I sat in my guidance counselor's office, squirming under the glow of the fluorescent lights. I checked my watch. The minutes were ticking away and I was getting ticked myself, knowing I would be late for soccer practice. Why do I have to meet with my guidance counselor anyway? I thought. I was pretty sure I had taken all of the courses I needed to graduate, and I even had college plans lined up—I'd been accepted to Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California, and offered a soccer scholarship. So I wasn't sure why I was in her office, and I hoped this meeting wouldn't last long.

"I've looked at your transcript, and there's only one problem, David," my counselor said, skimming my cumulative file. "You haven't enrolled in an art class, and it's a requirement to graduate." I slumped back into the chair and stared blankly at her. Did she know how much I hated art? I wasn't a painter, I didn't get art museums, and I really didn't want anything to do with "art kids." I was the captain of the soccer team. My life was surrounded by sports and occasionally I'd study to keep my parents happy.

She smiled sympathetically, but there wasn't a chance I could weasel my way out of this one. And I definitely didn't want to be stuck in high school for the rest of my life. She laid out my options: ceramics or photography. I figured photography was the least painful, so I enrolled.

When I walked into class the first day, I was definitely out of place. While some of my classmates were enthusiastically checking out their parents' hand-me-down cameras, others were showing off their portfolios of pictures they had taken during summer courses. All I had was my soccer duffle and a pen. I hid myself in the back of the room, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.

I rolled my eyes as my teacher described our first homework assignment—shooting a roll of still lifes. How am I going to pull this off? I wondered. My teacher's enthusiasm reminded me how annoyed I was to be in this class. But I glanced at my soccer ball poking out of my duffle and figured it would probably make a decent subject.

As I was setting up my soccer ball in the bathroom (an admittedly strange location for a photo shoot), the sun made a cool shadow through the window and created a series of lines, illuminating the Nike swoosh. I tried out different lighting and settings, crawling on the cold linoleum like I was a National Geographic photographer spying on a lioness with her cubs. The hours flew by as I got more excited and discovered new locations, situations and angles to document the life of my inanimate soccer ball.

When I came back to class, I hid my set of pictures amongst the stack of photos on my teacher's desk, not sure if I had fulfilled the requirements of my first assignment. A little bit later, my teacher called me to the front of the classroom. I reluctantly got out of my seat. Great … now she's going to use me as an example of what not to do. To my surprise, she used my shots as an example of how to do the assignment. As she excitedly showed the entire class each of my pictures, everyone got real quiet and leaned forward to get a good look. I felt a rush of adrenaline. In the past, I'd only felt that good when I dove to save a goal on the soccer field.

Riding that high, I began taking pictures of everything (flowers, houses, animals), and I'd spend hours studying or day-dreaming about how to freeze a moment or capture an experience or emotion on film.

My soccer friends were sure my new hobby was another one of my phases (like paintball or jujitsu). They were certain I'd get bored of it in a month. Little did they know that my first art class would begin a journey that went with me to Westmont.

So, how did a guy like me with soccer on the brain end up on the yearbook staff as a college freshman? Here's the short version: Before the season started, I broke my hand in practice and found a new position on the team—on the bench. Rather than moping about my disappointing first season, I decided to pour myself into photography.

The only problem was that Westmont didn't offer any photography classes. The best way I was going to be able to feed my hobby was to join the campus' yearbook staff. Since it was well into the school year and all of the yearbook staff positions were filled, I begged to be a part of the group. It worked. I soon found myself shooting hundreds of rolls of film, working hard to create the school's best yearbook ever.

It seemed clear God was teaching me that he wanted me to explore and use this gift. And I did find ways to use it. Through photography, I helped people create Christmas gifts for their families and document dorm activities. This brought me more true joy than just doing something for myself.

My identity switch from soccer player to photographer was completed by my sophomore year. I still had my soccer scholarship, but I ended up on the bench another year, waiting my turn in line behind the starting goalie. This was OK with me, though, because the more pictures I took, the more I realized there was a lot to learn about photography. My good friends Chris and Deyl, who also shared my passion for photography, spent hours with me looking through photography books, trying to teach ourselves how to capture experiences on film. But we wanted to learn more.

What if we got Westmont to start a photography class? I thought. We decided to take this idea to the campus photographer, Brad Elliot. He smiled and told us to go for it, and even offered to teach the class if it got approved.

We worked furiously on putting together a proposal for a photo class, including plans for a darkroom. We met with Brad, the faculty and school administrators, mastering our proposal over the next year and eventually finalizing it at Kinko's at 3:00 A.M. the day of the deadline.

Some people tried to discourage me from starting the photography class, but Brad and several Westmont faculty members really rallied around me and encouraged me to pursue my dream. The freedom and responsibility Westmont gave me to envision and then help create the class was truly inspiring. To our amazement, the first photography class at Westmont got approved by the fall of my junior year.

What was even more incredible was seeing the response from students. Eighteen enrolled for Photo 1, but only 12 were accepted due to space. I was able to assist in the classroom, and Brad continued to mentor me and critique my work.

As I leaned against the wall in the Photo 1 class during my senior year, watching other students flip through their first sets of photos, I couldn't help but think back to that dreaded day in the counselor's office. I never would have imagined the journey God had for me. When soccer was put on hold during my first two years at Westmont, photography was a great outlet to fill my time and distract me from my disappointment at being on the sidelines. Even though I ended up playing regularly with the soccer team during my junior and senior years, God had definitely redirected my passions and pointed out gifts I didn't know I had. I'd be lying if I didn't say it was pretty scary throwing myself into photography and trying to start a class. But rather than getting paralyzed by my fear of failure, I decided to try my hardest to succeed.

Taking the risk with photography and helping start a class ended up being two of the best decisions I've ever made. It's like what the parable of the talents says in Matthew 25:14-30. The servant who risked the most and didn't "play it safe" with his gift was the most blessed by his master. Even though I didn't know photography was a talent until the end of high school, I was given an opportunity to invest in it during college. If I had decided to only invest in soccer, I would have missed out on this new passion. God wanted to show me an undiscovered gift. I just needed to be willing to try.