My road to becoming a historian was a strange one. I think I always liked history; it was the history classes I didn’t like. Frankly, my early education was rather drab when it came to history. I have no memory of ever being inspired by what I was taught. I barely have a memory that I was taught at all.
American history, in high school, was a dull affair. The teacher, who was also the basketball coach (this was in Indiana, where basketball is king), simply stood in front of the class and read the text to us, making comments occasionally. I am convinced he was hired to be the basketball coach first, then asked if he could read a history book to some bored students. As he read, I sat in the back of the classroom with another book propped inside the history text, so I could get in some good reading. As a result of that experience, I never took another high school history class.
In college, I barely recall taking American history. It was unmemorable. Yet when I took ancient history, I had a professor who made things far more interesting. Perhaps it was because it dealt more with the time period of the Bible that my interest was more easily piqued. The professor himself was an apostate from the faith; his dad was a Biblical archeologist, but he had rejected the Bible as God’s truth. He was a chain smoker and rather rotund, not the picture of health. But at least he was interesting.
Then I had another professor, a committed Christian with a wonderful spirit, who taught a course on Tudor England. At least once, maybe twice, he had the students over to his home for the class. He was an exceptional teacher–he was denied tenure. Sometimes, those two go together.
I decided to minor in history, while continuing with my major of radio, tv, and film production. Even though I liked history, I couldn’t conceive of ever teaching it. That was the last thing I wanted to do. But when I later became headmaster of a Christian school, the teaching of history fell to me. Simultaneously, I was being instructed how we can view all of history from God’s perspective. That shed a whole new light on things.
I returned to school and got my master’s and doctorate in history. I was in rebellion against God at that time (that’s another story), but He was faithful. When I returned to Him, He opened doors. I have now taught history for twenty years in colleges, with seven of those years at the master’s level.
As I look back through my personal stumblings, I can now see the hand of God overcoming all my lack of wisdom. I now teach history with a profound sense that it is His will, and that I need to take this calling seriously. History is one way of illuminating the principles the Lord wants us to learn.
Clio, the Muse of History, in National Statuary Hall, the Capitol