “He let his beak and talons grow dull.”

Michael now noticed that Bardon’s maul war hammer was drawn, the huge iron head resting on the floor. He was suddenly aware of the senior knight’s overwhelming power and height. Bardon had begun to move out from behind the shadow of the pillar and closer to where Michael still knelt on the floor with the king in his arms.

“How do you dare talk so of the king?” said Michael, his voice a mixture of shock and anger. “Even as he lies dead before you?”

“The same way I dare to slay his slayer!” shout-ed Baron, lifting his maul in a high arch above his head. Michael had just enough time to jump out of the way and the hammer can crashing down, sending fragments of tile flying into the air.

“I told you, I didn’t murder the king,” he shout-ed, instinctively drawing his sword. “He had been murdered when I arrived!” Again The Hammer swung his maul, almost catching Michael’s shoulder. He took a few steps back, knowing that his blade would be no use in parrying Bardon’s massive weapon. “ Why won’t you listen to me Bardon?”

“Fool,” shouted Bardon, a wild smile forming on his face. “You’re like a rat that doesn’t know he’s caught in a trap!” Again he swung, his maul crashing into one of the pillars. Michael’s mind was racing. He knew he couldn’t continue to dance around these attacks for long. Eventually, Bardon would corner him and crush him like an insect. He had to cripple him somehow, before he could get any type of answer as to what was really happening.

Bardon swung again, this time trying to catch Michael with the back swing of his hammer. Michael ducked under the first swing and side stepped the sec-ond, then dropping to one knee he slashed at the back of the knight’s leg. Bardon roared in pain and anger, bringing his hammer down wildly with both hands. Michael rolled just in time to not be made into a hot-

cake, then stabbed the back of Bardon’s remaining leg with the back stroke of his sword.

The Hammer came crashing to his knees, hands sprawled out of the floor. Michael knew that this was not a permanent disability. It was only a matter of time before Bardon was able to push himself through the pain of his wounds, and though he was on his knees he could still swing with bone breaking force. Suddenly, there was a deafening crack, like the break-ing of a giant’s table. The pillar that Bardon had struck broke in two, falling in great marble boulders. Michael dove out of the way of the falling debris and cover his neck. He could feel the smaller pieces striking his armor, some big enough to make dents. The room roared and echoed with the sound so that it was like a storm had been unleashed inside the throne room.

When the dust settled, the room had become silent again. Michael pushed himself off the ground and onto his hands and knees. His body was bruised, even with the protection of his armor, and he could feel a trickle of blood running down the side of his head. He turn to look at Bardon, and saw the huge knight pinned under two of the great marble blocks. One had crushed his legs and the other his torso. His breathing was shallow, but present. Michael stood painfully and limped over to the downed knight, put-ting the tip of his sword directly under his chin.

“What did you mean by a rat in a trap?” he asked forcefully. There was no answer. Bardon’s eyes were closed, and his breathing suggested that his ribs had also been broken. “If you still have breath to breath then you have breathe to talk. what did you mean?” This time, a thin laugh broke from Bardon’s lips.

“Always the upright knight,” he said, every now and then coughing up a mouthful of blood. “The paragon of virtue. So disgustingly wholesome. Al-ways having to be moral, even when there were was so much more to be gained by an alternate route. You and that fool of a king would have seen the kingdom overrun with foreigner if hadn’t been for us.”

“Who is us?” “Wouldn’t you like to know. You’d run all the

way back to Lord Verdun and blab on us, eh? Well that doesn’t matter. To the eyes of all men, you killed the king,” Slowly, the realization of what was happening dawned on Michael like a dark morning.

“The summons…the personal letter from the king…all of it was…”

“All bait for the trap,” said Bardon. “ And you

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Statusswallowed it like a starving fish!” He coughed up an-other mouth full of blood. It was obvious he wouldn’t live much longer. He was using the last of his strength to taunt Michael. “You Angari think you’re so clever. Always thinking you were smarter and stronger and better then we. And then we defeated you, and tamed you like the dogs you are.” This was too much. Despite his sense of honor, Michael found his hand wrapped around the dying knight’s throat, his grip so tight that he could have snapped his neck and put him out of his misery at any moment. “ Go ahead,” gasped Bardon. “Kill me, it doesn’t matter. Either way, you lose Con-roy.”

Michael knew he was right. If he killed Bardon his guilt would be all too clear. If he stayed, doubtless he would not have the time to explain himself before he was killed. He turned his eyes back towards the treacherous knight, piercing him with his fiery green eyes.

“Look at me Bardon, because I want you to hear this before you pass into the next world. I don’t

know what you and your conspirators stand from killing the king and framing me, but hear this promise: Whoever else you have plotted with, I will find them. I will bring them to justice. I will clear my name. And I will avenge the king. This I swear by Mowsi, the Creator and Father of the Heavens,” Bardon chocked, betraying a sly smile.

“There are no gods, you zealous fool. Only man is god.”

“If man is god, then all men are fated to end up like you,” Michael released his grip on Bardon, leaving him to cling to what little life he had left. He turned to leave, striding with determined steps towards the doors that not long before he had been so nervous to enter through. He knew that when he passed through them, the guards would try and stop him.

Once he passed through those door, his whole life was going to change for the worse.

-Jordan Shelton-Greene and Kylie Kurth

StatusEditor:

Authors:

Photogrpahers:

Sponsor:

Andrew Austin

Victory RigdonKylie KurthScott WallaceJordan Shelton-Greene

Janelle Jia Yi LoJordan Shleton-Greene

Dr. Glen Robinson