WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Part 4

As I said last week, I knew I wanted to try to be a pastor. But how do you do that? I guessed rightly that you had to take the first steps through your own pastor. That's still true now. But for me that meant talking to Pastor X with whom the family was on the outs. So this would be the first test. I would have to talk to Pastor X, and if he told me this was wrong, it would be a sign from God. I'll give Pastor X the credit that he heard me out and didn't say no. He did ask me why I didn't leave that congregation when my uncle's family did, and I told him that was their decision, not mine. I explained my notion that I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing in trying to become a pastor, but I felt I had to try and if I failed, it would be a sign that I shouldn't do it. He asked me if I was leaving room for God in all this–but he didn't offer me the slightest idea of how you figured out what God wanted. Before we were done, he called the seminary and got them to send our applications.

The next step was to talk to my parents about my decision. To my surprise they weren't surprised. It was as if they thought I had gotten my life back on track after this silly excursion into music. Their concern was how I was going to pay for seminary. Pastor X had offered me the job of choir director. (It's another story how I got rooked on that deal.) I could also do substitute teaching. (Boy was THAT a horrible experience.) Having gotten over these hurdles, I was free to talk to people about my decision to try (emphasis on "try") to become a pastor. Absolutely no one was surprised or discouraging in the least. This is something I've learned. Often times other people know you better that you know yourself. I think that's true for someone who is as uncertain and self-critical as myself. Other people can see your gifts and positive attributes when you can't. It probably works the other way as well. Other people can tell when somebody is full of baloney. They know when someone thinks too much of themselves. It's a good thing to find someone who can be honest with you about yourself.

There are two things that need to happen when you start down the path to become a pastor. You need to be accepted at a seminary, that's a graduate school for training pastors (you have to have a college degree before you can go to seminary). The other thing you need is to be endorsed by a synodical committee. They decide if you really should be a pastor. I saw these two things as being more tests along the way to help me know if I was doing the right thing.

The synodical committee requires you write essays about yourself, take psychological tests (today they also require criminal background checks) and interview with a committee member. One of the people on the list was Pastor John P. Petersen who had been pastor of my church before Ralph Riedessel, so naturally I interviewed with him. It went OK, but he was not happy that I wasn't sure that this was what I wanted to do because he though the church couldn't afford to train people and then have them quit. Despite this, I was endorsed. A good sign, I think.

The seminary was a different matter. I applied to the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago. They didn't like it that I had a B. Mus. degree instead of B.A. Too much music! How did they know if I would be able to do the work in seminary? Didn't I know that being a pastor was more than having beautiful worship services? What would I do if they refused to admit me? I answered that I would apply to another seminary. Well, they decided they would admit me if I took eight more college courses.

So what kind of sign was this? A bad sign? Maybe I shouldn't be a pastor after all? Well, I plowed ahead and took eight courses in history, social psychology, logic and other stuff to satisfy them. Got As in all of them except one, I think. Finally, I was admitted to the seminary.

In the seminary were all sorts of experiences that were tests for me. The first quarter was tough. I took a required course called "Theological Methodology." I just couldn't figure out what was going on in the course. To this day I'm not sure what it was about. I don't think the professor knew, either, but I got a B. I had to learn Hebrew (not a requirement anymore) and Greek. I did well, very well academically. The worries I had concerned the practical courses where you learn Christian education, preaching, worship leadership, pastoral care, and social ministry. I knew I wouldn't have trouble with some of them, and I didn't. Preaching scarred me. I was (and still am) nervous when I preach. I fidget the whole time. To my surprise, I was good. My peers, my fellow students, thought I was good. I think that is the highest form of praise, when it comes from your colleagues. My room mates at seminary were a great support to me. They saw me as a pastor, and that meant a lot to me. Two of them went on to become assistants to bishops.

After two years of classes you spend a year as an intern (a sort of student pastor in a church) and three months in Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) which is usually in a hospital. CPE worried me. First, because you work as a chaplain in the hospital, which I had never done, and second CPE in those days had a reputation of being an emotional nightmare. The CPE directors seemed to intentionally try to upset you, to make you angry or make you cry so they could show you what was wrong with you. Fortunately, it's not like that anymore. I survived. In fact, I considered taking more CPE, but that fancy passed after a while. I got through my internship reasonably well. Again I had a good pastor to work with, one I could respect and learn from. (The picture in the blog is of me during CPE at MacNeal Memorial Hospital.)

