And you can search for what to say...

[This is the first of two posts that center around my recent vocational discernment. For part two, check here!]


Back in November, I started a blog post and never finished it. Here it is, in all its glory:

And that's as far as I got.

This was on November 18th, 2010. Two months and twenty-seven days ago. It wasn't the first time I felt that way, and it was far from the last. I was in the midst of an identity crisis (no, really), and it was terrifying. The post I started on that day has evolved a bit, and now has an ending that I truly could not have imagined just a few months ago.

I've found that every academic year carries a theme for me. Often, it stems from something that I've been thinking about on my own, but then pops up frequently in class, or becomes the subject of Refectory conversation. I've found that I can't force a theme, or every mention of it will feel artificial. When it naturally emerges, it's a welcome surprise and a constant reminder to listen to God's voice.

The theme that emerged around the beginning of this year was whether or not God can call us to more than one thing. It came up nominally in class, but predominantly in my personal life. That aforementioned identity crisis revolved around whether or not I was following God's call to be an Associate in Ministry, or if I was ignoring God's call to be an ordained pastor.

I spent a good bit of time, that week in mid-November, in an office in the North Wing of our academic building. One of the people I trust the most guided me through the painful process of looking inward and asking myself if I was being truly faithful to who God is calling me to be. I felt hopeless and, for the first time in my life, completely unsure of where I was going next.

I thought about going on internship. About taking a year to spend more time discerning. I thought about just switching to another program, as if it were a safety net, just in case it's what I was supposed to be doing. But I kept coming back to this program, to this roster, and it felt like home.

In the end (with the surprising help of TinkerBell, which is another blog post entirely), I discerned that I am doing what God has called me to do. Had I switched to another program or another roster, I still think I would be doing what God has called me to do. Because I really, truly believe that God can call us to more than one thing. I believe that God gives us a host of gifts that can be used in different ways, and it is simply a matter of being faithful in the moment. And being faithful in that moment, for me, meant pursuing a call to congregational youth and young adult ministry.

Well, that's what I thought at the end of November.

I pushed through the rest of the semester, and wound up with an interview at the end of December, thanks to a dear friend's recommendation. It was perfect. The congregation is exactly the kind I've dreamed of working in for years. The pastor and I got along quite nicely, and I think we would work well together in ministry. They want to get creative with young adult ministry. Like I said: perfect.

Leaving the interview, I told myself not to get too attached. I wasn't sure if they would be able to wait until May for a youth worker, and even if they were, another candidate might be a much better fit for the position. No expectations, no crushed dreams. Simple. But deep down, I felt like that job, that congregation, that call, was home. I was absolutely convinced that was where I would be post-graduation.

And, well, that was at the end of December.

Fear or Love?

Over the past few months, I have become an NPR addict. I used to listen from time to time, or peruse their website, but I wasn't an avid listener. For some reason, this past January, I made NPR one of the presets on my XM radio, and I very rarely change it now. Except for when my sister gets in the car and, before I can even turn the key, begs, "Can we pleeeeease not listen to NPR?!" I'm one of those people who starts every other conversation with, "You know, I was listening to NPR the other day..." and I love hour-long drives that begin on the hour, so I can catch a full show. And much like my friend Sarah, I will sit in my car outside of my destination to listen to the end of a program (or, if I'm able, I'll run inside and pull up the online XM player on my laptop). It's okay, I know I'm a nerd.

Anyway, today, I was driving to my clinical site, listening to Tell Me More, and Melissa Etheridge came on. Now, I like Melissa enough. I can sing along to a bunch of her songs when they come on the radio, and I think she's a great musician, but I've never waited in line outside of Best Buy to pick up her latest album. But this morning, I heard her say something that has been running through my head all day. In talking about her new album, Fearless Love, she said that along her journey, including a battle with breast cancer a few years ago, she has learned that "every choice we make is either love or fear, in anything, everything we do."

Love or fear. Everything we do is either love or fear.

At the exact moment I was listening to this interview, I was feeling incredibly exhausted, both mentally and physically, and reluctant to get out of the car once I got to my clinical site. But then I started thinking...if I sat in the car, I would be making the decision out of fear. Fear of initiating conversations with people I don't know, fear of saying the wrong thing or not taking advantage of the moment in a conversation, fear of failing. But if I got out of the car, I would be making the decision out of love. A love for every person inside of that facility, a love for hearing their stories, a love for ministry.

Recently, in a conversation about goals, a friend said that she never says she "will" do something, but rather that she "intends" to do something. When she says, "I will," she rarely actually does. But intentions run much deeper. It connotes an internal motivation to achieve something. For this friend, using such language helps her accomplish her goals more often. So, taking a cue from her, I intend to live and act out of love, rather than fear.

This sounds awfully nebulous, I know. Sometimes love means holding back, or it can mean saying or doing something difficult. And that can often look like fear. I know that this summer, which will continue to be filled with exhaustion, pain, emptiness, and most of all, learning, it will be difficult to push away that fear and instead choose to act out of love. But I can't help but think what a rich and joyful season this could be, should I make that conscious decision. So I will ask those with whom I spend the most time to check in on me and make sure I am not reverting to fear.

And I intend to love deeply, honestly, and often.