Ironically this "good" is coming after that whole class debaucle.
Doesn't need to be brought up again here.
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The Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living
Chapter 3/ Magical Coincidences.
Part 3 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)
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My junior and senior years of high
school, I was getting ready to go to college. I took all the tests and filled
out all the forms and did all the things you are supposed to do. I didn’t want to go school too far away, I
didn’t want be too close to home, I did want to live on campus—well, I didn’t
want to go at all, I didn’t feel ready. Dad told us we had to go to college, it
wasn’t an option.
I applied to a great variety of
places. Some UW-system colleges, some private, some art schools and was
fortunate to be accepted at all of them. The whittling process began. The first
was an art school. My mom and dad and I visited the campus and talked to the
recruiter, it was very expensive, even with scholarships.
We toured the campus with an Asian man,
who had thick circular black glasses and was dressed in all black. The campus
was smaller than I thought, just on building; there were no common areas to
speak of, I would need to rent an apartment and there were no meal plans. But
they were “growing,” he said. The campus walls were covered in images and
posters about the AIDS crisis. Almost all the art was black and red, and felt
angry. We toured the studio spaces,
which were for upperclassmen, and I was promised a grubby cubicle would be mine
one day. I was supposed to be impressed but just wanted to wash my hands.
The studios were particle board,
making four foot square boxes with a small table and chair. They were all originally
bare wood, over time, covered in paint, ink and debris from old projects. Papered
in drawings and samples, it was hard to make out what was being worked on and what
was inspiration.
I was disillusioned. My working style
is tidy and organized, where a specific item is matched to specific purpose. I
also wanted to eat with people and know them. I wanted to live in community and
have a library to go to. None of it was there. This was supposed to be my
Mecca. It felt much different from holy ground. When I got back home, I wrote a
letter saying I would not be attending and got a response saying I could
transfer in later. It felt presumptuous;
it confirmed I was making the right decision.
The next visits were to UW colleges
and St. Norbert. Some were too far, and St. Norbert was too close. After
comparing the facilities and offerings, St. Norbert had a new art building, I
decided to go to St. Norbert. I was not excited about it, they would not give
me an art scholarship, but nothing else was acceptable and it was time to make
a decision. I would go to Catholic Church every Sunday with my family, I would
see my sister on campus, and live in the oldest building. I talked to my
roommate I would bring to fridge and phone; she would bring the microwave.
Orientation was a month later. I met a lot of people and won a hockey jersey at
the dinner, but it didn’t feel like home.
When I got home from orientation my
mom’s boss’ brother was in our living room. He just happened to be the art
faculty chair at Wesleyan. He looked at my work and asked technique questions,
and then offered me scholarships for art and academics. Fall semester began in
three weeks, this was ridiculous. All I had to do was say I’d visit the campus
and they’d get the package ready. In a few days I had all the paper work and my
mom, dad and I made plans to drive there and tour. It was a thirteen hour
drive.
I didn’t want to go to college too far
from home. This was beyond too far; it may as well have been a different
planet. I stepped onto campus and felt at home. They had a newly remodeled nice
big quiet library, a new cafeteria and new art studio space. It was one week before the semester began.
I felt confident enough to head a new
direction--and one week later I began college—at Wesleyan.
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God sometimes offers us a lot of what
we know we don’t want so that when the right thing happens to come along it resonates
and we know it is right—like a tuning fork. Magical moments happen when we
trust Him and His leading; I could have dismissed the invite to another place.
I probably never would have been satisfied, but God would have used it anyway. I
followed His lead.
I heard someone say recently: many coincidences
happen when we pray, and they don’t when we don’t. It was an insane coincidence
that my mom’s boss’ brother happened to be thirteen hours from home, three weeks
before the semester began and had time to visit with us. I called out to God
for guidance and someone showed up in my living room.
