Before I was old enough tie my own shoes, I had told my mom “someday I’m going to be an artist with a briefcase.” She had a sense then that this was neither a fleeting ambition nor purely my own idea. From a really young age, I felt like God was beckoning my heart to be an artist—and that He’d fill in the details as to why later. As I got older, I started to feel like doing art had something to do with not just a job, but instead a calling. It didn’t make sense even to me. If you were to get the most pragmatic (yes, even as a child) person you know…and put a paintbrush in her hand, that’s me. Yet I wanted to go to college to learn how to be a professional artist of some kind the way that some kids want to go to Disney World.
Mine was not a silver spoon household, so I also knew this was a big investment that I was about to take on. One would think that would have caused my parents to caution me in going the direction of an art degree, but they didn’t. Fact is, I felt cautioned all on my own. I was also interested in law, psychology, forensics, and even did well with biology, so I recall this one particular heart-to-heart with God that these were more practical-in-a-more-obvious-way majors to pursue. It wasn’t so much that I felt this fire and brimstone directive in response, it was simply like God was giving me a Father’s heart response saying “you could do these other things, and I won’t be angry if you do—but you’ll miss an adventure if you don’t trust Me on this.” Rarely do you hear someone look back on his or her life and say, “Ah, I wish I’d gone into investment banking.” I knew what my options were. I could do something like law or forensic psychology—or I could get an art degree. I took a deep breath and stepped out in faith as a declared art major.
This is part 7 of 31 in a personal story participating in the Write 31 Days Challenge. To start at the beginning or to see all the posts in order, click here. If you want to follow along, follow on social media or subscribe as a reader to Eclectic Affinity.
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