Dear Reader,
During this past semester, I have frequently asked myself, “Is this my life?”
I have asked myself this in dejected weariness as I stare at my impossibly busy Google Calendar for the week, wondering how I will do this for the rest of my life.
I have asked myself this in amazement as I come home from a long day, filled with extrovert energy from stimulating conversations and deep belly laughter, so excited for the many years ahead of friendship with people I cherish.
I have asked myself this, burdened as I sit in my high school classroom, angry at a broken education system, and watching my mentor teacher express visible frustration.
Perhaps you have asked the exact same question in significantly more moments of joy or in moments of sorrow. Asking “is this my life” is just a small picture into what it looks like for me to consider my legacy, something that has surrounded me my entire life. Many of us are named by our parents in hope that we would live up to our name meanings. We learn about legacies in school and begin to create our own, built up by our teacher’s comments on our report cards. When applying to college, we think about the college name that will be typed on our diplomas. Once we get into said college, we lay the foundation by focussing on internships, the ideal LinkedIn profile, and business connections. As we put everything in place to safeguard our knowingly lifelong creation of our legacies, we are all the while continually asking “is this my life?”
It is tempting to want to avoid thinking about what we will leave behind, as it forces us to consider major questions about our purpose in life. Dear reader, I would encourage you to wrestle with these ideas. To live aimlessly without an idea of why you are doing what you’re doing is a tiring and counterproductive way to live in the midst of life’s disappointments and frustrations.
This semester’s issue will tackle some big questions surrounding legacy. What happens when those we admire leave seemingly unsuccessful legacies? Why should I step into systems with broken legacies? Is the aim to leave a good legacy selfish? Ultimately in this issue, we aim to address legacy and what it means for Christians to live in this world, tackling the same brokenness and weariness in pursuing legacy as many on this earth experience.
Christianity itself has a complicated history. Christians have stood on the front lines of some of the most beautiful moments in history and, at other points, have left many with deep scars all while grossly justifying hurting others. Christians leave complicated legacies, but Christianity is grounded on the legacy of a God who is not tainted by those who claim His name and a God who does not ignore those hurt by His people. Christianity tells an ever continuing story of redemption, a story that will one day come to perfection. My hope as you read this issue is that you consider these questions that our pieces pose, enjoy the beautiful writing, and consider what the Christian worldview brings to these inquiries.
Lastly, I wanted to take the time to say thank you. Stepping into this role as Editor-in-Chief this semester has certainly been a joyfully fulfilling experience. I am humbled and grateful for my board and how they have supported me so willingly. To this semester’s writers, thank you. Your enthusiasm for the work that Synesis is doing is powerful and encouraging. Watching Synesis grow the amount it has over these few months has encouraged my heart greatly.
So dear reader, who are you? Who have you become? Who are you becoming? I invite you to explore these questions as you step into reading Vanderbilt Synesis’ Issue XV: Legacy.
In Christ, with the deepest joy,
Eowyn Oh
Editor-in-Chief,
Vanderbilt Synesis