It's Saturday. What I have to look forward to today, apart from having slept in, (which, I must admit, was glorious after this seemingly tiring past week) is having to read the rest of a 19th century Spanish novel (in Spanish) before Monday, and volunteering at the egg relay race booth at my church's fall festival.
Wild, raucous fun.
Anyway, I'm still reflecting over my experience in St. Louis last weekend. (For a more fun recap, click here. For pictures, click here and here.) One of the themes, I felt, of the Forum was the idea of pursuing God's will and fulfilling His purpose using our God-given talents and passions, albeit in possibly unconventional, mold-bursting, box-defying ways. I am completely down with that. That idea fits perfectly into the grooves of my brain. But here is my quandary: There are gifts and talents that God has given me. There are things that I am passionate about. But the gifts/talents/passion has yet to collide with a solid standing, defined purpose. It's sort of like God has given me a toolbox full of what I need to get the job done, but I'm left wondering, What is the job I was cut out to do? Where do I go to get it done? After a while, the toolbox gets heavy from just standing there holding it and aimlessly looking around in an attempt to figure out where I'm supposed to go with it, so what have I done? It feels like I've sat down, opened up the box and blankly stared at the tools. Well, maybe I've taken them out and polished them a little. Perhaps I've even used a tool here or there to tinker with a few things. But I haven't hit my stride yet. I haven't found that niche. I haven't had that moment of realization where I know that I know that I know I'm where I'm supposed to be, doing what I was destined to do.
Maybe that idea is romantic (philosophically, not chocolate candy) and unrealistic. Maybe I'm supposed to pull myself up by the bootstraps or whatever and stop allowing my eyes to glaze over from looking up and trying to wrap my mind around the infinite number of the stars. I'm trying not to allow my view to become tinted by my surroundings. But it's hard to focus on clear, golden, sky blue, warm yellow, when all I can see is red, entrenched, ingrained, I-was-raised-this-way, earth.
I'm uncomfortable being temporary, transitory: The lease is up in a year. You'll move. A year later, then what? But I'm afraid of permanence, now: Establish roots in this red earth? What is it like to establish roots? I thought I was close to having some, after nearly thirteen years of one place, but as soon as a word exits my mouth, Where are you from? You don't sound like you're from here. I'm not . . . technically. Amount of time doesn't create roots. You have to be born with them, I think.
I believe I got some semblance of an answer to these questions from reading this brief, excellently written New York Times article that pegs me (and my generation, at least, my age bracket) squarely on the head--"The Odyssey Years."
Even if I don't have answers (I've gotten used to it), at least I can find flashes of recognition, connection, resonance. I am never alone.
1 comment:
Chantell, I received some excellent advice from my pastor a few years ago about this exact same quandary. He told me that if there was any point where my talents/gifts formed a crossroad with my passion, that I should pursue that crossroad first. He said if I wasn't in the Will of God, that at least by doing something with the talents/gifts He had given me, I would prove myself willing to be used, and the Spirit would guide my steps from that point. I have found at least two ministries that I can be an effective part of just by following Bro. Kramer's advice.
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