After internship it was back to seminary for one more year of classes–a breeze. And then the dreaded examining committee that would decide if you could be a pastor. You can finish seminary, get a degree, but it doesn't matter if the examining committee doesn't recommend you for ordination. Your whole career can stop before it ever starts all on the basis of the examination.

The evening before the examination, there was a social hour with members of the various examining committees and the bishop. The idea was that this would put everyone at ease. For an introvert like me it had the opposite effect. The real nightmare was that the members of the examining committee knew who they would be questioning the next day, but none of the candidates knew which of the examiners would actually question them. So you're wandering around trying to look nonchalant but feeling like a steer parading around a group of butchers eyeing you for the slaughter. Worse yet, I had a brief conversation with the bishop, and it was obvious that he didn't think much of me. Was this a bad sign? (Yes, as it turned out. More a bit later.)

Well, I got through the exam the next day. Then you were supposed to wait until you got a letter in the mail telling you what the decision was. Fortunately the bishop's secretary saw me in the hallway and told me I had been approved. In fact the chair of the committee had recommended me enthusiastically. Later the chair of my examining committee said that after the party the night before, he had grave doubts about me, but after hearing me during the oral examination he had been impressed. I was the only candidate they interviewed who could tell them how I went about preparing a sermon, and I was the only one who knew what was in church constitution.

Well now I'm feeling good. I have gone in five years from not having a clue if I was doing the right thing to being pretty positive I was doing the right thing. When you get too sure of yourself, you're ready for a fall. And it came. You cannot be ordained a pastor without a call to a congregation. It doesn't matter if you have been approved by the synod and completed seminary. If a congregation won't take you, you can't be a pastor. Period. The bishop was not convinced that I could manage a church by myself, so he would only recommend me for positions where I would be an assistant pastor with responsibility for youth work. I was interviewed by three senior pastors none of whom wanted me on their staff. One didn't like me because I thought communion every Sunday was important. Another didn't like me because I couldn't play the guitar and I thought the book of Jonah was a parable and not a historical fact. Another (the nicest of the three) was concerned because I didn't engage in winter sports like skiing and tobogganing which were major activities of the youth group. I began to wonder why I had studied all that theology and Bible in the seminary, if that wasn't going to be what I used as an assistant pastor.

Then that was it. No more recommendation to any church. Depression was setting in. I dangled for a year until a bishop in Canada showed an interest in me for a multiple church parish somewhere north of Winnipeg. I began thinking about buying long underwear and flannel shirts when I was contacted by a church in Miami. I had visited that church on vacation once. A friend of mine had been pastor, but was leaving This congregation was interested in me as pastor. Now, congregations are supposed to wait until bishops submit recommendations to them. This one wouldn't wait. Well, to be honest, the bishop didn't like this congregation very much anyway, so he probably would have left them without a pastor for a long time. I contacted the bishop in Florida. It seemed to be a happy solution for everyone. He got rid of a problematic church, and the bishop in Illinois got rid of a hard to place candidate. So I wound up being called to my first church. I was ordained at my home church in Chicago and went to work in Miami for the next 21 years. The people liked me, and I appreciated their confidence in me. And from there to Ocala where I have been 8 1/2 years.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Part 3

When my father took this picture, he had no idea of its prophetic import.

I was moving along in the last blog about what I wanted to be when I grew up, but hadn't gotten to the part about becoming a pastor. I had actually written that part of my story for the first and only time about a year-and-a-half ago as a letter to someone. I was going to use that material in this blog, but I couldn't find the file. While I was writing this, I installed a new used computer. When I moved the old one, I found a floppy disk, and there was the missing file. I am leaving out the parts that duplicate what I had written last time and taken out any personal material that might allow the identity of the recipient to be known. So here it is.

Some of my story has to do with my family, maybe a lot of it does. My mother's family were Catholics, sort of. They came from small towns in Europe where there were only Catholic churches. In theory their ancestors had come from Germany and Bohemia to Hungary to make sure that area stayed Catholic and didn't turn Lutheran. Actually they came because they were promised free land. Anyway, they were culturally Catholic. It was the way things were. In this country my mother was baptized in a Catholic church, but never confirmed. My father's family were Lutheran, sort of. They wanted their sons confirmed in the Lutheran church, but they didn't attend church much themselves.

