I wrote most of this post last spring, before the world went crazy. I hesitated to post it in the context of so many bigger, harder events taking place, but I share it because it is a testimony of God's goodness, and because I believe remembering becomes even more important in chaos and pain. I hope that this reminder of his faithfulness to me is in some way encouraging to you, too, reader.
When I look back, I sometimes question why I wasn't a history major from the beginning, but I know the answer.
After I ran into my wonderful history GTA on Thursday night, I continued to waffle about the decision over the weekend and into the next week. My niece was visiting and I asked her, "Should I study history or teaching?" and she said something like "Do what you want to do." Sage advice from a four-year-old, but at that moment unhelpful. The problem was that maybe I did want to be a teacher — after all, I still loved kids. Education was still important to me. I didn't want to major in history if that would only be exchanging temporary relief for lasting regret.
However, after meeting with my professor and with a history advisor, I came to the realization that I don't have to hate all careers and love one exclusively to pick that (plus I learned that in some states and in private schools, teachers don't have to have a degree in education, so I wasn't actually closing the door on teaching forever). I was reassured that history majors can, in fact, get jobs. And I had my first advising appointment where I walked away feeling that I was two inches above the ground instead of walking away seething. I texted my two friends and said "I don't have to decide until October 17th [my enrollment date], but maybe the smile I can't wipe off my face is a good indicator?"
I continued to seek advice that week, but it was really just for form's sake; my heart had already decided what I wanted, even if my head hadn't. I realized that I am truly passionate about history and have been for years. I wasn't switching majors just to get away from education; I was doing what I loved.
While I felt enormous freedom about this decision, I had a niggling discomfort about it. Before I started college, I knew I wanted to minor in history for my own enjoyment, but I never considered majoring in history. Though I may have dreamed about working in an archive and translating dusty documents, I only ever considered it as something I would do in "my other life." Even if I managed to get a job in some obscure library in Europe, filled with documents needing analysis, how could I justify happily holing myself away in an archive when there is so much need in the world?
By contrast, I did not know for sure that I wanted to major in elementary education, but it seemed the thing to do. As a teacher, you have an opportunity to directly impact the next generation and be Jesus's hands and feet to a vulnerable population. As a teacher, I would know that what I was doing every day was of eternal worth. I could go to bed feeling good about how I spent the day. (Side note: in actual reality, I was even less invested in this field, as I hoped to get married and become a stay-at-home mom before ever using my degree.)
I realize now that this objection was really based on a pretty narrow (and privileged) view of the world. In this picture, only about five careers could serve God: teachers, doctors, midwives, pastors, and missionaries. And maybe chiropractors. :) Which means that only a small percentage of people in the world are honoring God with their careers and only the educated even have access to serving Him. And though I would have said that of course God can be glorified in any job and sure we can be a witness in the workplace, I guess I really didn't believe it. It seemed like empty words that we just say to make businessmen feel better for not wanting to sell all their possessions and become overseas missionaries.
When I look back, I sometimes question why I wasn't a history major from the beginning, but I know the answer.
After I ran into my wonderful history GTA on Thursday night, I continued to waffle about the decision over the weekend and into the next week. My niece was visiting and I asked her, "Should I study history or teaching?" and she said something like "Do what you want to do." Sage advice from a four-year-old, but at that moment unhelpful. The problem was that maybe I did want to be a teacher — after all, I still loved kids. Education was still important to me. I didn't want to major in history if that would only be exchanging temporary relief for lasting regret.
However, after meeting with my professor and with a history advisor, I came to the realization that I don't have to hate all careers and love one exclusively to pick that (plus I learned that in some states and in private schools, teachers don't have to have a degree in education, so I wasn't actually closing the door on teaching forever). I was reassured that history majors can, in fact, get jobs. And I had my first advising appointment where I walked away feeling that I was two inches above the ground instead of walking away seething. I texted my two friends and said "I don't have to decide until October 17th [my enrollment date], but maybe the smile I can't wipe off my face is a good indicator?"
I continued to seek advice that week, but it was really just for form's sake; my heart had already decided what I wanted, even if my head hadn't. I realized that I am truly passionate about history and have been for years. I wasn't switching majors just to get away from education; I was doing what I loved.
While I felt enormous freedom about this decision, I had a niggling discomfort about it. Before I started college, I knew I wanted to minor in history for my own enjoyment, but I never considered majoring in history. Though I may have dreamed about working in an archive and translating dusty documents, I only ever considered it as something I would do in "my other life." Even if I managed to get a job in some obscure library in Europe, filled with documents needing analysis, how could I justify happily holing myself away in an archive when there is so much need in the world?
By contrast, I did not know for sure that I wanted to major in elementary education, but it seemed the thing to do. As a teacher, you have an opportunity to directly impact the next generation and be Jesus's hands and feet to a vulnerable population. As a teacher, I would know that what I was doing every day was of eternal worth. I could go to bed feeling good about how I spent the day. (Side note: in actual reality, I was even less invested in this field, as I hoped to get married and become a stay-at-home mom before ever using my degree.)
I realize now that this objection was really based on a pretty narrow (and privileged) view of the world. In this picture, only about five careers could serve God: teachers, doctors, midwives, pastors, and missionaries. And maybe chiropractors. :) Which means that only a small percentage of people in the world are honoring God with their careers and only the educated even have access to serving Him. And though I would have said that of course God can be glorified in any job and sure we can be a witness in the workplace, I guess I really didn't believe it. It seemed like empty words that we just say to make businessmen feel better for not wanting to sell all their possessions and become overseas missionaries.
