A River Runs Through It

For the past two weeks I have been writing in my other blog, Out of Portland, where I describe my recent adventures in Beijing, China. My trip last September was an incredible experience but this trip was even better.

For one, I was more comfortable and familiar with what I would be facing so that my preparation was quicker and less stressful. Second, our team of seven bonded quickly and experienced a wonderful depth of unity and love. Third, despite many obstacles I received huge answers to prayer and my confidence in Christ increased. And fourth, rooming with Dr. Liz Selzer was a serendipitous experience as she generously offered advice and affirmation in my quest to follow God’s call on my life.

By “call” I mean my final life work, my greatest contribution to the Kingdom, the place where my passion, my gifts, my education and my experiences converge on my purpose for being alive. So what is my call?

I have no idea.

I have hints. I have convictions. I have made choices in my educational pursuits. I see patterns in my personal history.  I have experienced successes. And failures. I know what my gifts and strengths are as well as my weaknesses. I have experienced times of aliveness and joy. I have also experienced deep pain and disappointment.

I also had one of those moments with God when I think He told me something to help me understand how my journey with Christ would be shaped. I don’t presume to “hear from God” but there are times when the moment is so sacred, so outside the box and contrary to what I normally know or think that I can’t help but believe the “voice” was divine.

And what did I hear?

I may never receive THE CALL.

This piece of news came during an exercise of communing with God in nature which my seminary professor assigned to the whole class while on a prayer retreat nearly 12 years ago. I had been wrestling with a decision and decided to pray about it during this exercise. While walking along a small river that ran through the retreat center I encountered God through several metaphors.

The first metaphor was a huge boulder sitting in the middle of the raging spring waters. As I reflected on the rock, these thoughts tumbled through my brain: Harriet, you are like that rock in the river. You are resisting doing this thing I have asked you to do. You will not budge from your comfortable place and flow with my Spirit. Instead you are creating a lot of foam with your complaining of the situation that I have asked you to step into and help to be part of the solution. The real decision you must make is whether to obey me and move or stay where you are.

Rats! I did not like being compared to that stubborn boulder! And I did want to obey. So I submitted my heart to what I believed God was asking me to do.  The wrestling was done. But there was more to the river.

I walked a little further down the flow and came to a small tributary that broke off from the main river. A small island had formed and I could see where the tributary rejoined the river. As I stared at the small stream, another thought converged with my mind: Harriet, this thing I am asking you to do is just a temporary detour. There are some things for you to learn here that you will not learn anywhere else. Don’t worry. Eventually I will take you back into the main stream of the purposes I have for you where you will use the gifts I have given you.

Okay. I can handle temporary. Temporary ended up being three and a half years. And the things I needed to learn ended up being the most painful lessons of my life. But it also ended in some of the deepest healing moments and greatest growth experiences ever. The detour was worth it. And there was one more river metaphor to come.

When I finally pulled my eyes away from the tributary I looked up to observe the rest of the river’s flow. What I saw was a little disappointing. The river took a bend shortly after the small stream reconnected and I could not see much more of its flow. It did not take long for the final thoughts to form: Harriet, for now you will not know where I am taking you. You will not get a clear call to your life. I am asking you to trust me for only the next step. Don’t worry about the far future and what it will look like. Just pay attention. Follow me one step at a time.

And this is where I’ve been since my tributary experience ended six years ago. I still do not know what my “call” is and so far, this is what is supposed to be. I’ve taken little steps along the way. China has been a big step. But I’m still not sure China is a call.

Then I roomed with Liz. The step into China was a step into Liz’s ministry. We talked about what has been growing in my heart to do. She listened and asked questions. With her knowledge of people and ministries across the church landscape, she affirmed the passion forming deep within me. It’s hard to ignore the timeliness of this connection. I think my next step is starting to become more clear.

I’ll try to describe it in my next blog.

"What do you do?"

“So, what do you do?”

For now I hate that question. But I understand why the question was asked by many of the newly reconnected friends. I was recently at my high school reunion. It had been 37 years since I graduated so the yearbooks scattered in the hospitality suite were a lifesaver. I did not recognize most of the faces, but neither did anyone else. No matter how our current body images compared to our yearbook pictures, one thing was certain. We all had aged.

And we all had stories to tell from our journeys since leaving the tiny subtropical island of Okinawa. I would venture to say that most, if not all, probably had stories we never could have foreseen. At this stage in our lives, we had no reason to compare and compete with each other’s stories. We were way past that. As I heard many stories, good ones as well as painful, I observed an absence of masks, a willingness to be vulnerable. The stories were told without excuse or defense. The atmosphere was fragrant with honesty and unpretentiousness.

The only thing that unsettled me was that question. As I said earlier, I understood the question to be a natural one. It was not framed by a need to compare, but by a desire to know me. Yet this question exposed my current “story in the middle.”

I’m not sure what I do.

I mean, I do a lot, but I don’t have a focused “do.” I don’t have a job or career. I’m not pouring myself into one ministry. My weeks start out fairly free but then fly by because I find plenty to do and people to meet with. Now that my husband is retired (sort of), we are enjoying our time together, making up for all the time we sacrificed to raise our kids and he sacrificed to provide so I could stay home. But I am not ready to retire.

Instead I find myself in this in-between life stage. I’ve lived 55 years, been a Christian for 39 of those 55, a wife for 32 and raised 3 sons. In those years I have accumulated stories that are beginning to reveal themes and to lay a pattern that I hope reveals God’s purposes for the last stages of my life. Lord willing, I may have 30 more years of productive life to live. But I have yet to hit my stride. I have yet to say with confidence, “This is what I was born for. This is what I was created to do.”

So I wait. I stay in this “story in the middle.” I resist discouraging thoughts like “It’s too late” or “I’m too old” or “I’m not good enough.” Instead I keep pursuing Christ who knows me, grows me and shows me, not necessarily the road, but just the next step. And I remember that “late” is irrelevant to the eternal and sovereign God, “old” is appreciated when accompanied by wisdom and maturity, and what is truly “good” can only be declared by God.

If anyone else asks me “What do you do?” this is what I will answer.

I can tell you what I’ve done. I can tell you what I hope to be doing. But what I am doing now is enjoying everything I can do while I wait for God to connect what I’ve done with what I will be doing.