When my parents married, my mother became Lutheran because my father's religion seemed to mean more to him than hers did to her. Somehow or other her parents became Lutheran, too. It didn't matter much to them. Mass at the Lutheran Church looked like Mass at the Catholic Church except it was in English instead of Latin. Actually they became better Lutherans than they had ever been Catholics.

My parents became involved in Ascension Lutheran Church where my father was confirmed. His brother's family were also active in the church. Everyone was involved in choir, Sunday School, mens and women's groups, and so on. That's the church where I was baptized, confirmed and later ordained a pastor. It's where my mother's memorial service was held after she died. It was the last memorial service because the church closed a few years later. I was brought up in that church. It played a major role in my life. Church is indelibly part of my being a Christian.

In my day confirmation classes were two years long, every Wednesday after school during 7th and 8th grade. I memorized what I was supposed to memorized, paid attention like I was supposed to, and that's about it. I don't know how much I was really affected by what I learned at the time, although it has been part of me in later years. I do know that I had secretly hoped confirmation and first communion (they were together in those days) would be a special religious experience. I don't know what I expected–visions, hearing God, angels, trumpets–I don't know what, but I wanted to feel something. I didn't. I tried to make myself feel the awe of God. I even made my hands shake like I was frightened or something. Nothing. (By the way, I'd never told anyone this part of my story before I wrote the original letter).

I am not "wired" to react to things emotionally. That isn't to say I'm a dead fish; I do feel happiness, sadness, anger, love, fear, but I don't deal with most things in a primarily emotional way. I am a thinker, an intellectual. I deal with things analytically and logically. Fortunately, God knows that about me and has dealt with me at that level. I think God always deals with us the way we can respond.

I can see now that God was shaping my future in my early teen years, but I didn't realize it. We're talking when I was 13, 14, 15. Three things happened, but I can't recall the order. One, I read through the Bible in a year, every word, about three pages a night. I don't know that I learned a lot that way, but it was the first time I had personally made a serious religious commitment of my own. Two, I started teaching Sunday School. I wasn't very good at first, but I worked at it. The second year I was teaching we had a new curriculum. The first half of the year was on Heros of the Church, the second half was on Worship. I did a lot of outside reading on these subjects. I learned a lot. I am convinced the best way to learn something is to teach it to someone else. Three, I found an old, beat-up copy of Albert Schweitzer's book Out of My Life and Thought. Schweitzer was a Lutheran pastor, organist, teacher, author, doctor, and missionary to Africa. His life has been an inspiration to me ever since. (See my blog "Albert and Me.")

I began thinking about actually starting in a job soon, probably in the Chicago Public Schools with maybe a job as a church choir director on the side. I was reading the Lutheran magazine one day, and there was an ad from the Board of World Missions looking for, among other personnel, a person to teach Choral music and English at Nomensen University in Indonesia. That seemed to be perfect for me. I could teach, direct music, and I would be serving the church as a missionary

I applied and interviewed, a very pleasant interview with Pr. Norman Nuding, secretary of the board. It turned out they wanted the person to coach soccer as well as teach which clearly a strike against me. In our conversation I discovered that Pr. Nuding knew Dr. David Larson who had taught me conducting and another pastor I knew well, Marvin Tack (more about whom later). Eventually I got a letter from Pr. Nuding. There had been four applicants for the position. I was number two on the list. Only if the first person declined or washed out of training would I be offered the job. But–and this was important–Pr. Nuding hoped that I might still be able to serve the Lord in some way. This is what provided the impetus for me to think about becoming a pastor.\

Now another thread to follow–pastors I have known. Ralph Riedessel was pastor of my church when I was growing up. He taught me catechism and confirmed me. He was a good man, salt of the earth, solid pastor. He was a rather poor preacher, but he could joke about it. People weren't bothered by that because he was a good all-around-pastor. He was well loved. I have always thought if I could be half as good as him, I'd be satisfied.

