Broken pieces come together in God’s hands paired with His timing. He truly is a master storyteller. I panicked during my adolescent years. Trying to make a decision about what I would do for the rest of my life seemed like such a gigantic decision. How the hell was I supposed to pick that?! There were kids who knew they wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, a singer, and I would think, How? How could they know that? I always thought there had to be something wrong with me, because I truly was lost when it came to choosing the direction my life would go. For one, I was only seventeen. I hadn’t had much experience up to that point, besides what felt like love, friends, sex, cracking jokes, laughing, having fun, smoking, copying homework, and cheating on test. I also had my past. The murder of my parents, my grandparents and their Christian values, church, and the huge divide I saw between the church building and the community. I knew I had a strong longing for people, for children. I wanted to help. I wanted to help in any way, in all ways.
“So, Queen, what do you want to do?”
So much power was wrapped up in that question. I wanted to do everything! I wanted to do more than my mind could comprehend at the time. Asking the dreamer what they want to do is like releasing a tidal wave.
“I want to help people,” I answered confidently, hoping to disguise the anxiety of not truly comprehending what that meant.
“That’s a good start, but that’s pretty vague,” Mr. Schooler said, chuckling. He was my creative arts teacher in high school. He was one adult I respected. He still had joy, hope in his eyes. His class was the only AP class I was taking. To be honest, I still don’t understand how I made it into that class.
“I mean, to be honest, man, that’s a pretty loaded question. The thought of it makes me feel stuck, like I have to have an answer.” I figured I might as well be real with him. His eyes always read through my insecurities anyway, plus I knew he really cared about my life. He believed in me.
“Queen, you don’t have to ‘know’; you just need a starting point, you know? Like somewhere to begin. So you want to help people, cool. What people? Help them how? Help them in what way? What resources do you need?”
As he spoke, my mind dreamed each question: a building block bringing the vision into clearer view.
“Okay, okay I see what you’re saying, so look, I want to help my people. I want to help people like me, kids lost, abandoned kids, I want to help forgotten kids like me. I want to help them know there is hope, I want to love them, to show them love, to teach them.” My bright eyes looked into Mr. Schooler’s, searching deep for his sign of approval. There it was, a smile rising from deep within his soul.
“Good, Queen, that’s very good. Write that down, hold that in your heart, let that be your point of reference. Let the rest unfold.”
My dream was interrupted by the vibration of my cellphone. It was Kenya; my chariot waited outside blasting Sugar Free’s “Don’t Walk Away.”
“Thanks, Mr. Schooler. I gotta go, but I am … I’m really going write that down.” I talked fast as I quickly shoved my notebook into my bag.
As I walked out the door of his classroom, his blue eyes stared into mine: “Stay focused, Queen.”
He didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to—I knew exactly what he meant.