Nobody in their right mind would want to be a mortician, right? All of the morticians out there must have been born into the business, and are just working to carry on the family tradition of serving the living by caring for the dead. Or if they weren't born into it, they are creepy goth people, right? Wrong! Although this is a popular misconception, I serve as proof that normal, rational people enter the funeral service industry all of the time.

My reason for becoming a mortician is grounded in a myriad of personal religious and spiritual beliefs. Let's get something straight, I'm not a churchy, holier-than-thou Jesus freak. I just had an intense spiritual experience 7 years ago that altered my understanding of death.

Horse Training. That's the business I was born into, and I was well on my way to becoming a tough little female horse trainer. My father taught me everything he knew, but no amount of horsemanship skill or tricks of the trade could prepare me for what happened. Common sense would have been the only thing I needed to avoid it all, but evidently my common sense was on vacation the day I didn't wear a helmet while training a horse.

When the horse fell, I gasped as we plummetted to the hard-packed ground. That's the last thing I remember. My dad was there, and he says thatwhen the horse tried to get up, I held onto the saddle and stayed on, but the horse fell again. That time, my unprotected skull hit the Earth with enough force to crack my cranium in 3 places and send me spiraling into a week-long coma.

I wasn't concious for the ambulance, the local hospital, the MRI, or the helicopter ride to a better trauma center located in another state. I'm glad I don't remember any of that. My parents have enough heart-wrenching memories of that day to suffice for all of us. So there we were, as stationary as statues in that hospital room. I was too comatose to move and my family was too busy worrying to move. The doctors informed my parents that my brain was swelling at a rapid rate and they would have to drill into my skull to relieve the pressure. That's when the crazy "spiritual" stuff started happening....

The doctor literally had the razor in his hand to shave my long blonde hair off of my head so he could drill into my skull. Then something happened. The nurses watched as he placed the razor back in the metal basin. "Somebody is telling me not to do it! I won't do it."

I don't know how my parents took that news, but the monitors soon showed that the swelling in my brain started decreasing on its own. Having overcome that hurdle, another was placed in front of me.

As it turns out, the IV I was given in the horse arena on the ranch was infected, and it gave me septicemia. That's right, I had a septic blood infection! There was nothing they could do to help me, but they tried everything in the book anyway. The doctors gave me a dismal prognosis and even suggested to my parents that they think about making funeral arrangements for their daughter. How devastating! I'm glad I wasn't "there" for that conversation.

After days of lying comatose in a rat's nest of tubes, wires, monitors, and braces with a huge black eye and a septic blood infection, my family prayed and hoped and waited. That's all they could do. But then something amazing happened.

My body started fighting back! I regained consciousness and my body battled the blood infection. The doctors were amazed (in fact, they still call me "the angel child"). They were dumfounded! The doctors and neurosurgeon went to my parents and told them the good news. Then they looked at each other and said, "We didn't do this. There was nothing we could do to help her or make her better. If you folks believe in God, that's who you should be thanking right now. This is amazing."

That cemented the deal for me! I seriously believe that it wasn't my time to die. So, I underwent gruelling physical therapy so I could learn how to walk again because the head trauma made me walk like a stroke victim. After my recovery (I'm still deaf in my right ear), I went to college and got my degrees in Business and Mortuary Science. I believe that my experience changed my perspective on death and life after death. I decided that being a funeral director and embalmer was my calling.

Whatever your reason for choosing your career, whether it be money, location, job security, helping people, making yourself feel special, or providing for your family, be sure that you are happy and that you're doing what you love. If you are passionate about your job, it shows and you become successful. You probably don't have a story like mine or a drastic experience that pointed you in the right direction, but you do have a calling. What is it? What job makes you happy?

Meet Emma Balmer at www.lacynjordan.com