​From “Driven to Be Average: Part One”
 
After graduating from high school in 1972, I followed an “average” course.  I went away to school.  I worked, studied, dated, traveled, and generally tried to find my way…. 
 
By the time I had entered into my 20's, I had conditioned myself to seek the middle.  And, I was mostly content to be there.  Yet, my passion to travel, and desire for “hands-on learning” were beginning to stretch me beyond what was comfortable.  These two things were “itches that I needed to scratch”.  They were latent motivational forces that began to be stirred.
 
In the process, my thinking about myself began to get a bit stretched….
 
 
“Driven to Be Average: Part Two”
 
In 1984, I turned 30.  And, I found myself in mainland China teaching English to a group of educated professionals.

 ​It was a Thursday afternoon. 
 
In southern California, it was just an average day in the middle of June.  Overcast in the morning.  Sunny in the afternoon.  The days were patterned, routine, and almost mundane.  Nothing pressing loomed on the horizon.
 
Then, the phone rang.
 
Of all the phone calls I have ever received, this one is in a class all by itself.  I am confident that no other call has had, or ever will have, the scope of impact to rival this call.  Trust me! 
 
This conversation will always be known in my household as “THE PHONE CALL”.

It was just a simple flick of the wrist.  A checkmark made on a form for a job search.   

It was a last-minute choice, and little thought went into it.  It was certainly not part of any long-term strategic plan.  
 
At 2:00 in the morning, while on break at work, a friend helped me out.  She made an “outside-of-the-box” suggestion.  I reacted.   Then, checked the box.      
 
And, God used this friend, and a tiny little checkmark, to profoundly impact the direction of my life!

Nothing prepared me for the shock of getting unexpected bad news.
 
When the phone rang, and I answered it - I could just tell the news was not good. The voice was forced.  The words clipped – on edge.  My senses braced – as I reacted to the nervous “tells”.  An overwhelming sense of dread started to arise – as the message sunk in.  My world tilted.  And, the moment was forever seared in my memory. 
 
The first time I got such a phone call was in 1981, and it  was from my parents.    

It was winter in the northern woods of Lower Michigan.  The snow was beautiful, but there was a lot of it!  And, it was cold outside.  The “lake affect” from Lake Michigan routinely caused the weather to be surly and unpredictable.  “Bitter” was regularly added to the word “cold”.   ​​

In December of 1978, I was staying at the camp where my parents were caretakers.  ​ And, even though I had grown up in Michigan, the weather in this part of the state was more severe, and there was a lot less infrastructure to combat it.

​Camp had a lot of houses around it.  But, precious few were occupied in winter.  My dad made extra money patrolling a circuit of homes on snowshoes each week.  He kept an eye out, and would notify home-owners if, and when, there was damage.  Technically camp wasn’t remote – but in the winter, it felt remote.  The nearest town was 10 miles away.  Only the major roads got plowed.  We were on our own to connect ourselves to the plowed roads.  When winter arrived, we were isolated.

I bought my first car in 1972.  It was a 1969 Opel Cadet.  It had a stick-shift transmission - with a four-speed on the floor. I learned a lot about shifting gears and using a clutch on that poor vehicle.  When I needed to make turns, stops, or navigate hills, I learned the art of downshifting.  And on rare occasions, I would downshift and rev-up the rpms – to get a bit more power to pass another car.  It seemed like I was always running through the gears in the hills of Grand Rapids, Michigan.  

I was also starting to shift through gears, as I navigated the roadway of life.
 
From June 1977 to December 1978, there was some serious downshifting occurring in the Carr household.  Between my parents and me, one of us was in a state of flux during that 18-month period of time.  Change and transition was very much afloat within our family.
 
One major change occurred on May 31, 1977.   

​Decisions!  We make them all the time.  Lots of them!  According to Google, the brain processes 35,000 choices on a daily basis.  Whew!  It makes me tired just trying to “decide” if I agree. 
 
All I know is that as a young man in my early twenties, the only decisions that I truly pondered were the “biggies”.  You know - choices that I thought had long-term and obvious consequences.  Things like choosing a spouse, a home, a university, or a career.   Those were the ones I focused on and prayed about.  Sure, I prayed for health, relationships, and activities for myself and others, but my perspective was pretty narrow.  To me, I only saw God at work “in the big stuff”.
 
At that time, I thought it was crystal clear when I was making a “life-transforming decision”, and when I was not.  It hadn’t even dawned on me that seemingly insignificant decisions could also have a long-term life-altering impact: positively or negatively.    Certainly, I didn’t think or pray about them.

​There was one day in 1976, however, when the trajectory of my whole career-path started to shift.  It was like a fork in my road – a “game changer”.  Yet, at the time, the initial decision was so seemingly inconsequential that I didn’t even realize I was making it.  It was just a knee-jerk reaction.  But, it was the “first domino to fall” in a chain of events.  And over time, I have come to realize that without this decision, my life-path would be radically different than it is today.  And, God used my childhood friend, Steve, to play “the pivotal role”.

​My first two attempts at crossing cultures were pretty pathetic.   They both occurred one immediately after the other.  I tripped over one of them quite literally.  While with the other, I managed to trip up figuratively.
 
I learned to play soccer for one year – and one year only.  That’s it!  I did it for the sole reason to go on a soccer mission trip to Mexico.  There was no other reason.  I wasn’t skilled, but I could run. I didn’t start, but I was a warm body.  I didn’t really know what it meant to go to another culture either.  I had no cross-cultural training.  I just knew I wanted to travel to another country.  And, I’d learn a sport – and willingly trip and fall on my face from time to time - in order to do it. ​

​The travel bug bit me early and hard. 
 
What is odd, though, is that the passion and riskiness that usually comes with exploring new places seems to be diametrically opposed to my phlegmatic temperament.  I don’t understand it, but time and again the “urge to travel” motivates me to do things that are “out-of-character”.   The introvert becomes an extrovert.  The passive becomes aggressive.  The follower becomes a leader.  Hmm?