My childhood spanned the era of the Space Race and The Man from U.N.C.L.E. In other words, the 1960s. Therefore, my earliest answers to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” were influenced by those two cultural icons.
I expected to be a spy, and an astronaut.
Not both/and, but first/then.
I still remember returning from the library, walking back home down Herrick Avenue in Wellington, Ohio, with a few books on the FBI, being a secret agent, and the like. The exploits of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin captivated me, and I was sure I could do what they did—save the world from bad guys, foil the schemes of evil nations, get out of the most precarious situations, and utterly defy death!
By the time we moved a few hours from Wellington to Niles, Ohio, in 1967, things were heating up in space and my imagination turned from counterespionage to sitting in the cockpit of a command module. Along with the rest of the country, I looked up to the Mercury and Gemini astronauts as heroes worth emulating. Just before we moved from Wellington, three of those heroes perished in a devastating launch pad disaster. But rather than extinguishing my enthusiasm, the accident intensified the drama and fueled the dream: I could walk in space! I could land on the moon!
The spinoff effect of this space fascination for me was an interest in all things science, and my parents did what they could to encourage the interest. First a chemistry set, then a microscope, followed by a telescope…a subscription to a monthly series of science publications…. Mom and dad stoked the fire.
I expected to be a scientist—of some kind (see my earlier post, The Prize).
What’s fascinating, now that I think about it, is I had no inclination of becoming a sports or pop superstar like many kids growing up today. In fact, I didn’t even know anyone with those aspirations. Pro sports in the 1960s were really in their infancy.
We had our favorite teams, collected football and baseball cards, and looked up to some great players, but that was about it. We played football in the backyard, pretending to be pro players…played baseball at the nearby sandlot, fancying ourselves regular sluggers…but the expectation or even the dream of playing professionally? Never entered my mind—or of those I played with.
Old guy rant: Nowadays, kids expect they can be the next Tom Brady or A-Rod or Steph Curry or pop music icon. All they have to do is dream it…believe it…and it’ll happen! Rude awakening alert! Perhaps their expectations are fueled by whom society presents as heroes.…
OK, enough of the digression.
In time, great expectations are refined. Some fade away into the background of the mind—I forgot all about becoming a “secret agent man,” and although I maintained an interest in the space program for years—decades, really—the expectation of becoming the next Neil Armstrong disappeared as quickly as it came. My interest in science in general was effectively squelched by—of all things—my 8th grade science teacher (I wrote about that in an earlier post, too).
While my general science interest waned, computer science started to become a thing in the mid-1970s and it grabbed my attention. I was fascinated by the possibilities of what machines programmed by humans could do!
In the fall of 1974, I enrolled in a computer programming course at my high school—and I was hooked. The way my mind works clicked with flowcharting and writing COBOL programs. I couldn’t type in the traditional sense, but I actually enjoyed going to the little room in the school library that housed three keypunch machines, typing out the lines of code, and watching the machine punch the cards—one line of code per card.
It was exciting to take the stack of cards to class the next day, turn them in to be sent to the school district office where the program would be run overnight, and then return to class the next day to see if the program indeed worked!
Our teacher regaled us with the prospects of the computer science field. The sky was the limit, he said. The potential income for programmers was unbelievable, he promised.
This was what I expected to do with my life. Program computers!
The next year of high school—my last—I enrolled in a computer programming class at the district’s new vocational school. For more than two hours every day, I’d travel to DAVEA and write programs—mostly in COBOL, but also FORTRAN and RPG. And, wow! DAVEA had its very own super clean, climate controlled computer room with a huge Burroughs mainframe computer…tape reader…keypunch machines…card reader…hard disc reader. State-of-the-art stuff that could run one program—yes, ONE program—at a time, but at breakneck speed! Didn’t have to wait overnight for results; we got them in minutes—maybe half an hour, depending on the program’s complexity.
As I anticipated graduation from high school in a matter of months, I had my future mapped out. I would go to Florida Institute of Technology in Melbourne, possibly living with my grandparents to cut costs. I would major in computer programming. I would graduate and get an incredible-paying job right out of college. I would spend my life growing with the burgeoning computer technology field.
Six months later, I was headed in a completely different direction. No technology school…no dorming with grandma and grandpa in Florida…no computer-related major. Instead, I was enrolled in a Christian university in South Carolina to prepare for pastoral ministry, living in a men’s dorm with four other guys.
Three great childhood and youth expectations—and none came to be.
What in the world happened?!?
That’s a story for another time, but suffice it to say, the gracious hand of God’s providence steered me—squashing immature expectations of spies and space, directing me away from flowcharts, calling me instead to the vocation I’ve pursued for the past 43 years. Totally not what I expected!
So totally unexpected, in fact, that I’m doing multiple times a week what I vowed I wouldn’t do when I was 16.
My high school required some kind of speech class. I could have taken the traditional class—writing and giving speeches of various kinds. But no way! I did not want to stand up in front of other people and give a speech! So I opted for the Radio and TV class. Our “speeches” entailed speaking into a microphone and making a tape recording or before a video camera to make a “commercial.” There was no live audience.
Two years later at age 18, I was preparing for a lifelong vocation of pastoral ministry—a calling that involves speaking before a “live audience” multiple times each week.
That was unexpected!
Certainly, the Apostle Paul can relate to life not turning out as he expected.
When we first meet him under the name “Saul” in Acts 7, he’s a young man in the midst of an angry crowd who stone to death the first martyr, Stephen.
Saul is inspired!
He takes upon himself the mission of doing everything he can to eliminate these “Jesus followers” from society. He expects to be hailed as a zealous Pharisee that outstrips all Pharisees.
Then the sovereign grace of God steps in, brings him to his knees, converts Saul the would-be destroyer of the church, and transforms him into Paul the foremost apostle used to build the church!
Ah, the sovereign grace of God! His providential working to dash expectations and redirect aspirations!
