A Week of Ones

The week after Thanksgiving break is sinister.

It's a week filled with incomplete oneness.

After chowing down on turkey, sweet potato pie, macaroni and cheese, corn bread, stuffing, collared greens and a host of other treats that I don't bother cooking myself, who can move?

Who wants to write a paper?

Who wants to study for an exam?

Who wants to traipse to a college campus?

Who wants to wake up at 7 a.m. and not return to a comforting bed until 1 a.m. the next morning?

I didn't want to do any of it.

Alas, I have no choice.

There's one more full week left of classes. There's one more issue left to publish for The Johnsonian. There's one more assignment due for news reporting. There's one more newsletter that needs to be produced at church. There's one more gathering for the college ministry. There's even one more test before finals start.

I'm convinced it's a conspiracy.

Here is where university administrators make you or break you; where they test your value as a student.

With stomachs full and a brief taste of academic reprieve, you're pushed to your limit.

Everything is due within this week. The stuff you started on before Thanksgiving always manages to carry on afterwards--especially if you were unable to access your files due to dial-up connectivity down home :(

Your dedication is tested. Will you strive for an A or settle for a B?

Will you even attempt that one extra-credit assignment?

Will you keep your sanity as professors unload unrealistic expectations onto your fragile frame?

Will you ever go to bed at 10 p.m..? Probably so, just not this week.

Will you finish your Christmas shopping?

Will you make the effort to put up a Christmas tree?

Will you feel holiday joy or will the sounds of children singing classic Christmas carols only upset you?

Will you get it together?

Will you finish this blog post?

Student journalist commits blunder

It's one of the hardest things to admit, and in this business, it's pretty permanent.

It bores in your mind incessantly.

You're reminded by your co-workers, your own face, your friends and the clips in your portfolio.

It's a mistake, but not any mistake. We're not talking grammatical errors. We're not talking vacillating misuse of verb tense or dangling modifiers or omitted punctuation.

We're talking misspelling the name of your centerpiece source.

And not just one little slip-up in one graf followed by an immediate correction in the next.

We're talking consistent misspelling in a story that was written practically two weeks ago, held on backlog and then run this week.

We're talking complete and utter embarrassment.

We're talking shame.

To some, it may not be that big of a deal. I'm assuming most people who are thinking that don't work for any kind of media outlet.

One of the first things we learn in journalism and mass media is that people like to see their names in print and online.

It almost gives them the same satisfaction a journalist feels when they see a byline attached to a story they've written.

Yet, it becomes a little more personal in a newspaper. People really don't like to be misrepresented. It's understandable.

For example, I'm not Johnathan McFadden or Jon McFadden or Jonathen McFadden...I'm Jonathan McFadden and I like it that way.

A name is dear and precious and sacred; mine means a gift from God. I don't want that meaning taken away. Sure, adding an extra H after the O isn't that big of a deal, but it's the principle.

The worst part is the potential distrust I've evoked in my community.

If I get this person's name wrong, what's going to stop me from getting this quote wrong?

If I get this quote wrong, what's going to stop me from paraphrasing incorrectly or knowingly protect myself and my publication from libel?

It's a student reporter's worst realization.

I didn't realize it until 10:55 p.m. Thursday night.

My heart sank. I felt bad for the young woman whose name was consistently and utterly destroyed at my hand. I felt sorry for the publication I represent, The Johnsonian, who will only receive more flak due to this discrepancy. I feel humiliated because I know better...always check the names, always, always, always.

What's my excuse?

I can use the defense that it's not easy being a student journalist and balancing that with classes, work, extracurriculars, ministry, church, social interaction and life.

I can say that "you" don't understand the vulnerable position journalists are in. After all, each time we type a word on a screen we allow a piece of ourselves to be exposed to the world. Any word we know or don't know. Any sentence whose syntax is unclear. Any fact mildly questionable. Any story too soft and then too hard, too sympathetic and then too malicious.

No matter how good the writing or how thorough the reporting, that one incident--that one stain of imperfection and forgetfulness will forever taint that story.

It's a heavy responsibility we watchdogs and gatekeepers and advocates and representatives and muckrakers (just kidding) take on.

I'm accountable for my error and to the young woman whom the error was perpetrated against.

This incident will probably be in the back of my mind anytime I apply for an internship or job.

But, it will make me better if I let it.

No, this isn't my first mistake. I take it hard each and every time I make one because it's no light matter. It's nothing I should ever become comfortable shrugging off.

No, this isn't my first mistake and it won't be my last but this is a stepping stool to greater knowledge and wiser practice.

