My little girl, Victoria, is starting her senior year of high school. It really seems like just yesterday she was running around the house pretending to be Snow White in her little princess dress. She was, is, and always will be my little girl. But - the reality is that she isn't so little any more. She is a senior.
That means we are talking about cars, jobs, and, of course, college. She is looking far afield (she is determined to go somewhere away from home to get the full college experience - even though I keep pushing SIUE!). She scored very well on her ACT and is in the process of writing application essays. As the former English teacher in the house, I get the privilege of editing my kid's work.
That is how I came to read this essay - she wrote it to apply to a college in Nashville (at least that is only four hours away from home). I was floored, humbled, and thrilled at the same time. As my daughter's "pastor-daddy," I am thrilled by both her talent and spiritual sensitivity.
I asked her if she would mind me sharing this on my blog as a way to encourage others (someday, pastor-daddies, your little girl will also be writing college entrance essays!). She smiled sheepishly and agreed. So here you go.
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I crept through my house, the Hispanic table liner fondly known throughout my entire family as “Mexican blankie” wrapped tightly around my waist. Lions and giraffes and rhinoceros' loomed directly ahead, I was sure, in the deep forest of my dining room chairs, but that was not what interested me. My attention was fully captured by the crowd of curly haired, curious children, comprised of my extensive doll collection, waiting for me to begin reading the stories of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego's dangerously faithful venture into the evil king's furnace; of Samson's redemption in the downfall of the Phillistines; and, best of all, the story of our own redemption in the resurrection of Jesus, the man who, according to the songs my parents sang to me each night, loved not only me and the people I loved, but all the world as well, enough to die for every time they were mean to their baby sister or touched a hot stove as I did. I imagined myself reading to them outside their grass huts, the monkeys and birds listening intently as well. For years, this was my one goal: to share the Salvation I knew with those who had yet to hear of it overseas. Only the extreme, the dangerous, the daring would do for me.
As was to be expected, my desires changed as my body did. I reached junior high, and though my desire to be a missionary faded, it was not entirely masked by my new aspirations to be a teacher. Inspired by a genial, witty, and strikingly blunt English teacher, I began to imagine my beautiful curly headed children in a classroom setting, the Mexican blankie the perfect accent as a belt for my “professional” teacher's outfit, taken secretly from the back of my mother's closet. I taught them everything, from their ABC's to pre-algebra, and since it was my own classroom, my children received K's in place of A's, as that was my favorite letter. Until the final days of middle school, my Mexican blankie and I taught hundreds of children how to succeed in life. I was excited by the idea of having my own classroom and students. I longed to influence their lives as my English teacher had mine.
Yet again, my dreams changed with the flow of my life. A hobby that had sprung up in middle school became a full-blown obsession the summer before my freshman year of high school; I was in love with performing. At first it was only acting that piqued my interest. I loved to recite monologues as a breezy French mademoiselle, the Mexican blankie having its own debut as my chic scarf; or, I would perform my own private skit as a pirate, the blankie covering my face so as to disguise me from my enemies. I spent hours on my bed, the blankie at my side, looking up auditions and tips and success stories on my dad's laptop; and when it was no longer auditions I was looking up, but songwriting tips, the blankie became a head band, brushing my back as I swayed and belted out the newest song I had written. Even in my brief sojourn into the world of dancing, the blankie was tied around the waist of my dress as I leapt and twirled across my room to the various blends of music blaring from my CD player. I longed for the applause of an audience. I had big plans for myself.
Now, closer than ever to making this decision, I am, for the first time, at a loss. Just when I think that I have come to a conclusion, the daunting idea of my future scares me away from any progress I might have made. However, throughout the process of narrowing my options, I have learned something that resolves any uncertainty I feel. The beauty of my Mexican blankie is that it grew and changed as I did; it adapted seamlessly to the twists and turns I encountered as I grew up. God's call for me to be missional mirrors my experience with the blankie. I could never imagine touching the life of a child without the strength of the Holy Spirit as an inaudible witness of the love of Christ; even more exciting to me was the idea of sharing my faith with any and all I anticipated meeting as an actress. The lesson I have learned is this: no matter where I go, no matter what I do, I am called to be a missionary, whether it is to my family and friends, darling students in my classroom, the stars of the stage, or even my beautiful curly haired children in Africa. My life, just as any other Christ follower's, is to be a witness to His sacrifice. I firmly believe He has specific plans for me and will lead me to see them at His perfect time. Until then, I'll keep dreaming of my future, and my curious, curly haired children who wait as eagerly as I to see where I will go.
Comments
beautiful.