By Jen Lemen
www.faithatwork.com

I’m contemplating call while retrieving endless stray cheerios from under the kitchen table. I look up from my station on the floor to make note of the ever-growing piles of paper accumulating on the desk beside the back door. What disaster lies hidden in those unopened envelopes, I wonder. I want my call to be something more grand than pouring milk for cereal or conquering my aversion to official documents. I want to see my days as rich in purposes that do not include making lunches or dozing off in mind-numbing meetings. I want the gift of organization to visit me like so many angels announcing the prince of peace, so I can make my mind busy with other things like writing books and making art. And surely, I am meant for those things. When I pick up my pencil, I feel the overtures of worship warming up my heart. When I send out my words to friends and strangers, I sense the kindness of Spirit sowing seeds of renewal and hope.

So what do you do when the tasks of life—the garbage overflowing, the unanswered email, the meaningless report you must submit—feed your sneaking suspicion that following your call is a luxury for those at some other stage of life where tinker toys, polly pockets or blackberries don’t take on a life all their own?

Expand your vision.

For the longest time I believed the pull I felt to be a writer and an artist was the sum total of my call. It’s no wonder that discouragement hangs over me like a cloud when other responsibilities chip away at my time and energy to do that work. But a few years of picking up cheerios has afforded me the time I’ve needed to see things in a new light. I am coming to understand that within the call to write and create is a deeper desire to help others recognize the stirrings of Spirit through my words and images. Letting go of my one-dimensional view of call helps me redirect my focus from projects to real life faces where that kind of beauty unfolds. Without the gift of routine tasks, I might still be in the dark about the opportunities all around me to honor and cultivate Spirit in myself and others—a foundational element to my call.

Infuse your daily tasks with love and kindness for oneself and others.

I doubt I will ever be a tidy person with a deep affinity for doing my taxes or filling out emergency forms, but I can become a person who comes to such tasks with humility and humor. Developing this kind of character is essential to the work of call. Staying true to the process as well as the outcomes I hope to achieve makes sure call remains an integral function of my everyday life—not just something I engage in after all my tasks are finished. When I learn how to love in tangible ways—like making a simple dinner or establishing a rhythm for my work hours so my family knows when they can expect my attention—I take one step closer to the heart of my call.

Create a sacred space.

I am convinced the language of the soul often is expressed in images, rituals and symbols that defy explanation or category. Collecting small objects in a special place— the windowsill above the kitchen sink, a corner of your desk, the top of your dresser—can be one tiny way to commemorate the inner movement of the soul being drawn deeper into what seems at first to be an impossible call. Often the objects I choose have no specific significance to me at the time, but over time patterns emerge. A forgotten key becomes a metaphor for opening new doors, and I find myself willing to take next steps where I once felt closed or stuck. A tiny acorn, found under the towering oaks of Central Park, becomes an inspiration to start small in order to lay down deep roots for my future work. Over time, these simple treasures carefully placed tell the story of my soul unfolding into call. Tending a sacred space becomes a way of learning how to listen.

Begin where you are.

I am always shocked to realize that I must start at the place I am right this second and nowhere else. Right now I am knee deep in legos and laundry, and this is the place I am meant to be. For me to live in the fullness of my call in this moment, I must accept this reality and start from here. Like spring before summer, I accept this as a way of cultivating readiness for what is to come. I long to race ahead to the place where I see greater fulfillment of my call, but staying mindfully in this space reminds me that in many ways, I am a beginner, and that is okay. In the company of my children, the blank screen or a fresh box of paints, each day I am learning anew the unexpected rhythms of grace. Taking the stance of beginner, honoring the flow of this life season, I’m already becoming the writer and artist I believe I was meant to be.

Jen Lemen is a writer, labor doula and artist. She writes about children and spirituality from her home in Silver Spring, Maryland.
www.faithatwork.com