Letter from Editor-in-Chief, Charis Johnston

Hello PLNU community, 

“It’s sink or swim, but I’ll make sure I’m watching you from the boat” is a line similar to what Dean Nelson said to me when I was given the job of editor-in-chief of The Point. 

My time at Point Loma Nazarene University feels epitomized in this line. I’ve jumped into many different experiences, often feeling like I was in over my head, but somehow I’ve made it five years, and I seem to have kept swimming.

Coming to PLNU was difficult for me. I got emergency housing because of the pandemic and lived in a quad dorm in Young Hall alone. Truthfully, I had an offer to transfer after my first year, and I figured I would take it. I was mentally in a dark spot – these transformative years that everyone talks about college being, were not what I thought they would be. To help my situation, I contacted Jerry Arvin, the former track coach, and asked if I could walk on the PLNU track team. 

That’s how bad it was, I volunteered to run 400-meter hurdles. 

In all seriousness, I owe Coach Arvin a lot, and I am so thankful for his belief in me. Through the team, I met some of the women who would completely change my life. I gained friendships that challenged and encouraged me. 

I joined The Point, where I co-wrote my first story with Lainie Alfaro, which was completely obliterated with edits. Little did I know, we would one day both become editor-in-chief. Dean Nelson helped me form what I feel like is my life calling: Finding and telling stories that matter, that amplify marginalized voices and spread hope. 

Throughout my time here I’ve sat in Nathan Gibbs’ office in tears, I’ve been in Bond 159 until late into the night pouring over articles only to miss an obvious spelling error and I’ve stared at InDesign layouts in Ryan Library room 216 so much that I started having dreams about creating grids and Courtney Mayer finding all my errors, as she always does. 

I’ve even had a panic attack on the track. Turns out that has actually become a highlight of my memories being on the track team. I was doubled over trying to catch my breath, and Coach Arvin came alongside me and gently placed his hand on top of my head, like he was holding a basketball. It was his way of trying to calm my racing mind. We sat there in silence together, and I’ve never felt more supported by him.

I’ve written stories for The Point that have been really impactful and, I believe, changed the trajectory of my career because of how they helped me find what I care deeply about and trained me in earning the trust to tell someone’s story. Specifically, The Point’s coverage of the Nazarene Church’s exclusion of LGBTQIA+ people and how that has shown itself on PLNU’s campus has significantly shaped me as a journalist. 

I’ll never forget these lines from David Brooks’ “The Second Mountain.” 

He wrote this:

“I find that these days I can’t see people except as ensouled creatures. I can’t do my job as a journalist unless I start with the premise that all people I write about have souls, and all the people I meet do, too. Events don’t make sense without this fact. Behaviour can’t be explained unless you see people as yearning souls, hungry or full depending on the year, hour or day.” 

Studying art and literature alongside having the opportunity to interview so many different people has been the most fun these past five years. I am constantly amazed that my job is all about asking people questions. I’ve learned from and cried with people I’ve interviewed. This area of study has pushed me to think about how I fulfill my roles as a woman, as a journalist, as a designer, as a Christian, as a daughter and as a citizen. While I may not know the specifics of what I am called to do in this life, I keep trying to find beauty and orchestration emerging from the chaos. 

Being in your 20s is so weird because you don’t actually know enough about life to see many things come full circle. I often get stuck – I freeze,  feeling unsure of my next steps. I feel like a painting, wanting some museum-goer to stop at the picture of my situation and revel in it with me. I get all too analytical about where I should be, as if I’ve fallen off course of a universal map: I should be making more money. I should have a cool resume-boosting job. I should be traveling solo, exchanging stories that I don’t have with interesting strangers. 

Being in your 20s means always feeling like you have to figure it out – like being young is a puzzle to be solved, or a problem to be remedied, or a sickness to be healed from. 

But really I think that being alive is about experiencing redirection after redirection.

I’ve leaned on the book of Job, where he questions God, and God answers, asking him, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?” At the end of their conversation, in Job 42, Job says, “I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.”

I think of Anne Lamont, who once explained it this way: “My beautiful moment of surrender with God is I say with enormous bitterness: Okay, fine.” 

Now, even amid the current headlines and what feels like more unprecedented times, I’m continuing to think about how I don’t need to have an answer all the time. I think of it just like writing or practicing art: Sometimes, all you’re supposed to do is sit with and feel the complexity of something. Sometimes, all you’re supposed to do is breathe through the contraction and thank your muscles for carrying you here. Sometimes, all you’re supposed to do is descend the tangle of redirection to one day arrive in a place where you realize that it was all of these circles that made the person no longer tormented by dizziness. In the end, I’m hoping to experience whatever is too wonderful for me to know right now. 

I’m very grateful to the people who pushed me beyond my perfectionism to think about what I am outside of Canvas assignments and putting together issues of The Point Weekly. I’m thankful for the people who made it easy for me to realize that I’d rather be known by the promises I keep and the depth that I know my friends than by any success or accomplishment. I am extremely grateful for their support, encouragement and grace. 

I am thankful to all my professors, because even if some of you didn’t realize it, or don’t remember me from pandemic Zoom classes, my time taking your classes and my time with fellow students trying to pass said classes have shaped me into the person I am today. 

I really don’t know what’s next, but I’m grateful for everything that’s brought me here. 

Thank you all.