I guarantee I'll triple-check the names next time.

Time for God?

As I engaged in a mind spill late tonight, I had to ask myself an important question…where’s my time with God?

I take the time to do my homework.

I take the time to report, write and conduct interviews.

I take the time to assist with layout and page design at least two nights a week, as well as compile a police blotter.

I take the time to go to Bible study, usually sitting on the inside with my mind in so many different places at once that I feel like I’m going to pass out.

I take the time to eat…occasionally.

I take the time to text…usually it’s business related.

I take the time to read my Bible.

I take the time to pray (not as frequently as I used to).

I take the time to go to each and every class.

I take the time to drink a cup of coffee.

In all of this, where did I actually spend time with God?

I can argue that He’s with me always. Well, that’s a given.

I can say, wait, when I read my Bible, I receive direct revelation from Him because He’s speaking to me, right? Well, not necessarily. God is speaking to me, but as a free moral agent, I can always not listen to Him.

Sure I can say I’ve been in Bible study faithfully, but just like Christians can sit in church and receive nothing from the Lord, I can sit in Bible study and still be scatterbrained.

Monday- Thursday I am on Winthrop’s campus generally from 8:30 a.m. until 11 p.m.

That’s a lot of time in one general area.

During those several hours, I wonder how much time I’ve spent with God?

I know I pray. I know I stop doing whatever arduous task I’m engaged in at the time and utter a quick, “Thank you Lord, I love you God.”

But that’s not enough. This I know for a fact
Intimacy with Christ is a direct correlation with a relationship with Him. There was a time when Christ and I were very intimate. Of course, I wasn’t as busy then and I got more sleep.

Still, no excuse. If I can’t pray and fast and praise in the midst of the busy, constantly on-the-go, no stopping ever days of the week, then how strong is my faith?

This is just another mind spill. A deep self reflection that I’m allowing to be published.

Why?

Because I know I’m not the only one. If there’s another Christian in college out there, you know this scenario. You probably know it very well.

Stay encouraged.

Speak the Word of God over your life. That’s what keeps us sustained. That’s what builds our faith-muscles. That’s what draws us closer to Christ.

James 4:4, “Come near to God and He will come near to you”

It’s true.

This is all about relationship.

God never told me to overwhelm myself to the point of collapse.

He never said ignore Him in the process either.

There’s much from this semester that I must repent of. There’s a whole four months of spiritual growth and closeness with Christ that I missed out on.

It was my fault.

I was just too busy for God.

Hmm, now that I think about it—that sounds like a unbeliever’s excuse for not being a Christian.

I’ve…we’ve got to do better.

He deserves so much more.

Lord, forgive us all. Thank you for the capacities you’ve placed in our lives—from journalism to biology to English to barbering to administration to ministry. Help us manage it all. Help us balance it all. Help us love you more. Help us love others more. Help us be closer to you. Help us find time with you.

Now, I need to end the mind spill.

I need to spend time with God…with my refuge…with my sanctuary.

Harmony with God is possible. It's time to seek it.

Community Journalism: It's A Passion

Okay, there are many things that a man can call a passion.

For example, a man can be passionate about his work.

A man can be passionate about his faith.

A man can be passionate about his toe.

In today's society, we commonly find people passionate about making money. You can say they love their work, but the bountiful paycheck (if you can find jobs that have those anymore) doesn't hurt.

I haven't personally met many millionaires who were also passionate.

My perspective is skewed, of course, considering my desire is to enter the world of media--where salaries are cut, paychecks lofty and jobs tenuous.

Being a journalist has to be a labor of love.

Finding a story, digging around for research, scoping out sources, interviewing sources, writing on deadline, writing well, writing better than the nearest competitor, writing better than your co-worker, writing better than you did yesterday, writing better than you did one hour ago--all of this has to constitute a mad, agape love for what we do.

Otherwise, reporters would go insane.

Not everyone understands this passion, of course.

Some would prefer the comforts of an office, 9 til 6, Monday-Friday, without fail, without spontaneity, without room for the unusual, without excitement.

Others, on the other hand, thrive on being on the go constantly; thrive from the adrenalin pumping through one's veins when they sniff out a hot story (especially if they get it first).

Personally, I enjoy journalism immensely--it's one of my passions.

I like reporting.

I enjoy interviewing sources.

I get excited throughout the whole process.

I giggle a bit on the inside when I find out tidbits of new information that only a privileged few know.

I find utter release and experience euphoric, rapturous joy when I craft words into Mona-Lisa masterpiece portraits and then see my byline above them.

