There was a time during my graduate studies when I was very overwhelmed. The classes were in English, and Spanish is my first language.
As obvious as this is, I wasn’t taking it into account.
Some classes were denser than others, and there was another group of classes that stimulated a different part of my being, different from the intellect, but which were also very challenging. These latter classes even touched my soul and my own personal history.
Intermittently, depending on the classes and the days they were offered, there were semesters when I took two classes in one day, others when I took one class, and others when I took two classes on two different days.
The first year I still didn’t know how to best choose my classes according to the curriculum. I based my choices on the days I had available in the afternoons, without considering whether the combination of classes I chose was appropriate for my situation.
The first four semesters were an example for me of how not to choose classes. I was still getting used to the language at the graduate level. I went in very bravely, thinking that the professors would show me some consideration for being a Spanish speaker, but that wasn’t the case. Professors, in addition to teaching their subject matter, guide us in learning to write properly, and for that, a proper command of the English language is a requirement.
As the saying goes, I did the best I could by symbolically kicking and screaming. But by the time I entered the fourth semester, my confidence in my abilities was very low. I submitted assignments late, and when they were returned graded, the result wasn’t necessarily what I would have wanted. Each semester, despite the joy of being in the program, weighed more heavily on me, and I doubted I would be able to graduate.
One particular class had a reputation for being very difficult: the systematic theology class. I intentionally didn’t enroll in that class when it was offered, because I thought that if I was barely managing in the other classes, I would struggle immensely with that one. And the rumors weren’t helped by the fact that the class was always taught by highly renowned professors, authors, and lecturers of nationally and internationally recognized books. Anyway, I avoided that class as much as I could, until it was no longer possible.
By then I had learned to choose my classes better. The idea was to intelligently combine classes whenever possible, pairing a very demanding class with one with a different focus, soI could increase my chances of success, hahaha.
I don’t remember which class I combined Systematic Theology with, but I ended up switching professors. Due to high demand, they opened another class with a different professor. I had already registered with one professor, but when I realized who the professor for the other class would be, I decided to request a change. The reason? The professor was bilingual, and although the class would still be in English, I could write in Spanish.
When that semester began, I understood the academic rumors. The class was tough for everyone. However, because I could write in Spanish, I didn’t struggle as much to express myself, at least not as much as in the other classes where I had to write in English. In this class, I may have struggled to process the information initially, but at least not to articulate my questions.
Taking systematic theology for me was like trying to build a bridge when I barely knew my numbers. I felt like I lacked so much understanding, and at the same time, I had to keep up with the class.
At the end of the semester, I was greatly surprised to discover that my grade was the highest of any of the other classes I had taken, even though that class was the most difficult in the entire program.
When I mentioned it to the professor, she wisely told me:
—It’s because you’re writing in your native language. You don’t have to think about translating. That allows you to focus and express yourself better.
Yes, it was obvious, but the comment was so simple and yet so profound for me. Then she took the time to detail her academic experience as a Cuban immigrant growing up in the United States, and how she had seen a similar process with other Spanish-speaking students. After having that conversation with her, I felt like a withered flower that had just been given water. I felt alive, that I could move forward with this challenge that meant so much to me. It was as if she had said to me:
—Rise up.
In Scripture, there is a moment when the prophet Isaiah refers to Jerusalem with the words:
—Rise up in splendor.
And you, have you ever received words that fill you with life and make you shine?
What was that experience like for you?
For me, the words I heard from my professor were so meaningful that they encouraged me to continue studying. They literally lifted me up.
And you, when was the last time you spoke words of life?
If the Spirit leads you, share with Jesus the carpenter the last words you have heard that uplift you with life. And perhaps, you will observe how much life your words offer to you and others.
Marisol
P.S.: We can hear about the invitation to rise up in splendor in the readings for the Solemnity of the Epiphany, Year/Cycle A.
