Throughout the years, I've wanted to be a lot of things.  A ballerina first and foremost, a baker, a sustainable fashion designer.  But somewhere along the way, I decided that being a doctor would suit me the most.  Mostly because doctors were the symbol of achievement - the title earned you immediate respect and trust.  Only the ones at the very top of the pack ever made it, and I wanted to be one of those people.

As I grew up and saw the reality of health and life, I grew a heart to want to save as many people as possible.  When my brother got sick though, I realized how much we still don't know, and might not ever know about how the body works.  What we think of as answers often only minimize the problems, and doctors do not know all the answers.  Creation is still totally God planned and God breathed, and life is completely in His hands.  As scary as that truth was, it was a release.  I could imagine nothing more beautiful that I could be reminded of every day for the rest of my life.  Being a doctor was only being a servant guided by the Spirit.

Then college hit, and I was slapped in the face and dragged in the mud.  At Emory, everyone was the top of their class.  Everyone had done amazing things with their lives and had padded their resumes.  It was no longer enough to be naturally smart, and I did not realize how big of a portion that actual effort meant in the game.  I felt so mediocre and through self-fulfilling prophesy, I did not believe it would be worth giving my absolute all.  So my grades suffered, and I questioned whether I was just another 9/10 statistic that would be destined to drop pre-med.  I forgot why I had started in the first place.  Around the beginning of the very last semester Senior year, I decided that I would go an alternative route.  PA, or nursing would do it.  Those were reasonable, within reach.  Not that they are any less by any means, but I just did not want to try and put myself through more torture of not feeling worthy.

Still, I was pushed by my parents to apply to med school.  I had gotten that far anyway, why not finish?  I found osteopathic medicine, which somehow spoke to my personal philosophies immediately.  The emphasis on prevention, the hands-on approach, and the commitment to patient involvement made so much more sense.  So I just went for it and dreaded the countless application fees.

My first interview was at one DO school in Pennsylvania.  I'd always told myself that "feel" was secondary, that it was most important that I got my foot in the door at all.  But somehow, I was intimidated, and felt like a listless person in the middle of a stern crowd.  The questions asked of me were meant to illicit a pretty packaged answer, not anything quite of substance.  They didn't even accept my MD recommendation I realized, so it didn't even go through to the committee.

The second was in-state was just as lovely as when I'd visited in high school.  The students loved it there, and the locals embraced the school's presence in the community.  However, as they had already filled all the spots, I was automatically put on the waitlist.

Then all of a sudden when all the other schools were finished with their cycles, I got an email from William Carey College of Osteopathic Medicine - in Mississippi of all places.  A school that actually only accepted paper applications, with a mail-in check for payment.  I had already been accepted by Case Western for nursing at that point and was fully ready to head in that direction - all the good circumstances around it seemed like God's will.  But I went to interview anyway (why not, right?) and there was something nostalgic about the place.  It was sort of like a large version of Oxford.  And literally every single student who passed by wished us luck.

Three days later, I got a call from the Dean of Student Affairs (one of the main interviewers).  "I'd like to be the first to congratulate you on your acceptance to medical school!"  I cried.  My dad cried.  It took a whole day to sink in, that it was actually a reality.  That my dream that I had stopped believing in had come true.  My parents' dream for me too was fulfilled.  I was confused, because I thought Case Western was the plan (and I was totally fine with that) but then this came up.  I could have thought that 'I finally made it' but truthfully, it was God who made it happen.  Somehow His will isn't necessarily concrete, but His hands are still always guiding my way.

Everything before this has been a preparation for what is to come, and I'm grateful that I was given the strength and will be able to rely on His strength to bear this future.  Now, it's not all about me at all.  I was literally handed this chance out of grace, and I'm going to use it well.  But I know that after all these years, it'll be a journey worth continuing.  I'll see much more of His heart.

As the summer begins I'm going to be preparing for the move/transition and such, and maybe then it'll actually feel real.