Ouachita Stories

The following is adapted from Rylie Slone’s remarks to Carl Goodson Honors Program students at the Honors Black & Gold Awards Ceremony and Reception in Walker Conference Center on March 10, 2026. 

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Dear Ouachita Honors student,

When I was asked what I would have liked to hear as a student in the Carl Goodson Honors Program — especially as a freshman — my immediate thought was simple: I’d want someone to look at me and say, “You can do this. It’s worth it.” Not in a cheesy or “manifest your destiny” kind of way, but in a steady, grounded, I’ve-been-there kind of way. 

Because when you first join the Honors Program, it feels exciting. You got the invitation. You were recruited. As a high-achieving senior, I remember thinking, “Wow. They see me.” And they did. 

But what I didn’t understand at 17 was that the invitation wasn’t celebrating who I already was. It was inviting me into who I would have to become. That process is stretching. 

One of my very first Honors classes was Honors Bible Survey with Dr. Carter — still one of my favorite classes I’ve ever taken. I loved it. I also distinctly remember realizing, very quickly, that this wasn’t going to be a casual experience. We weren’t skimming Scripture. We were tracing themes. Wrestling with context. Asking harder questions than I had ever been asked in a classroom. I would leave that class some days feeling like my brain had just run a marathon. 

Then came Bible Interpretation with Dr. Hays. If you’ve taken it, I don’t need to explain much. Exegetical: Just saying that word probably made a few of you tense up. It’s not just a paper. It’s full immersion into a single passage of Scripture — grammar, historical setting, literary structure, theological implications. You examine everything. 

I remember staring at my passage, thinking, “Surely there is not much to say about this.”

There was. That class trained me to slow down and pay attention to detail; to not assume I understood something just because I read it once. 

I use that every single day in my job. As an attorney, I analyze statutes and contracts the same way I analyzed Scripture in class. What does this word mean? Why was this phrase included? What happens if we interpret it this way instead of that way?

I did not realize at the time that writing an exegetical paper was preparing me to stand in a courtroom. That’s one of the things the Honors Program does so well. It prepares you for things you don’t even know are coming yet. 

Then there was Spring Theme, our event planning seminar, with Adam Wheat. It was the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic. We were supposed to be planning and executing a Battle of the Bands event. Instead, we were on Zoom. 

We didn’t attempt to have people perform music over Zoom. That would have been a disaster of historic proportions. Instead, we did something arguably more intense. We simulated the entire event. 

Adam would throw unexpected scenarios at us mid-meeting. 

“The sound system just failed.” 

“A performer didn’t show up.” 

“There’s a sudden weather issue.” 

We had to think, in real time, how we would respond if this were happening live. Picture this: a grid of Honors students on Zoom, furiously unmuting and re-muting ourselves, trying to collaborate through spotty Wi‑Fi about how to save a fictional concert. 

It was chaotic and hilarious. But it was also one of the most practical learning experiences I had in college. It wasn’t about music. It was about leadership under pressure. It was about collaboration when communication isn’t ideal. It was about staying calm when the plan you worked so hard on suddenly needs to change. 

That semester didn’t look how we imagined it would, but we finished it. That phrase — “we finished it” — is something that keeps coming back in my life. 

Another class that shaped me was my senior Honors seminar: Ethnodoxology. Before that class, my understanding of worship music was fairly narrow. I knew what I had grown up with. Ethnodoxology opened my eyes to worship across cultures and how different communities express faith through their own musical traditions, languages and instruments. 

It stretched me, making my world bigger. That’s another gift of the Honors Program. It introduces you to fields and ideas you may never have explored otherwise. You come in thinking you know what you’re interested in, and then a seminar shifts your perspective entirely. 

One of the most formative experiences of my time here was my directed study with Dr. Pemberton, the director of the Honors Program. She is the kind of leader who expects depth from her students and believes they can reach it. 

In my directed study, Dr. Pemberton allowed me to explore a complex theological issue that genuinely fascinated me — the Mormon argument of the Great Apostasy and crafting an evangelical response. 

The project required research, nuance and careful argumentation. But what made that experience extraordinary was not just the topic. It was the mentorship. Dr. Pemberton didn’t just supervise. She entered into the intellectual process with me. 

One of the coolest parts? The conversation didn’t end at graduation. She has continued engaging with those ideas, presenting on related themes and incorporating aspects of that research into her teaching. It’s a rare gift to not only learn from a professor, but to contribute to an ongoing academic conversation alongside them. 

My directed study ended up becoming my Honors thesis. I won’t pretend writing a thesis is easy. There are days you question your structure, your sources, your sanity. You see your friends heading to dinner, and you’re still in the library fixing footnotes. 

But finishing the thesis changed me. When I interviewed for law school, almost every interviewer asked about it. Not because they had read all 70+ pages, but because it communicated something. 

It told them I could commit to a complex project and see it through to publication. It told them I could wrestle with hard questions and produce a thoughtful response. 

The thesis was not just a requirement. It was evidence, and that evidence opened doors.

Now, I work at Hall Booth Smith as an associate attorney. My days are filled with analyzing records, drafting motions, preparing arguments, anticipating opposing counsel’s strategy. 

It is detailed, demanding work, and I find myself using skills I first developed here almost daily. The discipline from the exegetical, the ability to think through worst-case scenarios from Spring Theme, the patience to research deeply from my thesis and the ability to understand frameworks different from my own — all of it has shaped how I listen to clients and colleagues.

My boss is not a Ouachita graduate, but he has told me more than once that he loves hiring OBU grads. He says they work hard, carry themselves with integrity and finish what they start. When you add “Honors Program graduate” to that, it signals something even more specific. It says you chose challenge over convenience. 

When I got that Honors invitation letter as a senior in high school, I thought it meant I had already achieved something. Today, I understand it meant something different. It meant they believed in my growth. 

The Honors Program isn’t about proving you’re impressive. It’s about becoming someone who finishes the job with discipline and thoughtfulness. 

There will be semesters that feel like too much, papers you don’t think you can write and moments you question whether it’s worth it. 

Just remember: You can do this. It’s absolutely worth it.

Rylie Slone ’21 is an attorney at law with Hall Booth Smith, P.C. in Rogers, Arkansas. 

 

 

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