Free Otherworld by Jared C. Wilson

In Drury, birthday parties were community affairs. They were big to-do’s, and everyone was invited, no matter how distant a relation or acquaintance. Steve’s parents spared no expense, because they were proud of their son.
    His father’s boss, Mr. Whitten, shook his hand. “Congratulations, Steven,” he said, and he grinned from ear to ear.
    â€œFor what?” Steve asked. Congratulations seemed like an unusual thing to say to someone on their birthday.
    â€œFor the licensing, of course.”
    â€œOh, right. Thanks.”
    The licensing. Nearly a month prior, Steve graduated from high school, and a week later, his church presented him with a Certificate of License. It was a diploma-sized piece of parchment bought at the local religious bookstore. In Old English calligraphy, it made its declaration: THIS CERTIFIES THAT STEVEN J. WOODBRIDGE, WHO HAS GIVEN EVIDENCE THAT GOD HAS CALLED HIM INTO THE GOSPEL MINISTRY, IS LICENSED TO PREACH THE GOSPEL AND EXERCISE HIS GIFTS IN MINISTRY BY FIRST CHURCH OF DRURY, LOUISIANA, ON THE 17TH DAY OF MAY 1995. At the bottom, the church clerk and the pastor signed their names. Technically, this meant Steve could perform marriage ceremonies or funeral services, “the ol’ marry and bury” as he liked to call it. Other than that, though, it was little more than a status symbol, at least to the people his parents concerned themselves with. Steve never really gave it much thought. At the age of sixteen, he had gone down the aisle one morning at church. He had just returned from a trip with the youth group, and he somehow had this incredible feeling that he was being called into something. Invited. Drawn, even. The counselor near the altar explained to him that this was God calling him to be a preacher. What did he know? He accepted, and his parents were overjoyed.
    The day of his nineteenth birthday, he returned from a trip where all week he experienced a similar feeling.
    â€œHey, Steve. Tell me about Mexico,” said Tom D’Amato, the Woodbridges’ neighbor.
    Steve did not hesitate. “The single most awesome experience of my entire life.”
    â€œGet out.”
    â€œNo, really.”
    â€œIt’s probably the water.”
    â€œHa, right, the water.”
    â€œWasn’t it, like, dirty ?”
    â€œWell, yeah—”
    â€œWell. Glad it was good,” Tom said.
    That night, after the party guests had all given him their best wishes and shuffled on home, the Woodbridge family sat around their dinner table and talked.
    â€œWe are so proud of you, Son,” his mother said.
    â€œThanks, Mom.”
    His father slid a pile of papers across the table and left them in front of his son. “Your application to Brantley came in. I went ahead and filled it out for you. Everything but the essay part, that is. I guess you just need to do that and then sign it.”
    Steve looked over it.
    â€œI filled it out just the same as the other ones you did yourself. It should be the exact same,” his father said.
    â€œYeah. It is.”
    â€œSomething the matter, Son?”
    Steve glanced at the blanks next to MAJOR and MINOR. They were filled in with the words Christianity and Music .
    His mother joined the inquiry. “Steve? Is everything okay?”
    â€œYeah. Everything’s good.”
    â€œYou look like something’s wrong.”
    â€œWell …”
    â€œWhat?” his mother asked.
    â€œI was thinking …”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout maybe concentrating on Spanish.”
    His father spoke up. “Spanish? What for?”
    â€œWell …” He knew they were not going to like this. “I’ve been thinking about maybe going back to Mexico.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” his mother said. “Another mission trip?”
    â€œWell, yeah, I guess. But, like, I was thinking about the missionary training school some of the guys were telling me about. I think