The man who followed him was the complete opposite. He was, in my opinion, an awful pastor. I won't name him. He'll be Pastor X. To be fair, the time when he came to the church (the late 60s) was a time of turmoil in society and the church. Things were changing, and people don't like things changed in the church. Pastor X was determined to change things, but he really didn't have the people skills to do it. He didn't read people very well. Anyone who disagreed with him was an enemy and had to be crushed. He couldn't distinguish between what was important and what to let slide. I suppose some people would say he was a strong leader, but I think he showed very poor leadership. You have to learn how to persuade people of your ideas, to win them over, to give and take. He would scold the congregation endlessly about silly things like wiping your feet before you came into church. He'd threaten people with excommunication for trouble-making when what they had done was disagree with him. From his example I learned what not to do in a church.

A lot of people left the congregation because of him including my uncle and his family. This was very hard on my family including me because it was almost like the church was part of our family and now it had been broken to pieces. My uncle's family joined another Lutheran church led by Pastor Marvin Tack. He was another good pastor. Different from Pastor Riedessel in some ways, but the same kind of solid person. I spent time at his church over the years and learned from him as well. I'd say he was one of my models.

So here I am now finishing college. The possibility of being a missionary teacher is closed to me. I am pondering whether I should be a pastor. Actually I was anguishing over it. I had sleepless nights trying to figure out what to do. Was this what God wanted? How could I know for sure? Of course being a private person, I didn't discuss this with anyone. Another big mistake. I could have used what's called a spiritual director, someone who is skilled in helping people discern what God is saying to them. We didn't have any spiritual directors in the Lutheran church. We do now. In fact it is one of the things I received special training for about eight years ago. I wanted to be able to help people deal with those kind of struggles.

Anyway, I was in turmoil. I had learned from my confirmation experience eight years before that I couldn't expect God to write the answer in the heavens. I approached it this way: I would try to become a pastor, and if that wasn't what God wanted, God would do something to show me it was the wrong decision. I am not sure if that was the right approach or not. Here I am more than 30 years later still wondering if maybe tomorrow God is going to tell me this was a mistake. I don't even know how God would do that.

Boy, it's almost taking as long to write about this as it did to live it. I'd better leave off here and continue next week.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Part 2

I was a senior in high school, unsure what to do. So what was I good at? What did I like? Music, of course. Why not a career in music? I had listened to classical music and studied it for years, took piano lesson, sang in church choirs, sang in the school choir–although that was a strange fluke. I was in a study hall in the auditorium that was run by some faculty members who must been trained by the Gestapo. It was such an oppressive atmosphere that when the chorus director (always called "Coach") came to the study hall recruiting singers, I signed up immediately. With all that musical back ground why not teach music?

Well, my parents weren’t enthused about thatprospect. Music didn't seem like a very secure profession to follow. My father in particular didn’t think I had enough musical background since I didn’t play any instrument other than piano. He took me around to see a former organist of our church in hopes that she would either talk me out of it or say I wasn’t good enough. I think that is a reaction of many parents toward a child who seeks a career in the arts. It doesn’t seem practical. How can you make a living at it. I think I was clear-minded enough to know I would never have a career as a soloist, but teaching an performing in an ensemble and even directing held possibilities.

I persisted in my interested and my father came around enough to give it a chance. I sent off for catalogues, studied programs, went to presentations on college day. I had thought of the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana, but my father wasn't too keen on the cost of living away from home. So I looked through the catalogues from local universities (there are a lot of them in Chicago.) And then did a really dumb thing. I applied to one and only one institution: The Chicago Musical College of Roosevelt University. The University was relatively young (1945), but the Musical College was one of the oldest in the country (1867). I think it was just naivete on my part that I approached things this way. Today students send in applications to a dozen colleges hoping to get acceptance at a couple and then make a choice. I can’t remember what went through my mind, but I seemed to have no doubt that I would be accepted. And I was right. The university found my transcripts and ACT scores good enough. But I had to pass the audition. All programs in performing arts (theater, dance and music) require auditions. They must have told me what to expect, but until you’ve been through the audition, you don’t know what to expect. My piano teacher worked with me to develop music to perform (The Schumann Traumeri. I studied theory from an ancient book I had found. The audition was very thorough There was a written examination in music theory, a written test in dictation where the instructor plunks out stuff on a piano and you are supposed to write down what you hear (I did poorly on that), a sight singing test where they hand you a piece of music, give you the first note and you’re supposed to sing it. Then the audition in piano. I played whatever scales and chords they asked, played my performance piece, and sight read whatever music they handed me. Then it was over and you waited to get the letter telling would happen. Well, I was accepted despite the awful dictation exam. I think my piano performance was what sold it since most choral music education majors started with a year of group piano instruction, but I went straight to individual instruction. My piano teacher was one of the people who examined me in my piano audition.

