This isn’t my usual type of post in Esther’s Petition. Humor me.
Thinking backwards today, “What’s past is prologue” strikes me as true in many ways. Imagination has been a lifelong friend to me. Walking along hot sandy ditch banks on my grandparents’ farm, passing masses of blackberry briars and kicking up the occasional arrowhead, I imagined cowboy and Indian adventures, or town marshals and cattle rustlers.
Back at home in town, I wandered through the paths at Timrod Park, down one side and up the other of the little stream, all the while imagining cops chasing robbers through the bushes and up the hillside.
Of course there was always a pretty girl somewhere in the story, not always a damsel in distress, though. Often she was the heroine of the drama. She came to the rescue of the injured cowboy, helped out the puzzled policeman, somehow saved the day.
Writing down the stories for myself (and occasionally for the English teacher at school) came natural on those summer days when it was too hot or too rainy to wander around outdoors. I never once imagined writing something that my peers would care to read, however. Not back then.
After school chores in junior high and high school — helping my mother in her executive secretarial work — became an actual job as her paid assistant later on. I learned how to operate office machinery of many kinds, from transcribers to offset press. Turning machine dictation into professional letters and reports was amazingly easy for me. Every secretarial job I had after that made good use of prior office experience.
And writing eventually became part of my business, often composing things for others to sign, others to take credit for. Editing and re-writing polished material for grateful clients, business and political.
After finishing an online college course from UC-Davis, I added a division called Family Memories to my company. Designing and creating personal histories and biographies, I traveled here and there to conduct interviews, take photographs and dig up family trees.
Every bit of that experience became useful in the years I worked as a volunteer interviewing and photographing missionaries, then writing up their stories for international online and print publication.
Nowadays I see the hand of the Lord in all that. Sometimes frustrated, sometimes depressed, sometimes angry at how things weren’t working out the way I had planned for my life, I didn’t always acknowledge that perhaps He had a plan for my life himself.