In addition, the decision to major in elementary education was largely out of a false identity — a belief that teaching was what a 'good' person would do, whereas history would just be to please myself. It was less that I had a servant's heart and really desired to live purposefully, and more that I desired to feel like my days were meaningful. But in any job, not least teaching, there are days when you spend hours doing terribly mundane things that seem to have no connection to eternity, so if I'm banking my assurance on "doing something important" then I'm going to have a lot of days that end in anxiety over my contribution to eternity.
But at the beginning of October 2019 I didn't fully understand these things. So although my heart decided in less than a week what it wanted to do, it still felt like a decision that perhaps I had no right to make. I had prayed about it, but felt no clear leading. I put off making the decision until I could talk to a spiritual mentor that weekend. She gave me plenty of assurance that history was important and not just a selfish decision. I was encouraged by her enthusiasm and emailed my advisors the next day to announce I was leaving them.
In less than ten days, I had completely changed the course of my life. I felt great peace and joy in the decision, but still couldn't quite answer to myself whether there could be work of eternal worth in a history career.
But God is so good to us and so faithful. Over the next two months, he confirmed in my heart in so many ways that I was on the right path. Not least was the constant joy that would bubble up, no matter how rough the day, every time I remembered that I was no longer an elementary education major. I don't mean that I was excited for the semester to end so I could be done with my classes; already I felt so much peace. It was like spending all of your life in a place that doesn't speak your language, but not realizing it. Simply discovering that your language is real and valid provides so much relief, because you're released from the pressure of trying to fit with the people speaking a foreign language. Over a year later, whenever it occurs to me that I'm no longer an education major and that I get to be a member of the history department, I still can't keep a smile from my face.
But at first I didn't trust my feelings. The heart is deceitful above all things, you know. I believed that remembering was important — telling stories about people who have been forgotten by history. But in a world that is destined to end, is remembering important to God?
Short answer for those wanting to shut this page and move on with their lives: yes.
In the month following the decision to change majors, parts of scripture began to jump out at me, where God over and over gave an injunction to remember. Festivals and alters were established by God so that the Israelites would remember his goodness.
And remembering is also part of restorative justice. In November 2019, I wrote a research paper on the persecution of Roma Gypsies during the Holocaust. Their story is largely untouched by history books — at most they state "Nazis persecuted Jews, Gypsies, and Poles," and then go on to exclusively focus on Jewish persecution, ignoring the racially-motivated mass genocide that the Roma also experienced. Today, Roma continue to be discriminated against by society and government policies across Europe. As I wrote, I couldn't help wondering if things might be different for them today if the "never again" sentiment so often connected to the Jewish Holocaust was applied to the Roma as well.
And because God is more kind to us than we deserve, that was not the end of it. In the beginning of December, things fell into place to secure a museum internship for the spring semester and my favorite history professor offered to do an independent study course with me. Both of these were wonderful opportunities that gave me clarity about what I want to do with my degree (and were only the beginning of a year of discovery and blessing as I continued to explore my field).
But at the beginning of October 2019 I didn't fully understand these things. So although my heart decided in less than a week what it wanted to do, it still felt like a decision that perhaps I had no right to make. I had prayed about it, but felt no clear leading. I put off making the decision until I could talk to a spiritual mentor that weekend. She gave me plenty of assurance that history was important and not just a selfish decision. I was encouraged by her enthusiasm and emailed my advisors the next day to announce I was leaving them.
But God is so good to us and so faithful. Over the next two months, he confirmed in my heart in so many ways that I was on the right path. Not least was the constant joy that would bubble up, no matter how rough the day, every time I remembered that I was no longer an elementary education major. I don't mean that I was excited for the semester to end so I could be done with my classes; already I felt so much peace. It was like spending all of your life in a place that doesn't speak your language, but not realizing it. Simply discovering that your language is real and valid provides so much relief, because you're released from the pressure of trying to fit with the people speaking a foreign language. Over a year later, whenever it occurs to me that I'm no longer an education major and that I get to be a member of the history department, I still can't keep a smile from my face.
But at first I didn't trust my feelings. The heart is deceitful above all things, you know. I believed that remembering was important — telling stories about people who have been forgotten by history. But in a world that is destined to end, is remembering important to God?
Short answer for those wanting to shut this page and move on with their lives: yes.
In the month following the decision to change majors, parts of scripture began to jump out at me, where God over and over gave an injunction to remember. Festivals and alters were established by God so that the Israelites would remember his goodness.
And remembering is also part of restorative justice. In November 2019, I wrote a research paper on the persecution of Roma Gypsies during the Holocaust. Their story is largely untouched by history books — at most they state "Nazis persecuted Jews, Gypsies, and Poles," and then go on to exclusively focus on Jewish persecution, ignoring the racially-motivated mass genocide that the Roma also experienced. Today, Roma continue to be discriminated against by society and government policies across Europe. As I wrote, I couldn't help wondering if things might be different for them today if the "never again" sentiment so often connected to the Jewish Holocaust was applied to the Roma as well.
And because God is more kind to us than we deserve, that was not the end of it. In the beginning of December, things fell into place to secure a museum internship for the spring semester and my favorite history professor offered to do an independent study course with me. Both of these were wonderful opportunities that gave me clarity about what I want to do with my degree (and were only the beginning of a year of discovery and blessing as I continued to explore my field).
If I'm honest, while I have never regretted my decision for an instant, I still wonder sometimes if my motives were good. When I spend five (or ten) hours staring at a computer screen working on a paper, I may enjoy it but still battle the feeling that I wasted a God-given day. I worry that I love this field too much, that I'm too attached to this world. But in those moments, I remind myself that loving the world that God created — that he said was very good — is not the problem. Finding joy in working hard, in meeting people, and in understanding new ideas is not the same thing as putting my career, my goals, my school, etc. over Jesus.
That's all for today, readers.
