My fascination — or mental disorder if you prefer — with the profession of broadcasting started at a young age. I can't remember exactly when it happened — middle school? — I became enthralled with the idea of being behind a microphone.

I've written previously about my disc-jockey obsession and have fond memories of recording and distributing cassette tapes of my announcing work to my junior high classmates, who said my song selection was superb but would I please shut up. Like any other boy I dreamt of being a quarterback, but mostly a retired quarterback who did play-by-play for Monday Night Football.

But could I ever really be successful at that? Could my hair ever look that good? Probably not, I reasoned. Of course, there was no reason at all for me to reason that, other than my own insecurities and fears, but that's what I reasoned — at least for a little while, anyway. So I decided to take what seemed to me to be the safer and more stable career path of pharmacy — those guys seemed to be doing alright — but had an epiphany, aka Organic Chemistry, the second semester of my sophomore year of college and decided maybe pharmacy wasn't such a good idea, and changed my major to broadcast journalism. I called home to break the news to my mom and she said, "Well, I guess someone needs to be the next Tom Brokaw." Eeeeg-xactly. I could feel my hair moving into place.

Fast forward a couple of years. Graduation was closing in. It was time to begin thinking about where I would start the journey that would eventually lead to sitting smartly behind the anchor desk of the local newscast, gratuitously chuckling at the remarks of my cheery co-anchors and depositing giant wads of cash into my bank account. But why stop there? What about a national news desk? Or better, why not just host my own late night talk show? My future did indeed look big and bright, like the teeth of a happy reporter.

And then the phone rang. Someone from back home — back home — wanted me to come interview for a job. Back home was a city of less than 40,000 people and no television station or late night talk shows. Who wants to go back home? There was no future back home.

"Just come hear what I'm thinking," he said. "I'll buy you dinner."

Well, no self-respecting college student refuses a free meal. "OK," I said, "but you should know I already have a few plans I'm working on for when I graduate."

"That's fine. Just come eat and talk. I'll see you this weekend."

Driving the three-and-a-half hours back home, in a car that had no radio, gave me plenty of time to converse with myself. There was no way I was going to start my glorious broadcasting ascension back home. I'd already been there, for years. Dead-end. Career cul-de-sac. Back home is where you serve pizza and wait tables and mow lawns, not have your face plastered on billboards as part of the Channel 7 Action News Team. What would people think? That I couldn't make it anywhere else? That I was afraid to try? No. Back home was not an option.

After a nice dinner of Anything-But-Ramen-Noodles, he laid out his offer.

"I can only pay you $250 a week. You can live for free in a camper trailer, utilities paid, but it has a few leaks. Oh, and, there's no health insurance."

"Well, where. do. I. sign?! Don't want anyone to beat me to this sweet deal! Look, thank you for the dinner, but — "

And then that still, soft voice said, hear him out.

" — but, go ahead and finish. I'm listening. In fact, I'm intrigued."

He explained that he wanted to start a radio station, but didn't know how. He was under the (false) assumption that I had paid attention in Professor Stockdell's class on this very topic and that I could help him. He wanted me to get the whole thing going from the ground up and then run it. He wanted me to teach at a small Bible school he had recently started. He shared his vision for a ministry to young people — and he invited me to be part of it.

I stared at my cup of coffee.

"What do you think?"

"I think there are a million reasons why this is a bad idea for me. The first is that I have no clue how to start a radio station, but more importantly, this ... this is just not my plan." I started mumbling something about Tom Brokaw and bags of money and having my face on billboards. My head was making a very good case. Air-tight. I had student loans to pay. I had ladders to climb. I had things to prove.

But, what was this my heart was doing? It was starting to imagine what it might be like to be part of such an adventure. No! Bad heart! Do not think about that. My head leapt into action, explaining to my heart that it must not do this. It must be practical! There was money and fame, and, oh, tithing! Yes, you would tithe more with a good job. And you would use your fame and influence for Christ! What a platform you'd have for evangelism as a handsome news person!

Head was doing good. That tithing thing was brilliant. Heart had quieted down a bit, especially when head played the "platform" card. Good move, head. Wait. Heart is saying something about adventure again — about when else am I going to have a chance to be a part of something like this? You've got no spousal prospects, no family to provide for in the immediate future, no big financial obligations. Head said what about our Jeep? Heart said what Jeep? Head said that Jeep we were going to buy as soon as we got out of college and got a decent job? Heart said that could wait. Head said but a camper trailer? Heart said you love camping. Head said $250 a week? Heart said it's more than you make now. Head said you are trying to ruin me. Heart said I'm giving you life, and life abundant.

"Are you OK?" my dinner host asked, thinking he might have just offered a job to a crazy person.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Fine. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I guess I actually need to think and pray about it."

"Really!? I mean, good. I'm glad to hear it. I'll wait to hear from you."

What a drive back to school. My head and heart were going at it for hours, like two strong-willed toddlers arguing over space in the back seat. Head kept urging, be practical! Heart would counter, be adventurous! Head would say play it safe. Heart would say be courageous! On and on.

I pulled up to my college apartment and turned off the engine. For the first time things were quiet. Heart's here. Where's head? Oh, I'm here, head said. You sure are being quiet, I said. Heart was grinning.

I walked inside and dialed the phone.

"Hello?" my dinner host said.

"Utilities paid, really?"

"Utilities paid."

"Well, how could I refuse that?"

"Great. I'll see you after graduation."

I hung up the phone and turned on the television. Action News. I clicked it off, fell into bed, turned off the light and thanked God for His plans for my life. I prayed that He would give me the courage to always choose His adventurous journey over my practical plans. Then I rolled over, turned the light back on and grabbed a pen and paper. Note to self: Call Professor Stockdell. Ask how to start a radio station.