On the good days, this is the best job in the world. Yet, as I wedge my foot into my heels, I must recognize the difficulties of our vocation.
After college, my friends and I chased fulfillment like it was the Holy Grail.
God calls us to serve the world with our bodies—even when those bodies are failing.
If your mother is drowning in one location and two strangers in another, should you save your mother or the two strangers?
The feast of resources on discipleship, faith and work, and theologies of vocation continues to grow. Doug Koskela provides another serving, this one intended for young adults.
Long before I sat in Senate hearing rooms listening to witness testimony, I sat in lecture halls at Yale listening to professors dissect Paul.
One time at a women’s retreat, I was asked to tell my call story. I told this woman the whole, convoluted story—about serving as a missionary in Japan, about being restless in my work and volunteering for leadership roles in my church, about discovering old journals where I had written about my desire to study theology, about my memory of sitting in church as a teenager and hearing the pastor give the sermon and saying, “If I was a man, that is what I would want to do.” I told her that it had taken me a long time, but I finally realized that God was calling me to be a pastor. She was not impressed.
Shortly after my most recent move, my long-time boyfriend and I ended our relationship. The next week, I was scheduled to preach. I'm part of a multi-pastor church, and my colleagues graciously offered to step in and preach in my place. But I was stubborn. I decided that I wanted—no, needed—to preach.
I was sitting in a seminary classroom, taking part in an internship program, and the professor was waxing eloquently about calling. It was all good. She was quoting Frederick Buechner and Howard Thurman, and describing vocation as our deepest joy and what makes us come alive.