Whose Path of Choice?

When my brother was in his pre-teens, he tried to blow up his bedroom. After that, my mother insisted all chemistry experiments be conducted outdoors. These experiments fascinated me as well, and I spent much of my childhood peering over his shoulder.

His initial miscalculation in the bedroom left an indelible stain on the ceiling. It was a light brown, shaped like a Rorschach inkblot gone wild, and refused to go away. My parents painted over it several times, but it slowly eked through the paint until it returned in its full color. This determination fascinated me. How did the paint cover at first, but not for long?

I loved science (still do). I wanted to be an astronaut. We had a built-in toy storage in our house, and my brother and I regularly dragged everything out of it and crawled inside. He learned to close us in by yanking the door suddenly and pulling away his fingers just before it slammed. We’d twist until we’d have our feet on the wall and our backs on the ground, like the real astronauts did. I wanted to see the stars from the stars.

I learned about chemistry from mixing vinegar and soda and sending a plastic rocket flying. I learned about physics from tagging along with my brother's rocket club...and trying to run down a slide board only to land on my face. (But I never gave up; I had a bit more luck a little later in life, as you can see in the picture.)

 

My brother encouraged me to study as much science and math as I could, and I took all four science and math classes (biology I and II, chemistry, and physics; algebra I and II, geometry, and trigonometry) in high school. In chemistry, I repeated the family history by trying to blow up the lab (by accidentally mixing two acids) and causing a class evacuation (by creating ammonia nitrate outside of a hood).

I also played five instruments, which blended well with the science. I was in band and chorus. I wanted to play music. I wanted adventure and travel. I wanted to be a doctor!

What? The writing? Oh, well, yes, I wrote all the time. I knew I was meant to write, even as a kid. But . . . no one but the famous people made a living at it. Right?

Then, when I was 18, I hit a wall. In the course of two years, I walked away from my science studies and my music. I put down all the instruments, and began to bounce willy-nilly through the university, taking everything from history and foreign languages to acting lessons and political theory. A class in linguistics changed my life (a subject for a later blog).

Only later did I realize that my writer’s brain had kicked into gear. I wanted to learn it all. Still do.

My shotgun approach to education befuddled my advisors and my parents. My mother was convinced I’d spend my life hanging out a drive-thru asking about French fries.  

But I forced myself to trust. I had to. I had to believe that God had the bigger picture in mind, and He wouldn’t let me starve.

Only later did I learn that God’s sense of timing is quite different from our own, and that He has a great sense of humor.

(More to come…)