“One who has waited long for you to speak,” said the Thing. Its voice was not loud, but very large and deep.
The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis
I waited for God’s call. His call, as I pictured it would be unmistakable. Most likely involving some person reading a snippet of my work and proclaiming in awe that clearly I should be a writer. And then, bent over my laptop and pages the words would come quick and inspired because, as I knew it, God had called me.
I waited for the signs. I wanted that dream to come true. And as I waited I cried and I wrestled with my life. I felt disconnected, rubbed raw with a frustration I couldn’t name. All the while I continued my ‘devotion’ to God and waited for him to say go.
He was silent.
Many things have shaken up my world. The last ten years have been hard and just when I think I can’t take any more something worse has popped up. I don’t say this for pity, I say it because it’s true. And these trials have been a peculiar but very real kind of Grace. The pain has pushed me. Pressed me into a corner until I was forced to make a decision.
I decided to speak. I have been more honest with God than any single human being. I have told him my deepest darkest. I have shown him my untouched ugliness. I have asked him questions I didn’t believe even had answers. And I did my best to let go of all my preconceived ideas.
He spoke. And has continued speaking to me. And it is out of this exchange that my calling became clearer. Yes he wants me to write. And no, it’s not how I imagined it to be. But he has not left me alone to do the impossible work. In fact he is wholly invested in helping me navigate the everyday of my calling. It’s the daily stuff that I have a hard time making it through while keeping my calling in tact.
What is the last thing you’ve said to God? Is he strong enough to handle your hardest question? Even if that question is whether he exists? Has your calling gotten lost in your silence?