I failed

My nickname for all of my life has been Dr. Mo. When I was 7 years old I told my parents I wanted to be a Pediatric Neurosurgeon and I knew exactly what I was talking about.

I owned one of these. It is a life-sized, anatomically-correct 3D man that stood 6 feet tall.

My parents bought it for me when I was 9 years old. It collapsed to size of a notebook so naturally it was the "toy" that I brought to school for "show and tell". It was my best friend. I took it outside to play with and show all of the neighborhood kids (I just knew they were all jealous of me and my 3D buddy). 

I stapled and un-stapled him to my bedroom wall so many times that within a year the entire edge was punctured and tattered beyond repair. I would lay it on the floor with me while I watched television, studying every flap and caption. I memorized the handy dandy chart which was exhaustive with physiological names and definitions. 

Eventually, it just fell apart. Just about disintegrated in my hands. It was so hard to part with.

So why the trip down memory lane? Well, to remind myself that by all academic standards I am a failure. Institutions don't just measure success of a student by graduation. They also take into consideration whether or not that student is working in the field for which they were educated. I have two pieces of paper. One says that I should have become a physician. The other deems me a Master Theologian indicating that I should be a full-time minister.

Raise your hands if you followed through with academic success...Not so fast, Mo. 

I work at a Community College helping students figure out how to best manage their life and studies. I deal with everything from complete confusion and disorganization to homelessness and suicide.

Here is where I get my "Doogie Howser" on (cue circa 1990 & clicking sound of my computer keyboard) All I need is a blue screen and some white letters.

(Press Play and walk with me down Memory Lane. It'll set the tone.)

My Operating Room and my Pastoral Quarters are one. They are my office at McLennan Community College . I have seen a lot of healing take place in this sacred space. I have watched the hand of the Great Physician  correct brokenness and restore hope...all in my office...and the metaphors abound but the point is this. If nine year old me could have seen what was to become of her she may have fallen out crying on the shoulder of her beloved 3D friend but she doesn't understand what blessings lie in failed plans.