Dead Man Walking

“No, my entire life is changing!” I shouted.

“Paul, it’s okay. You’ll be fine,” my mother responded.

This was not fine. It was the zombie apocalypse. My friends were gone—eaten! I was nervous—no cure! How did college even work? I needed a counselor? No, I needed a bunker!

My mother didn’t let me build the bunker, but she listened. My parents had told me as a young child that I would be attending college. There were no other options. I never imagined this day would actually arrive.

My meeting with the counselor was helpful. I was placed under a few strenuous tests that made a zombie apocalypse seem pleasant. The college kindly assigned me every remedial course they could offer. I needed preparation in reading, English, and math… sounded about right.

On my first day, I nearly melted like a corpse under the blazing summer sun. My anxieties bubbled just beneath my skin. Cheating wasn’t possible. I had one option—study. Fortunately, the time with my grandma, years prior, had prepared me.

I struggled in English, math, and my general psychology class. During my first year, I lived in the math lab’s quiet isolation and studied each subject daily. I had to immerse myself in all my courses just to make a C.

Some of my professors were helpful. Others told me, “I know you’re not this stupid.”

My academic struggles were obvious. Ashley’s friends tried to convince her I was a dead man walking, but she could see a flicker of light in my warm body (I love you too—even today!).

I painfully persisted through the insults and my studies, because failure wasn’t an option. I craved something better than a C. I continued for two years… until something started to change. A horrible infection began to spread through the student body.

“And you, being dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, He has made alive together with Him, having forgiven you all trespasses.”

Colossians 2:13