Weirdly enough, I like the texture of newsprint.

My desire is to work for a community daily or weekly paper. I want to be immersed in a community--not separated from it. I want to be the reporter the people come to and divulge knowledge to because they are confident I will find it out, write it well and report it fairly and accurately.

I want to have coffee with Farmer Joe.

I want to go to church with Old Mrs. Huxley down the road.

When I cut my grass, I want to wave to the new young couple that just moved into the neighborhood.

I want to get into the city council meetings and not be gawked at as if I were an unwelcome stranger.

I want to walk into the police station and be on a first-name basis with the sheriff and lieutenant.

I want to go to Bible study with Mrs. Huxley too.

I want community journalism. It makes any journalist a better one. It keeps us accountable. It keeps us busy. It keeps us good.

Yes, at a community paper, there's a chance one reporter will have the duties equivalent to five staff members at a metro-daily.

It's probable that at a community paper, a rookie will be working eight days a week and be getting paid for at least two of those days.

But it's a true passion and that's why I love the work.

Working as assistant news editor of The Johnsonian has only exacerbated that love.

Times have been tough. Managing it all has been difficult. I would quit if I didn't love it so much. But I do and that's why I want to keep going.

I view journalism as God's mandate for my life.

People can be reached by my words. Souls can be saved by a few paragraphs.

My all time goal is to either work for a strictly Christian publication or own my own.

If it's God's will, it will happen.

In the meantime, I'm going to get my feet wet, gain the experience, establish the connections and definitely produce the clips.

This passion of mine will continue as long as the Good Lord says so.

I will get better. I will work harder. I will get a job as a community journalist.

My community out there--whoever you are, wherever you are--get ready.

Sheriff Wilkes and Officer Williams, I'll be knocking on your door first thing Monday morning.

Farmer Joe, make sure to order me a small coffee with six sugars and two creams.

Mrs. Huxley, my favorite Scripture is Matthew 11:28. Save me a seat at Bible study.

HOORAY TO NABJ

There are those times in life where you feel really proud to be a part of something.

Tonight was one of those nights for me.

This semester has been a rough one for me mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Eighteen hours, The Johnsonian, Taking Opportunities to Prevail, NABJ, off-campus living, newsletter ministry at church, a work study job and trying to maintain a GPA above a 3.5 all weighed heavily on me these past few months. It hasn't been an easy journey. There have been nights of frustration; periods where I was ready to give up. Though I am hesitant to admit it, there are times where I've experienced a greater distance from God than I ever have before.

Yet, in the midst of this, God blessed me with moments of satisfaction, joy, accomplishment, revelation and pride.

November 17 was definitely in the proud accomplishment category.

NABJ helped me remember the reward that awaits at the end of a long road.

Tonight, NABJ held our second on-campus event, the Media Mixer.

Professionals ranging from the editor-in-chief of Creative Loafing, Carlton Hargro, to WSOC TV news reporter Ken Lemon, showed up to mix, mingle and hob-nob with Winthrop's mass communication undergrads.

A good time was had by all. There was free food. There was an open forum for discussion. There was an opportunity to exchange business cards, e-mail addresses, phone numbers, ideas and advice.

Tonight, NABJ did something above and beyond the call of duty, as Ken Lemon put it.

Not only that, we celebrated one year as a chartered minority-centric organization on Winthrop's predominantly white campus.

To add to our accolades, we're the only university chapter in the Charlotte-Metro area and in South Carolina.

In my opinion, we're doing pretty good.

Sure, there is room for improvement. Of course we have a lot to learn but I have to say that pride swelled up on the inside once the night was finished.

While washing fruit-plate dishes and lugging a crock-pot of meatballs, I could only think of how we made a name for ourselves--not only on Winthrop's campus but in the eyes of those who we consider to have "made it."

Networking has become an art for members of NABJ and we plan to continue to perfect it.

I'm proud to be a part of something so big. We may be few in number but in effort and spirit, we're mighty and numerous.

Seeing the hard work, sweat and even occasional worry pay off really makes a vice-president smile.

Beyond fatigued eyes and waning strength, a youthful vigor assaulted me on the inside. The vibe in the room was contagious.

We had a cake too.

Congratulations NABJ. You've made me proud, you've made Winthrop proud, but most importantly, you've grown from the first few blunders and missteps.

No, we're not unstoppable or flawless. Once again, there's room for improvement but after showing what we can do, there's also room for growth and added membership.

We're good NABJ. Let's keep it going.

Looking forward to Spring 2011.