Performing arts of any kind have a demanding program, always requiring more credit hours of work than an academic program. Then there was the sheer amount of time you spent practicing. I had half-hour lessons each week in piano and voice, but it took hours of work to prepare for those. The choral ensembles had two long rehearsals every week, plus extra rehearsals when we performed with the orchestra, plus concerts. I used to run into my cousin on her way to work and we would ride the train downtown together. I would embarrass her if I got a seat by practicing conducting or tapping out rhythm exercises as we rode. Well, you can’t waste forty minutes doing nothing.

Every semester was the dreaded jury exams in piano and voice. In piano a jury of three faculty members other than your own teacher listened to you do the required technique demonstrations and the pieces you had learned. They determined your grade. In voice exams, the entire vocal faculty listened to you. That was the scariest thing. In piano you had your back to the jury so they could watch your hands. In voice you faced them head on as in a recital. Voice instruction always included lessons on how to stand, what to do with your hands, how to indicate to an accompanist you’re ready, etc. Nothing in performing is left to chance. At the end of the second year there was a screening exam to determine if you had learned enough to be allowed to advanced to upper division work. I passed that, too.

I suppose I was an average student in music. I was too far behind the curve to develop my voice enough so I continued to take voice lessons beyond the requirements. I was considerably worse than average dictation, and considerably above average in conducting.

In the last semester you take student teaching. Of all things, I was assigned to the high school my mother had attended. And I worked with the same woman who directed girls chorus when my mother sang in the chorus. (I even think they were doing the same music). As I recall I was in a section of general music, mixed chorus, girls chorus, observed orchestra, and had to work in the attendance office. I have to say I was pretty good with the girl's chorus. They let me conduct a piece in the concert (the one the students attended, not the one parents attended.) It was rare to allow student teachers to conduct. I was only the second one in that school's history. General music and mixed chorus did not go as well, not because I didn't know my stuff, but because both of those setting were filled with students who didn't want to be there. Music was required of students. They either had to take general music or mixed chorus. In those settings I was on the side of the teachers and therefore an enemy. The adversarial relationship between teachers and students in high school was a horror. I hated the prospect that I'd spend the rest of my life in a relationship of conflict rather than cooperation.

It would seem that my career was about to end before it started, but there was already a new direction taking place that I'll talk about in the next blog. Did I waste four years in studying music? Absolutely not! What I learned about music has been a treasure to me. I hear music differently than people who haven't been trained in the field. I've sung in a several choruses since college. I've earned a few bucks as a choir director, substitute teacher, even an organist or pianist occasionally. I've worked with a private school's music program. I even taught other musicians. All of that has been a joy I wouldn't give up. I also learned the values of professionalism by being a performer. I think I can work in front of people because of the skills I had. I certainly am a better pastor because I can work with musicians and understand what they are doing. I don't consider the time, effort and cost I out into learning a music a waste in the least.

I'll see you next week to continue my story.

May you travel your journey making a joyful noise to the Lord.
And may the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Part 1

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I swore I wouldn't ask kids that question, but I do anyway. I wanted to avoid it because it always hints at something like:"Right now you're just a kid of no particular significance. How are you going to transform yourself into a useful, productive member of society?" I suspect adults ask kids this question (followed quickly by, "What is you favorite subject in school?") because we can't think of anything to talk about to younger people. We don't know their world at all, so we try to drag them into our world to find a subject to talk about. I have tried to put find out what the younger people around me are interested in so I can converse with them intelligently. As a result I have had to study up on musical theatre and Japanese anime and skateboarding, but I absolutely refuse to immerse myself in "gangsta rap." What little I understand is disgusting.

Adults talk about jobs because they are so identified with them. Ask an adult who they are and they will give their name. Ask them to say a little more, and they will tell you what kind of work they do or what they did before they retired. As I have mentioned before, it becomes a problem when you are so tied to your job that who you are is defined primarily in those terms. Nevertheless, we can't escape the reality that one's job is a major aspect of their life.

