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Well here is the deal, me and my boyfriend discussed a little about christianity and how it started well we got to the fact that god wanted us to follow him and read the the bible well my boyfriend had me a little puzzled when he said that christianity started from the jews? is that possible...plz help im searching for answers

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1997 First Place Winner, Insight Writing Contest

Did God want me to follow my dream?

Model Material

by Sherri Poston

"When everyone gets up here, you need to hand Elle your application," announced Kay, the spokesperson. Pulling down her short red dress, she continued, "And make sure you smile for us and the audience."

Sitting in the back of the banquet room, I watched and listened. Kay stood on an elevated platform designed to be a runway. I and numerous other model candidates would soon walk down that runway.

Yesterday I had received a message on my answering machine: "Hi, Sherri, this is Carol from Models, Inc. Please give me a call."

Puzzled, I had returned the call. The woman on the other end of the line informed me that the John Casablanca Agency was holding an open call for eligible models in the Jackson area.

"But how did you get my name?" I had asked.

"A year ago you answered an open call for Model Search America," she said. "We'd like to know if you're interested in attending this open call."

"Yes, I am," I'd answered hesitantly.

"Good," she replied. "Here are the directions . . ."

I scribbled them down, then hung up the phone. Cool! I thought. A chance to be a highly paid model. No more $7 jobs for me!

Yet as I drove to the Ramada Hotel, second thoughts cluttered my mind. Do I really want to do this? Am I just setting myself up for rejection?

Ignoring my hesitation, I turned up the radio and drove the rest of the way to the hotel. In the lobby I found signs pointing toward the banquet room. As I approached I was handed an application form and some other papers.

I entered the banquet room and scanned the crowd for a place to sit. I finally spotted a seat near the back. After tripping over some people's feet, I made it to the seat.

Once settled, I filled out the application. It asked for basic information such as my height, weight, and address. After I finished filling out the paperwork, I looked around the room at my competition. All around me sat people fitting every age, size, and color category.

A few minutes later a woman went to the microphone and introduced herself. "Hi, my name is Kay, and I represent the John Casablanca Agency." Next she gave information on how much models make and how difficult it is to get into the business.

Then she announced, "OK, everyone trying out for our agency, please come up to the front."

Slowly I stood up, glancing around to see who else was getting up. After making my way to the front, I slipped into the back of the line. At least from back here I can see how the others do, I told myself.

"Line up around the room," Kay continued. "And like I said, when everyone gets up here, just hand Elle your application." She pointed to another woman on the stage.

I leaned against the banquet room wall, waiting for my turn. I noticed some people fidgeting, while others appeared calm. I tried looking bored, hoping to hide my nervousness. But all too soon I heard my name.

"Sherri Poston."

Carefully I climbed the steps onto the elevated platform, making a point not to trip on the stairs. While I tried to keep a smile on my face, I thought, This is really stupid. By the time I had started strolling down the runway, I realized I had forgotten to smile.

"Smile, Sherri," I heard Kay whisper. "Show us your teeth."

Now I felt like a horse on display. Quickly I finished my walk and made it safely down the steps.

After everyone had taken their seats again, Kay went back up to the microphone. "Thank you, everyone, for showing up today. Those who modeled for us will be graded on an A, B, C scale." She smiled and continued, "Set up an appointment with one of my representatives to receive your grade."

On the way out I scheduled my appointment for early the next day.

As I opened the heavy glass door to the John Casablanca Agency, I saw several people waiting. I picked up a magazine and began to leaf through it.

"Sherri Poston?"

I heard my name and made my way toward the representative. I recognized her from the previous night.

"Hi, Sherri," she said with a smile. "My name is Elle. How are you doing?"

"Fine, thank you."

Elle motioned for me to sit down in a chair near her. Then she explained what their agency was looking for. "This summer the look is tall and slim," she began.

OK, this is a good way to let me down easy, I thought.

"And we think you'd fit perfectly into our agency," Elle said, looking into my eyes.

My eyes grew big, and I tried not to let my mouth drop open.

"I'd like to sign you up for our agency today," she continued. "However, we feel you need to go through training to build your confidence on the runway."

By now a thousand thoughts fluttered inside my head.

"This is the class you need to take, and here's some more information about it," Elle said, handing me papers. "Call me tomorrow and let me know if you want to enroll in the class."

I cleared my throat. "Thank you," I said.

As I drove home I realized that my dream of being a model was within reach—but did I really want it to happen?

The next day I called Elle and told her to sign me up for the class. I thought, Here's a chance of a lifetime—my chance—to make megabucks and possibly be on the cover of magazines!

Yet despite my excitement, doubts nagged me. Should I be a model? Do I want to be a model? Will Sabbath observance be a problem? What about all the sex portrayed in ads? What about the images—and products—that models sell? Is this something a Christian should do?

So many thoughts raced through my head. One minute I'd think I'd made the right choice, and the next minute I'd regret it. Suddenly tired of the entire charade, I gave up.

I knew I couldn't make this choice on my own. I couldn't even see the whole picture clearly. So I closed my eyes and prayed, Dear God, please help me. I'm so confused. I know what I want to do, but what I want isn't always best for me. Right now I'm placing myself in Your hands, and I will trust You.

I opened my eyes, let out a deep breath, and sank onto the couch. Watching some birds outside, I suddenly got a thought. Do I want to be known for how I look? Or do I want to be known for who I am? I'm an intelligent person. Why do I want someone to look at me and not appreciate what's inside me? Do I want to be identified as a tall, slim waif, or as an intelligent female who has a lot to offer?

I knew what I had to do. The next day I called Elle and canceled my class. And I haven't regretted it.

Sherri Poston won first prize of $250 in the 1997 INSIGHT Writing Contest.