Brennan Manning, The Rabbi's Heartbeat
I never wanted to be a High School teacher. I didn't even like High School. My goal was simple- to become a rock star. After all, I was in a band, and we played gigs every weekend to cheering crowds in the dozens. We were the Saturday Night Band at the Rainbow Skating Rink. With a medley of cover songs that ranged from Funk 49 to Evil Ways, we bedazzled and bewildered Clarksville teenagers of 1974. Then, there was college. The logical major was music. My guidance counselor didn't tell me that you don't need a music degree to be a rock star.
I wouldn't have listened anyway.
Life is weird. And messy, like homemade biscuits. The best biscuit makers (at least the ones I know) don't measure... they add and mix until it's 'right'. Flour dusts the counters and floors like a Fall frost. Each biscuit is unique- a perfect combination of ingredients orchestrated by the maker. Of course, there's always the 'odd' one, the radical biscuit shaped by hand because the remainder of dough is too much for one and too little for two. That one is my favorite.
Maybe that is why God called me to be a teacher.