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Object Description
| Title | Bethel Yearbook 1980 |
| Alternative Title | Passages 1980 |
| Academic Year | 1979 - 1980 |
| Subject |
Bethel College (Saint Paul, Minn.) College yearbooks |
| Description | This volume documents the people, events, activities and ideas of the Bethel community during the 1979 - 1980 school year |
| Date Published | 1980 |
| Decade | 1980 |
| Digital Publisher | Bethel University Digital Library |
| Editor | Johnson, Robert W. |
| Contributors | Hanson, Terri Sue (Literary Director) |
| Digital Collection | Bethel Yearbook Collection (1909-1989) |
| Location |
United States Minnesota Saint Paul |
| Time Span of Publication | Published annually from 1909 to 1989 except for the years of 1933-36, 1982, 1984-87 |
| Type | Text |
| Format | application/pdf |
| Original Publisher | Bethel College |
| Copyright | Images are available for educational and research purposes and are covered by Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported license. This image may not be reproduced for commercial purposes without the express written consent of Bethel University Digital Library. Contact Bethel University Digital Library at 651-638-6937 or digital-library@bethel.edu. |
| Physical Dimensions | 20.2 x 22.7 |
| Transcript | . ,fer3R1011111111, passages Bethel College 3900 Bethel Drive St. Paul, Minnesota Cover: Thor Hansen Passages It is only through this process, this continual crossing from point to point, that confusion can pass to understanding, that the undeveloped can pass to maturity, that incompleteness can pass to fullness. God uses passages in our lives as a reminder that the very world in which we live is but a passage—a crossing to eternity. Only God never changes. He is always the same. In a world of passages we can invariably find our stability in him. Robert W. Johnson Editor Terri Sue Hanson Literary Director t . OP. the passage begins All beginnings are hard. Think back to the beginning of the year, it was so full of anticipation and expec-tation. There was so much to take in, so much unfamiliarity and uncertainty to grapple with. Of course, enthusiasm doesn't make new begin-nings any easier. We often appear head strong and confident when deep down we are as frightened as a lost child. Remember get-ting a preview of all that had to be accom-plished in fifteen short weeks? You may have felt defeated before you even began. But as you took things one at a time, suddenly it wasn't so over-whelming. It takes patience to learn. We cannot expect to swal-low the world all at once— beginnings don't allow that, and that's why they are diffi-cult. Progress is with just one step at a time. Beginnings will never be easy. Cheryl Staurseth ar # dir-P• Steve Paulson Susan K. Anderson Fifty hostages held in Iran Clark Kent and Lois Lane roam the campus KABY back in full swing The Royal Celebration Courtyard gives new look to campus The Pope visits the United States Bereshith brings the Old Testament to life ■ Inhibited? Me? Never. With a male/ female ratio of two females to every one male, there is no way that I was about to be inhibited. Yet it hap-pened. Things didn't go as I had planned. I didn't get that long line of young eligibile men pounding at my door as I had imagined from the very first day I received Bethel recruitment materials in my home mailbox. No, my uninhibited personality just wasn't the thing at Bethel. The night of spring formal, for three years in a row, I sat at home alone do-ing the homework that everyone else had abandoned in favor of their date's request to be their escort. My evening gown hung in the closet, wilted and dusty from lack of use. No, Bethel wasn't the hive of beautiful bachelors that I first an-ticipated. I didn't have a date every Friday night. But then again, before Bethel I didn't have anything to talk about. John Howe Joy Banta Janet Ann Brown Janet Borgeson First Place Visual Award Winner Thor Hansen Susan K. Stone First Place Literary Award Winner John Collins Technology It was the fall of 1954, and, once again, technology was visitin' Maybell Valley County High School. As usual, it was late, but then, everything in our little glen was late. Why, even "The Great Hog Market Crash of '47" didn't reach us till the spring of '48. We can thank the Good Lord for our school because that's where technology got its start. The Maybell Valley County High School was the first building in the county to have in-door biffys, 'lecricity, and the telephone. Tarnation! Back in '49, when the school board held a hog raffle and bought those twelve new Underwood typritters, Sarah Long, President of the woman's temperance club, said we were all "headin' ourselfs to hell" said she. Now, old Sarah was on her high horse again 'cause the school board had splurged again and bought nine new 'lectric typritters. Long as anybody anywhere can recollect, Miss Jane Crabapple had been teaching school as far back as you want to go. Why, I don't think anybody can remember her ever be-ing younger than forty-five. She was tall, thin, and very wrinkled. Her hair was white and was done up in a bun so far above her head that it made a target for anything that a boy could get his hands on to throw at it. Well, gettin' back to those typritters. When they got them contraptions back in '49, the school board gave Miss Crabapple the critters and told her to teach the young'uns typrittin'. Now, in '54 when the 'lectrics came in, they had some trouble. It seemed that there were nine 'lectric models and nine girls in the typrittin' class. Seein' as Miss Crabapple thought that all boys were the Devil's helpers, the girls got the lectrics. The boys got left with the manuals. It's a good thing that the fellas from the State don't come around offener than they do, or we might get charged with dexter-scrimination. Little Jimmy Jones got one of the worst of them old typritters. Every time he touched the space bar, the derned critter jumped three spaces. Now, Jimmy wasn't much on pa-tience, so he got right fired up when that typritter wouldn't work, and when Jimmy got his six foot, six inch body fired up, he made quite a scene. This happened at least four times every day, and every time it hap-pened, Miss Crabapple, whose name was true as blue for the boys, would come back and show Little Jimmy how the contraption worked. Every time she put her bony finger on that blame typritter, it worked like a good luck charm. After a spell, this everyday oc-curence got under Little Jimmy's nerves. He hadn't liked Miss Crabap-ple anyway since the day she caught him smokin' in the woodshed. She caught him by both arms and shook him. Brother, she shook him till every bone in his body raffled. As she was shakin, she said in her high nasal voice, "Jimmy, I think the Devil's got aholt of you." Jimmy looked right back at her and said, "I think he has tool" Now Little Jimmy, he went down to Sam Parker's junk yard and bought hisself an old typritter that looked just like the one that he used in school. The next day, he snuck that old typritter into class and hid it under his desk. He waited till that derned space bar misfired a couple times, and Miss Crabapple had given a couple of lectures. Then, when the old lady went out of the room to take her regularity potion, he exchanged the typritters and put the old one he'd bought on his desk. Just as Miss Crabapple came back into the room, Jimmy slammed his fist on the desk, shouted, "This blame typritter, and then proceeded to throw that old machine on the floor and stamp it to pieces. Miss Crabapple had never married, and I think those typriffers had taken the place of her own young'uns. She stood, with her mouth open in horror, as she watched Little Jimmy Jones dash one of her children to pieces. After Jimmy finished, she pro-ceeded to run around and around the room screaming, "Murder, Insur-rection! Murder, Insurrection!" This quickly carried to the principal's office which was down the hall a piece. He thought sure the school was on fire, so he sounded the alarm and rushed down to see how bad it was. He arrived in the typritten' room to find Miss Crabapple fainted in a chair. Jane Anne Wilkins, youngest member of Sarah Long's temperance club, was fannin' her with a hanky and damnin' Jimmy Jones to Hellfire. All the boys were laughing like hyeners, and I think the girls were en-joyin' it too, but they was afraid to show it and get their 'lectric typritter took away. Even the principal's mouth was starting to crack a smile when Miss Crabapple came around. (I think it was the firetruck's whistle that brought her to.) He then regained his prin-cipalin' manner and took Jimmy Jones out by the ear. When that didn't seem to help Miss Crabapple's looks, he started removin' the "laughing boys". This duty was cut short, however, when the Maybell Valley Volunteer Fire Brigade started shootin' water in the window. You know, lookin' back, I think it all worked out for the best. Miss Crabap-ple resigned, and the State gave us enough typriffers to replace the old ones. Seein' as I'm President of the school board this year, maybe we should get one of those new-fangled 'lectric variable speed drills. I hear tell that old Mr. Markot's been hittin' the squeezins' again. Let's see, maybe a bake sale . . . Dave Eckert Thor Hansen Laura Phillips Impossible How can I mash four textbooks, three notebooks, a peanutbutter and jelly lunch into my stuffed bookbag? How can I cram nation-state diplomacy, Aristotle's metaphysics, iambic pentameter behind my blue eyes when you're already there? Laura Phillips Rob Johnson If you are going to love butterflies you must learn to love a few caterpillars. Rod Broding Jolene Brask The majesty of Your world humbles me. I can't even come up with the words to set free the essence of Your beauty manifested in the works of Your hands. Why such beauty, such splendor for someone like me? Your love overwhelms me! Ron Kaihoi Thor Hansen Brian Beardsley Thor Hansen Dawn Martin passages in perspective Innocent Champion The impressionable young girl. With satin laced slippers and golden hair drawn back and woven into a bun; she is a lithe, graceful dancer. From outward appearances, her counten-ance is calm. In performance, her moves are well-defined and correct as she encaptures her audience with fancy twirls, high leaps, and precision steps. See her smile! Oh the fortunes of one trained in the youth of life—the opportunities that will be afforded un-to her. Back stage, catching her breath from an invigorating escapade, the reporters come to speak with the child-sensation. They praise her ac-complishments in ballet. They eagerly inquire about her future. They smile broadly at the mature answers that she recites. Ah, but she is a fine ac-tress also. Then her eye catches the eye of her coach; leaning casually against a wall, within the shadows of the curtain. Only his approval mat-ters. Had he not taught her all she now performed? Wasn't he there when every muscle in her body ached for rest, yet he knew she could go on? He patiently trained her and adamantly supported her. At prac-tice, his kind laughter and mild teas-ing eased the competition pressures. This classical little lady loved her coach. Fame, money, reporters, and applause—none of these she craved; at least not yet. With her tender heart and innocent eyes, she beheld this man, her firm in-structor and constant companion. She knew that he loved her. She peered between the growing number of people pressing in on her, to get his reaction to her dance. Through the maze of probing microphones, bab-bling columnists, and clicking pho-tographers, the graceful enchantress strained to see him. A glint of quiet pride shone in his eyes; then he slowly smiled and nodded his head, Her performance was good that night. That was all she needed, all that mattered. Graciously she excused herself from the fans and went to him. Her coach wrapped his strong arm around her small shoulders and they left the crowds. Her' smiles were no longer practiced or required. Tiny tears of exhilaration sparkled on her fair cheeks. The young dancer had learned more than just dancing. My friend, tonight I struggle for the words to share the memories in my heart and the illusive message that I might share with those who are not as far along their heart's path. Perhaps I might begin where you are— At Twenty-One A lifetime of memories behind you, an eternity ahead, Which one is more overwhelming? The past is known. Lived. Loved. Regretted, Missed. Forgotten. Yet, you are your past. The struggles that brought triumphs and failures, laughter and tears; all that is a part of your experience is now a part of you. Already you have lived, learned, loved, and suffered much. These lessons are a part of "growing." But you are also your future, You stand at the open door—much behind you, and much ahead. It is not easy to step out boldly, to leave the warmth and security of a hearthful of friends and familiar places. It is not easy to say goodbye, to journey out there where it is cold, and dark, and lonely. It isn't easy, but you must. This too is a part of "growing." You will learn. You will learn you are not alone, even when you are lonely. The world can be a dismal place, but you carry a light within that brightens the way you walk and gives warmth to those who also seek. Yes, be a seeker, though you have found the Answer. Seek to serve and share in the Light. Warm the world with your presence. Give of what you have been given—not in the words of things only, but in "doings." These are the gifts that cannot be buried, broken, or lost. And be a singer—a singer of love and hope to a sometimes hopeless and loveless world. Harmonize with the hearts of others who know the same song and teach it to those who ask of its message. Tune your soul to that which is kind and gentle. Revel in the beauty that is housed in even that smallest or awe-filled creation—the acorn, the thunderstorm, Listen, and come not to fear, but to know the heights of joy and the depths of despair. For wisdom comes not to the closed heart or nested spirit, but to the open one that soars toward ever new horizons, Fly ... knowing you have been, but also are beginning. You are called, "Further up! Further in!" This, for us all is the "growing." Kathy Nevins Chuck Clark Chuck Clark passages of growth .4,4e44.0)*40isA* "God Please Put a Plane Ticket to Ecuador in My P.O." I fumbled through the day's junk mail, crumpled bookstore bills and sticky contact solution in search of my keys. I opened the door to my Foun-tain Terrace apartment hesitantly, as a stranger, uncertain of welcome. The misplaced corner cactus seemed to understand my uneasiness, yet it mocked my mood. "You don't belong here either, do you?" I looked at the makeshift crate bookshelf, held together with a volume of Shake-speare's Complete Works and the glass home of two half dead goldfish. It didn't fit either. The bits and pieces of home failed to convince me that I was indeed home. Even my warm Indian blanket, which partially camouflaged the unmatched fur-niture, refused to comfort me. I stumbled to my room, longing for the green jungle of plants and South American wall hanging to reassure me. You just don't get homesick when you're a junior in college. I had paid Bethel $4,198 to sit on an unvac-uumed carpet and cry. It sort of reminded me of the twenty dollar clay fee I paid to spend frustrating hours making mud pies or modern art, while others gracefully created master-pieces worthy of the T.A.'s priase. I wondered if Jesus had ever been homesick. I prayed. "Lord, could you please put a plane ticket to Ecuador in my P.O. like you did with my lost food card that one time? Yes, Jesus, I know this world is not my home, but I'm really sick of this drab parking lot view. Couldn't you at least raise up a few eighteen-thousand foot moun-tains to replace the freeway? "You'll give me comfort and peace instead? "Thanks, Lord." Lori Swanson Carolyn Olson Janet Ann Brown A Bird in The Hand Ah, Living Wind, all powerful, Sacred Energy accessible to God-forgetting orphans, to greedy, gluttonous, guilt-laden, grounded gulls, weeping for wings broken, waiting for what? They that wait upon the Lord shall mount up with wings, as the Righteous One, risen with healing in His wings. They that wait, are they not of more value than birds of the air that neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns? Yet the Heavenly Father feeds them, and His eye is on the sparrow. David Shelley Thor Hansen Doug Barkey passages of servanthood They descended from the bus; a mob of frightened, screaming, hap-py, sad, lonely, running, pushing, shoving children. They tumbled into the small gym where Bethel's volunteers waited with smiles of welcome. They ran toward the students and embraced them, cling-ing onto legs and arms, searching for warmth. The once quiet room became full of shouts of joy and anger. Some played keep away, but with fifteen individual teams it became a rough scramble for the ball. Gazing emptily at the wild action in the center of the room were several boys and girls who sat silently. In another corner, a handful of children had surrounded a student. Laughing and hugging her, all five of them tried to sit on her lap. The kids and workers in the middle of the room had changed games. They formed a square, and holding hands they tried to kick a ball in between each other's legs. One small ruffian kicked the ball as hard as he could. It smacked a black girl in the face. She cried. A stu-dent comforted her. The game con-tinued. When the children had gotten tired of the game, the students sat them down and started a few songs. Each student had five or more children around him. The children climbed all over the students, each one trying to absorb more love and warmth. Once a few songs had been sung, the students started telling a Bible story. Today they recounted the time when Jesus calmed the storm that almost upset the disciple's boat. The students surrounded the group of children, forming the shape of a boat. Amidst giggles and laughter some children on the outside of the "boat" acted out the waves and the storm, while a stu-dent narrated the story. At the end of the story, the children split up into groups of four, with each group led by a student. The