Picture this –
I am a girl of 9 years old. A man is speaking to our congregation one Sunday about a ship he lives on and travels the world with, performing surgeries for the world’s poorest nations. His PowerPoint presentation has pictures of the ship, the people of the nation they were currently working in, pictures of his family. I watch, wide-eyed, amazed.
I tap my daddy on the hand and he leans down to hear what I have to say.
“Daddy,” I whisper, “I want to work for them one day.”
“Well, you better go to school to be a doctor, then.” He replies.
Fast-forward past all the heart-break and trying times of my teenage years and early-20s. Of course, I didn’t go to Medical School; and I lost sight of my goal temporarily in-between.
I’m sitting in my very own office at Claims Administrative Services (A Worker’s Compensation TPA). It’s a good job, one that any 25 year old girl would love to have. I’m Corporate Trainer, I’m making a decent income, I have finished school, I’m very respected in my field. And I’m utterly unfulfilled.
At the time, I was married about a month. He tells me “I’m going into Officer Candidate School for the US Air Force… you should figure out what you want to do.” As if I wasn’t doing what I wanted to do…
God had been weighing on my heart for a while that I was not where I belong.
The very next day I’m conversing with a friend about moving on; I had given my two-weeks notice. She says something that I was already planning to do – to check on LinkedIn for jobs in the area we were planning to move to. In true Brian nature (which I was, and am, only starting to discover), he changed his tune about the Air Force. He says it will be at least a year before he hears anything for sure. That means that I wasn’t moving anywhere for at least a year!
I’m clicking around LinkedIn, and at the very top of the list: Curriculum Developer for Mercy Ships. The 9-year old girl lights up. I click apply.