I remember the day like it was yesterday. My highschool anatomy teacher pulled me aside and asked me if I would consider art school. In some respect I hadn’t thought about college. I didn’t really even want to go to college. I wanted to be a missionary. I told him I just wanted to help people, but he insisted I look into art school because of my anatomy drawings. I wasn’t much of an artist, didn’t have tons of training, but the next year I walked into A.P. art. I was shy and a bit socially anxious up until I started trying to express my deepest self through A.P. paintings. I fell in love with creating and desided perhaps my science teacher was right. I begun something new, worship painting and begun looking into colleges. I applied to my dream art school… And made it in on scholarship and everything. But as soon as I walked on campus to check out dorms my heart dropped… This wasn’t where God wanted me. I wrote a letter denying my scholarship and then walked into my school advisors office. I shamefully admitted God didn’t want me there, not knowing where he wanted me. I visited two other schools before I found the one I recived my degree from.
I walked up and the first table I saw on orientation day was to a campus ministry. Their main advertizement “international and U.S. missions” I took a breath in… This was my place. Three months later I found myself moving my stuff into a single roomed dorm. An urban girl smack right down in the middle of the most southern “little town of no-where-ville”… let me be first to tell you I hated it. I couldn’t figure out why I had felt a peace about it and I regretted not taking my scholarship and going to my dream school. Then I met a boy, and long story short I lived the best and worst year of my life. I knew a month in God had someone else set out for me but I fought it. Then from there I lost my missions focus. I started wondering if God wanted me to just be an artist. The questions and debate back and forth became exausting… I couldn’t for the life of me see the purpose in college. That is until one day my art teacher said something ” art is a universal language, you can talk to anyone from anywhere through imagery”. So I took it to heart, I became the hardest worker I could in that department. After a while though I lost sight of why I started working so hard and just worked hard for the sake of having always done so. I always subconsciously did things to remind me I wanted to be a missionary. People in my department thought it was strange I always did my work with my backpack on. I wore that backpack everywhere till I signed up for the race. It reminded me even when I made the worst of mistakes, what I eventually wanted to courageously step up to. I was going to do what God had called me somehow…
Then during our senior seminar class we began applying for the next step in our lives… I showed up with missions applications knowing full well I was going to get a lot of gasps. Everyone knew how hard I worked and I’m sure getting a masters in art school to many seemed more logical. I braced myself and announced to the class I wanted to be a missionary… 5 years of art school and she wants to do what? Yeah in some ways I was shocked too. I wasn’t ready for it, I didn’t have my feet on the ground but I promised I would submit to the calling. So, about 6 months later I found myself applying to the world race.
Americus I am glad to have experienced and grown here. I know God used this town to teach me that missions is where my heart is. I never 100% know every reason why God had me here but I have been blessed with great experiences and friends from this town… So thanks…
