I stared at my plastic plate, listening to my friend chat. Our second year of college would end in a few days, and we were attending the usual “end of the spring semester” picnic. Around me, classmates and dorm buddies ate grilled chicken and talked about their summer plans, worst final exam moments, and what they were already planning for next semester. I said nothing. I knew I wouldn’t be coming back.
I knew I wouldn't be coming back. -@GCSalter Share on XMy family had barely managed to pay for two years in a great writing program at this private Christian (i.e. expensive) college. I’d taken community college classes years before entering the school and therefore only needed one more year before I could graduate, but the money just wasn’t there. I had to formally withdraw from school and see if I could make enough working back in my home state to pay for that last year.
My parents were optimistic, but I didn’t think my chances were good. I had no job experience except blue-collar summer jobs and freelance work as a book reviewer and journalist. The freelance work probably didn’t count since I hadn’t gotten paid for any of it. With this background (and no car), I had to make enough money to pay for another year of college in twelve months.
A few days after the picnic, I packed my things and said good-bye to my closest college friends. Many of them would graduate while I was gone. My father and I flew from Indiana to our home in Colorado, and I moved back into my old room.
Nothing much happened the next few weeks. I got used to living at home again, applied for any jobs that looked decent online, and spent a lot of time staring at my computer screen silently.
Then in the third week, someone rang our doorbell. I answered it, and a neighbor I barely knew introduced himself. He asked if I’d like to do some lawn work for him during the summer. Not entirely sure this was happening, I said yes. He gave a detailed explanation of what he needed and how much he’d pay. I told him I could start immediately.
Not entirely sure this was happening, I said yes. -@GCSalter Share on XWhen he left, I closed the door silently. Huh.
Days later, my parents told me another neighbor (who’d moved to Florida some years ago) was back to renovate his rental property across the street and needed help. Would I be interested?
Huh. Something’s happening here.
I worked with the second neighbor for about two weeks, then he hired me as property caretaker until his realtor could sell the home. Around that time, I got a temporary job with a local Christian nonprofit.
Things kept happening from there.
With my dad’s help, I bought a cheap car and used it to commute to various part-time jobs. When one job ended, another one with a company I’d applied to years before came along. Against my expectations, I found writing work and learned what it was like to get paid for my words.
I realized quickly this wasn’t all coincidence.
By the end of that year, I had more than enough money to come back to school. I thanked God immensely and returned to Indiana knowing things would be all right. They wouldn’t always be what I expected, but everything would work out in his hands.
Everything would work out in his hands. -@GCSalter Share on X
Connor Salter is an alumnus of Taylor University’s Professional Writing Program. He’s contributed to multiple publications, including Christian Communicator magazine and the Evangelical Church Library Association. You can read more about his work on his LinkedIn page, or check out his blog posts at gcsalter.wordpress.com.
Connor Salter didn’t know what to expect when he started a six-month missions program. What he got changed the way he saw the world. During that time, he faced struggles he’d thought he’d buried. He learned lessons from new friends and mentors. He trained in the Colorado Mountains, then traveled through China and Mongolia. He planted trees, helped care for foster children, and met with local missionaries. He learned new things about God. These stories collect some of his experiences.