What do you want to be when you grow up? My first choice among future occupations was to be a farmer. Of course, growing up in the city, I had no real understanding of farming other than growing carrots and radishes in the backyard garden. In Chicago we had farm animals in the zoo so we city kids would know a moo-cow from a horsie. I don't know what attracted me to the idea of farming. For several years I had a huge book on agriculture that someone gave been that was far beyond my reading level, but which I poured over. I guess I was more of a theoretician farmer than a practical one.

Farming proved to be a passing fancy. By the time I was nine I was enamored of the sciences. I had a chemistry set in the basement. I experimented with electrical circuits. I studied grasshoppers and dinosaurs. The really great attraction was astronomy and space exploration. This was the time in history when the U.S. was launching the first satellite–the Vanguard, several of which blew up on the launching pad before they ever got one in orbit. There was a joke at the time that went: Q: How do they count at Cape Canaveral? A: Five-four-three-two-one-aw nuts. Science intrigued me. I entered the school science fair and got to the district fair twice.I worked my way through a college level book on physics once, but you couldn't have told that from my grades. I actually got an "U" (for unsatisfactory) in science twice in sixth-grade. Well, the way they taught science (and almost everything else) was b-o-r-i-n-g. With all the stupid busywork, they could make the most exciting subject a bore. The one exception was Mrs. S, my fourth grade teacher. She knew how to make subjects interesting,

In eighth-grade we had a unit on vocations as part of civics. I think we made posters and stuff. I don't recall it being much help in making a decision about what to do in life. This was also a year we took Stamford achievement tests. I recall being a few months behind grade level in arithmetic. I was probably just about average on most stuff. This was also when decisions were made about high school, at least for boys. Girls all went to Lakeview, I think. Well, I believe a girl could choose the all girls school Lucy Flower, but that was considered some sort of punishment rather than a privilege. Boys also went to Lakeview except for the select handful that would go to Albert G. Lane Technical School. The school was just what the name indicated–a tech school to train people in various things like carpentry, drafting, and so forth. But the school had transformed over the years into a school that emphasized the sciences as well. It was the only school where you could take four years of math AND four years of science. Since this was the school both my father and my uncle had attended, it was just assumed I would go there as well. The guidance counselor from Lane wasn't so sure that my grades were performance was good enough to go to Lane. Tragedy was in the offing, but not quite the rejection I expected. Only at the interview with the counselor did I discover that Lane had a music program as well as a tech program. Had I known ahead of time, had I had my ducks in a row, I certainly would have asked to be in the music program. Scientist or no scientist, studying music theory had far greater appeal to me than drafting since I couldn't even draw a straight line with a ruler. I did indeed receive acceptance to Lane in the Tech program. And I would come to flunk a course in foundry. The fault was my own, but part of me resents that no teacher in that foundry course showed enough concern about my poor performance even to inquire what the difficulty might be let alone try to help me. And the greater tragedy was that because of bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo the, only way to make up the one credit in shop was by taking TWO additional shop courses in my senior year. It's amazing how little the real needs of students are ever considered by the education industry.

Anyway, despite getting into the school by the skin of my teeth, I was about to have a triumph over the limited vision of these so-called educators. Those admitted to the school took a science placement exam to see if they could skip the required course in general science and begin with biology instead. I placed out of general science all right. My score was 99+ indicating I was proficient beyond the level the test could measure. Ha!

So I pursued the math and sciences. Algebra was a struggle, but I was outstanding in geometry. I was somewhat better than average in biology, so-so in chemistry, and really good in physics which was my real love. And then I made a mistake. While still a junior I was offered the chance to do a summer program at the Illinois Institute of Technology, one of the most prestigious engineering schools in the country. I turned it down because I was already going to take history in summer school. My interests were beginning to shift. The possibility of teach math began to develop in my little brain. Why not, I thought. Then came the set back of a C in advanced algebra. End of that possibility.

A pattern emerged in my life that still plagues me. Although I am certainly not a perfectionist, there is a streak in me that says you have to be really good at whatever you do, or it's not worth doing. A merely average grade in a math course meant that career path was out. Since in my evaluation nothing I do rises above the level of just passable, I have never been a self promoter. So what was I to do?

To be continued next week.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne