But did you die?

Recently I wrote a letter of intent for school.   In it they wanted me to answer the simple question of why I want to become a nurse.  Writing that letter helped me put into words what I have struggled with my whole adult life; finding "the passion."  In books and movies and even on the news we see stories of people who find their calling and pursue it with the passion that burns within.  I've always looked up to those who know what they want and like a bloodhound tracking it's prey, they unerringly pursue it until the end. I've witnessed "the passion" first hand in my father.  He likes to tell the story that in an architecture class he heard God calling him into ministry.  He gave up his car and his hometown to go to another state to pursue his calling to become a minister.  Later, after being married for only three months he returned to Kentucky to finish his degree and enter seminary. Some of my first memories were of my Father teaching youth abou

I struggled through the eighth grade and eventually (through counselling and time) came to view my new town as home.  It was summer time again and since I was so old and mature (going into high school now) I was able to work the summer camp at the church.  I can remember it like yesterday.  The brownish/orangish grotesque carpet with the cream colored walls.  The hollow, three step stage that boomed with each child’s stomp.  The squeals and shrieks of kids playing four square.  The smell of crayons and unwashed bodies.  We were a few weeks into summer and it was the day that we all were looking forward to.  Water day! “Hey check it out,” another “youth worker” called over to me.  I went to the window and saw what every 14 year old boy loves to see; girls in bikini’s.  I could see some friends of mine standing with a girl I didn’t know.  I remember being immediately struck by how wholesome and Godly she looked… Nah, just kidding.  I remember thinking she had a nice rack.  Crude I kno

It was the summer of 1996 and I was thirteen.  After spending the week at camp, fervently praying that we would not have to move from our home in Fort Lauderdale, my parents broke the news.  We were relocating to this small town called Fort Myers.  Weeping into my pancakes I was filled with a myriad of emotions.  Anger at them that they would pull me away from my upcoming eighth grade school year (when all the good school trips happen), sadness that I would be leaving my friends, nervous that I would be starting anew, and disbelieving that God would deny my requests.  Through syrupy tears I prepared my heart to leave the life that I knew to enter a new (and what would end up as the best) chapter in my life. In a whirlwind of activity my life was boxed up and moved to a quaint home in North Fort Myers, Florida.  I tried to stay positive but it was summer and I felt utterly alone.  Several parents forced their children to invite me over and luckily I hit it off with a few teenagers my