School was never really this toe-curling, torture chamber of stress for me. That’s not to say I didn’t struggle sometimes, or that I was simply without a care for my education; there were some things that I just did not understand no matter how hard I tried, and then my mom would take hours to patiently explain and quiz me until I got it. And I am drawn to discovery and new things like a woman trapped in a vegan health spa is drawn to a Butterfinger, so I always loved learning and studying things that surprised and amazed me—I had to know how the world ticked, and I loved discovering all the intricacies that God had taken the time to dazzle us with on this planet. Studying these things was fun …
But math has never been my thing. Okay, that’s a very mild and vague explanation of the total love-hate relationship I have with it. It was the only subject that could dissolve me into tears when a concept refused to make camp in my head. Sometimes it seemed as though I was doomed to fail in the sea of endless numbers and symbols that tried to choke me and make shopping into a form of schoolwork instead of enjoyment. And yet somehow I always managed to jump up in the nick of time and grab hold of the lifeline of comprehension that was dangling in front of my face, though I didn’t fully understand nor see it until the very last second. That was how it went every time, but I always pulled through it and even got good grades in high school math, which restored my confidence in the subject as I went off to college, feeling fully prepared to face whatever my math teacher might throw this freshman’s way.
That confident stride was my companion for the first week, though it became more of a drunken stagger as I walked to class each morning in a daze. I was doing really well in the other four classes I was taking and felt like I was learning so much, but math … well, suffice it to say that it liked to play with my head and remind me of past mathematical failures. While the teacher was fantastic and passionate about helping her students understand the subject (love you for that, Mrs. Wheelock!), the mass of online homework was astounding. Even the students who understood and loved math—naturally, I was not part of this select group—were having a hard time keeping up with the overwhelming number of extremely difficult problems each week, so I didn’t feel too bad. We pretty much looked like this guy on the right. It was nightmare each time I sat down at the computer, and I remember the angry tears resurfacing each time problem seven of 408 said “Wrong Answer” when I was desperately trying to get them done before class the next morning. I think it was a week before the final drop date that I caught a glimpse of my grade, which had been drastically effected by my homework grade. Yeah, not good. I calculated and recalculated six or so times, because obviously my math wasn’t that good, and that couldn’t possibly be right. But, alas, those puny little numbers more befitting a good golf score than my unfortunate class grade were the same every time, and I knew I had a choice to make.
Originally, my goal for that class was a low A or any sort of B, but then it suddenly turned into “Must. Survive!” I was still unsure if I could pull my grade up to even pass the class, but I had never failed a class before, and I was no quitter (just ask my sisters about my penchant for finishing horrid books because I believe they have to get better—I’m usually wrong and just end up wasting my time). So I spent several days wondering what I should do and prayed about it a lot. I told God that if He really wanted me to stay in that class, then He would have to make it clear and help me get a perfect score on the next quiz before the drop deadline. I thought this was a pretty good idea … until circumstances prevented me from studying that week, and the only info I gleaned on that subject was from the few hours spent in class. I was about ready to rescind my previous agreement with God, but I kept feeling like I had to just try this last time before giving up. So, completely unprepared, I stepped into the computer lab, sat down, and got a perfect score on that quiz, something I hadn’t managed to do with any previous quizzes. I was shocked and ridiculously pleased. What’s more, my teacher called out to me in the middle of the lab and gave me a thumbs up and an “Awesome, girl!” I later found out that I was the only one in the entire class to get a perfect score on that quiz.
Here are the facts: Panicky freshman on the verge of class dropping hysteria + absolutely no study time – any left brain function + a looming deadline = A perfect score. Hmm. Even for those of you more mathematically-inclined people, it doesn’t really seem to add up, does it? I hadn’t thought of this instance for a while, but I figured that maybe someone out there needed a little encouragement that God can perform miracles, even when the odds seem stacked against you. Oh, and I stayed in the class after that, more confident than before with the reminder that God was looking out for me, and even when things got tough, I knew that God wanted me there. So I pushed through and managed to pull a B+ by the end of the class. That might not seem like some incredible achievement for some of you, but I like to call it my little miracle B, and with it came a little more faith. I’m still working on trusting God with my whole life—I’m human, and I stumble constantly—but when I do give it up to Him, the situation always seems to turn around for the better. Don’t believe me? Give it a try yourself.
“Wisdom is better than wit, and in the long run will certainly have the laugh on her side.” –Jane Austen