Calling

(Umm… so if you’re one of those ‘anti-religion’ types, you might not care for this one. But I felt I needed to post it. This is one of my [likely rare] ‘serious’ blogs. It might seem out of place with the others. Er, that’s my disclaimer.)

A phone ring, a bird trill, a shout across campus, a fire within—so many types of calling labeled under one word. Sometimes we wait anxiously by the phone, hoping a certain someone might also be thinking about you. Sometimes it’s your job to answer if someone calls, and your hands feel all clammy in nervous anticipation (what if you don’t know what to say? Bumblebumblebumble.). Sometimes a whistle sounds and you’re unsure if it was the black beater’s driver that just rumbled past, smile hanging lop-sided out the window, or if it was (preferably) the black bird perched on the wire overhead.

It’s amazing the tingles a set ringtone can trigger when the one calls you’ve been hoping for.

Perhaps that’s what the small voice is like—not so obvious, not so loud, it doesn’t vibrate your pocket, it doesn’t drop white poo on you from above (hopefully). For me, the calling’s soft, like a turtledove’s coo—when it stirs me, I have to stop and listen. Locate the source. Not doing so would… would… why wouldn’t you stop to hear? To push through and ignore would physically ache. Like unheeded curiosity. If you just investigate, follow the sound—who knows where it’ll lead?

I’ve been trying more to listen. Listening is the easy part. The trouble is stopping to do so. And when you do pause, but still don’t listen—that’s when you feel the jar-jolt of error. You can tell when you pushed away, and when you missed it. There’s almost a tangible sadness left hanging in the air as you walk away from it. At least, there was when I did, the few times. [slow learner.]

I’ve been trying more to listen. I like to paint, to draw, to stretch my imagination, to spread color, to fiddle with words, to mix ideas on a page or canvas or screen. Sometimes I feel I’d be better off stacking numbers or dusting off history, studying law or finance or something ‘practical’ that could benefit mass society.

But that’s not my calling, is it? Even the thought jars the breath in my lungs.

I’ve been trying more to listen. Trusting in something beyond yourself is scary—what if you wait too long, and suddenly it’s too late? Drat. Shoulda taken that waitressing job. Phooey. Missed out on peas this year. How can you know it will all work out?

You don’t. But you trust that God will see you through. That doesn’t mean you sit on your bum and do nothing. It means you make the time to pause, to wait, to listen, to pray. Be still. He will come through for you. Just trust, and listen. Your journey will not be the same as mine, but God is the same, and he is faithful. This past year has been a giant lesson, and I feel I’m finally learning to wait. And in seven days, God completely came through—last minute miracle, everything fell into place. I could not have orchestrated it better. I don’t know what he has planned for me. I don’t know what he has planned for you. But I’m learning, slowly, to wait… to listen. He’s calling out to us. Stop and hear.