The Loss of Being An RA: Guest Post by Saolomon Mouacheupao

When I began the process of asking fellow students to write these posts, I realized I had really just asked a bunch of women. That's fine--most of my friends are women and I love what they have had to say--but that left half of the people in this specific situation without voices, at least on this blog.

Cue Saolomon.

Saolomon and I were RAs together this year. I regret to say that I didn't get to know him well--but I heard the glowing reports of all those who did. AND I heard him preach. Based on those two things, I had a hunch that he could write. Turns out, he can, and he can do it really well. He is a compassionate and faithful minister of hope in this time, and it is a great honor to share his words with you today:

....

The last 2 months have definitely been a wild ride.

I was walking the beaches of California when we got the news that schools all across America started going online. It was supposed to be such a fun trip to get a break from all the hustle and bustle that the semester brings, especially being an RA. Not only was I an RA, but 2 of the other guys I was with were also RA’s.  The semester itself is already enough to make you want to get away, but to be in a space where the title of RA doesn’t need to be carried sounded so life-giving.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love being an RA and it’s probably one of the highest privileges I’ll have at Moody, but sometimes it makes you balance more plates than you have sticks to balance them on. But when we got the news Moody was closing, and what a whirlwind that was, our floors were one of the first things we thought of.

We ended up leaving early to get back to Moody to make ourselves available to serve our floors again. On our way back, someone said this:

 “To not end the year with my floor the way I wanted to is gonna bother me for the rest of my life.”

That has stuck with me. It articulated the deep ache in my heart, the kind that makes your stomach drop thinking about all the dreams you had--and then feeling as if you’re watching them vanish. It was the beginning of grieving the loss of my floor.

Culby 18, though I’ve only lived here for a year, has been a home for me. It’s become the place I’ve learned to love. It’s been home of the men I’ve learned to call my brothers. I’ve had the unique privilege of living on campus the rest of the semester and being one of the few RA’s left on campus. Some days I wrestled being here, especially sending a lot of my guys home. Having to watch the guys I love move off the floor prematurely was a constant reminder that it was being taken from me, and some days I wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling.

But the Lord has taught me to grieve this semester.

It’s currently the last week of the semester: finals week. It’s my last week of living on 18. It’s my last week of being an RA. By the grace of God I can say that as this time has progressed, the Lord has been slowly teaching me and reshaping the way I see how the time has passed. Because as sad as it is to have dropped a lot of my guys off at the airport in March, or to come on the floor and have only 4 guys with me, I got to be there for it.

I got to be able to say bye to some of my freshmen I so badly wanted to pour into the rest of the semester.

I got to live life so intimately next to 4 of the guys on my floor during a time of loss and to lead a space that hopefully bred a community.

I got to see the way my floor fights for community even when the semester was taken from them.

None of those things were the things I wanted to see before all of this happened. I didn’t plan for this. But although it wasn’t what I planned for, the Lord has been so sweet to teach me that these were still gifts he was giving to me. In the losses came new opportunities to RA.

This time changed the meaning of being an RA, and at first I had to grieve it--grieve the loss of all the dreams. But as I reflect on the last two months, being an RA has now meant unrushed times of bathroom conversations because there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do. It’s meant knocking on the door of the only guy who lives on my side of the floor to see if I can pray for him. It’s meant processing the slowness of our now online classes together in moments of depleting motivation. And so much more.

This is not all to say that God miraculously changed my heart to gladly accept all the changes, but rather that God in his tender mercies has slowly allowed me to see that what I was doing, although wasn’t my ideal, wasn’t by any means lesser. So my heart goes out to any of my fellow RA’s reading this, your work is not in vain. It might’ve looked different, but it was meaningful in new ways. Take heart.

He’s still in the business of turning mourning into rejoicing.