“447!” I exclaimed, as I walked home with my mother. After dropping my sister off for school, I had chanced upon a perky little snail. So I decided to count every snail I saw from then on, and the tally climbed quickly. After a couple hours, we arrived home and made a trip to the library to check out a few dozen books on snails. Among other facts, I discovered that snails have thousands of teeth on their tongues, but only one foot on their body; this intrigued me because, of course, I had two feet. Even at age five, I was downright fascinated by these slimy little creatures. It must have been because of the character and inquisitiveness my parents had instilled in me from birth. They provided an environment full of curiosity and resultant action, which was all I needed to excel in my studies.

At age six, I began attending public elementary school. I can’t even begin to express my anguish at being pulled from my precious home full of wonder to this stuffy house of education. My first day of class, instead of furthering my knowledge of snails or the latest creature of interest, I was instructed to color an obscene little beast and then glue some nasty black yarn on his head. I didn’t find this non-creature nearly as fascinating as a snail; it didn’t even have any teeth. Such a brute was not even worthy of existence, let alone my adornment. Resigned to my fate, I went home with relief to embark on my real studies. At least there were snails at home.

Having received an immediate distaste for public education, I struggled my way through first and second grade. For some reason I never found playing with toys all that interesting, and I never decided that forming piles of mashed potatoes and corn into beautiful landscapes was my knack. I enjoyed reading time, but it always seemed to progress awfully slowly to me. My entire year of first grade I eagerly awaited the day we would open my math textbook, but it never came, and we returned it to the school district. Resigned to my fate, I released my energy during lunch and recess. At least there were fields on the playground.

In third through fifth grade, I was placed in an advanced program of sorts. I didn’t notice much of a difference, since it was largely filled with “creative” activities that supposedly allowed liberation for smart kids like me. But honestly, I never did enjoy drawing colorful pictures of the causes of the American Revolution; I preferred reading the words of the Founding Fathers themselves. I liked the math, but for some reason the teachers just took it for granted that I knew a fraction meant you divided the numerator by the denominator. It seemed to me that if there had been only one teacher the whole time, she would have known my life, what I had learned, and where to encourage study. But alas, there wasn’t. Resigned to my fate, I slouched around with my friends. At least they always knew me.

Having recently become Christians, my parents pulled me out of public school in sixth grade to begin homeschooling. I didn’t find it very interesting, since I couldn’t hang out with my friends anymore. My mother read the Bible to my sister and me, which I conveniently slept through. We began going through various textbooks, which I handily ignored. I enjoyed the math, although it still seemed strange to actually be learning something about what I loved instead of trying to learn something about what I hated. I thought education was intended to squelch rather than encourage desires. And golly, my teacher wasn’t supposed to know about my laziness, was she? Such things just couldn’t be right. Resigned to my fate, I glued myself to the computer and the television. At least they were fun.

I continued homeschooling through high school. It was then that I decided education wasn’t so bad after all. My mother had a specific set of subjects she wanted me to study, but that didn’t make her at all like the public school teachers; she knew me, she knew what I loved, and she made learning seem like an adventure again. Teddy Roosevelt viewed learning as such, I reasoned. He lived “the strenuous life,” full of reading and expertise in every subject area, and he considered that to be just bully. Furthermore, I read in Scripture that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, which started me thinking that education is actually a glorious manifestation of faith in Christ, and not merely some secular thing to do. Thus it appeared that the path before me as a son, student, and Christian was not that of eternal boredom, but that of eternal curiosity. Embracing my fate, I resolved to enjoy it. After all, it’s pretty interesting learning about math and science and history and assorted other subjects.

I began attending community college last year. I saw in students the blasé life I used to trudge along in, and it pained me. It didn’t seem as if they were unhappy being at college – it just seemed, for some reason, that they didn’t enjoy the happiness they did have. If they would just look around them at the trees and the glorious greenery of the campus, or if they would just rustle through the leaves instead of walking on pavement, they would find plenty to enjoy. Why take the elevator when you can take the stairs? Why sit in the same seat during each class when you can meet new people by sitting around? I determined to turn people’s perspectives, to give them an increased wonder at their environment, and hopefully to show them that it is still God’s world in the stairwell and on the other side of the room. Embracing my fate, I decided to spread it around. After all, people would hear more rustling leaves this way.

Now I look back on my life, and find I have returned to where I began, returned to my life of amazement and happiness. I began my life enjoying the intricacies of the snail, and I have ended up reveling in the magnificence of the rustled leaf. I began at home with library books and my mother, headed off to public school which was to me the pit of ennui, and returned once more to home, books, and my mother. But the temporary detour only served to amplify my wonder, to provide contrast between amazement and the despair of what I came from. You could say public school turned my life’s volume up. I began with amazement that 2 + 2 = 4, but now I finish with amazement at triple vector cross products. I began with astonishment at gravity, but now I end with astonishment at the conservation of angular momentum. My awe was not different as a child than as a man, but it was applied at different depths. Wonder should never change; it should merely mature.

***

As I look to the future, with my past coloring my vision, I see I will have an increasing capacity to enjoy my wonderful life. God’s providential hand has never erred in its course. Boredom is often a prerequisite for joy, and God brings about each. Trials are a necessary step toward maturity, and God blesses Christians with both. This life is fraught with imperfection, but ultimate perfection will be ours in heaven.

So, embracing my fate, I continue my journey. After all, I know my destination. After all, it’s glorious.

***
Joshua Clark edits Chasing Hats and lives in Everett, WA. He would never think of sprinkling salt on a snail. He thinks salt should be reserved for slugs.