middle-aged group was led by a student who asked the kids what they thought the meaning of the story was. Some children remained stubbornly silent, while others gave their interpreta-tions. The student asked the children to share something that really scared them. The children teased each other, daring anyone to speak up. Finally one boy mentioned nonchalantly that some dogs scared him. The student tried to explain that Jesus is with us always and continually protects us. The children nodded, almost in unison. "Yea, yea," their faces said, "we've heard that one before." They already knew all the answers. A little frustrated, the student led the children in a few more games. The lunch was brought in. They ate noisily, trying to steal extra cookies. Afterwards, the children piled onto the bus, some still lonely, others push-ing and shoving. The bus skidded away on the icy streets and the yelling grew dim. Many of the children left with smiles; not because of the food, not because of the exciting story, and not because of games and fun. They smiled because for one moment they had been held close, for a few hours they had been loved by students who were searching for the very meaning of that word. A meaning that they were discovering more and more, every hour that they spent with the children. Doug Barkey "Doc's corner is meant to say 'I love you' to as many people as possible." Doc Dalton. Chuck Clark Steve Paulson Tom Twining The second little athlete was bound to find a mate, slipped into girl trouble and then there were eight. The third little athlete felt faultless for heaven, couldn't play with sinners and then there were seven. The fourth little athlete could not take his licks, things got too tough and then there were six. The fifth little athlete took a sudden dive, he forgot to study and then there were five. The sixth little athlete had gotten mighty sore, didn't see the trainer and then there were four. The seventh little athlete had the talent of few, but refused to improve and then there were two. The ninth little athlete did not know God's Son, he had wrong priorities and then there was one. These nine little athletes watched out for number one they did not serve others as shown by God's Son. But the tenth little athlete got forgiveness for sin, Jesus was his Savior and allowed him to win. This tenth little athlete was a servant for all, he humbled himself and the Lord made him tall. The Lord is so special by letting us see, that service to others is the one way to be. Lonnie Holmgren Ten Little Athletes There were ten little athletes fit to play ball, but because of poor attitudes nine took a fall. The first little athlete had done mighty fine, but wanted his own way and then there were nine. A. : ',40944,44t1 • Kurrduz JESUS IRAN C Sower • Irvistor 7' A ,; SHIR :tosses po-Je- Badol111 KABU knytter Pass lalabad %An, • Peshawar `• A1 _Kandahar Soviet transport planes , ' PAKISTAN Ref ugee camps Armored vehicles BALIJCH',S OcCuPied Soviet •••imni, Festival of Christmas with slides The gospel according to Luke portrayed on the screen Gold prices break $800 an ounce Russian troops invade Afghanistan 1/2 TOTAL SALE TOTAL SP' E GALLONS PRIMO oA Over a dollar a gallon Supergraphics Urbana: That All Nations Might Believe and Obey Jesus Christ Hollywood's Leading Ham Monday Racing down halls with just seconds to spare, Jerking a comb through my tangled-up hair. Quiet time this morning will just have to wait, Talk? There's no way, don't you know that I'm late? Snarling at people with cheerful hellos. Tuck and button the last of my clothes. Slide into class (it's just barely begun) Panting and grumpy from my morning run. Heart stops its pounding and ears start to clear, Somehow devotions I don't want to hear— "This is the day that the Lord special made, Get on with the joy, don't let Christian love fade." Sink in my desk as the words strike a chord, Long is the patience You have with me, Lord. Ginny Olson SLOW TRAIN COMING BOB DYLAN Bob Dylan decides who to serve ',hampions for their second straight year: The Butchers Campaign '80 underway Moods 1980 Scott Barnard wins Raspberry Monday ric Heidenn and the U.S. hockey team capture gold at Lake Placid_ _A_neset of spokes 44 0/////////tifi:,.. and passages continue Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead . . . Philippians 3:12,13 The Bethel Roster 1976-79 . . .1 press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:14 oua Barkey A,„ • • 9..,(•0. ••." 4.11111•441111~ kni4,4kr ■1 _ |
| Language | English |
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