A career of being

Have you ever wanted your career to be. . .well, being? Gaining knowledge, challenging yourself, growing and stretching and creating, and structuring yourself into "all that you can be?" (Sorry, Marine Corps).

I know that purists out there would hop down my throat at this point, trying to delineate between "vocation" and "career," but I am talking an actual career here-- a "wake up in the morning, immerse myself in Scripture, drink coffee and study logic and read philosophy and meet with a friend to encourage her and write poetry and volunteer at a homeless shelter, then tuck yourself into bed for a full eight hours. . .rinse, lather, and repeat" kind of career. An all-expenses paid personal growth plan.

Today we had a chapel speaker talk about leadership. Leadership is great, and all, but I found myself wondering, "is there room for followers in the kingdom of heaven?" I am not, and have never been, a person of great influence. For the first 21 years of my life, I would all but roll over and play dead when asked to have an opinion or make a decision on something. Now, I am happy to do my own thing, but I have no interest in inciting others to come along with me. (We can address self-protective strategies later). All this to say in most instances I am a token follower, and I am proud of it.

I don't think I was made for the front lines. When I think of my role of the Body, I think of. . .I don't know, exactly. The image of a rock comes to mind. I'm not sure what the corresponding body part is.I think of being someone who helps speak truth to and bind the wounds of those who have been beaten and bruised and bloodied on the front lines. A support structure for those leaders whose plans have fallen apart, and a reality check/admonishment to those leaders whose successes (and heads) have grown exponentially. I am not the hand, or the feet, or the head, that rushes into action, or the voice that calls for others to join. Maybe I'm the butt, or something--when you're there, you're resting and relaxed.

I want to have a career of being so that I can have a foundation from which to encourage others, to know well the truth on which I stand, and to model a balanced, well-lived, joyful life to others. (Also because it would be the bombdiggity).

Remembrance

A test is coming up in my Genesis through Song of Solomon survey course, which means I have been devouring the Samuels, Kings, and Chronicles with as much speed as a comprehending reading allows.

I have been, as usual, astounded by the apparent stupidity of the Israelites, as evidenced by the cycle they seem to go through of getting into trouble, crying out to God, being rescued by God, then forgetting about or grumbling against God and choosing instead to worship Molech, Chemosh, Asherah, and Baal. . .followed, of course, by trouble.

Unfortunately, I also see more than enough of myself in these frail, oh-so-human beings.

A few short months ago, I was praising God for bringing me here and providing abundantly and often. Within a few days of telling my parents I wanted a car, we found the perfect one. I was given an unexpected scholarship. I found a house and roommates with minimal effort on my part. I was given a job for the summer, and after a summer of stressing about it, I found a job here within two weeks of moving. I had no problems driving down here, and I have found classes to be incredible and those by whom I am surrounded to be true followers of Christ and people on whom I can rely. I have a church and friends and even a mechanic who sends his clients presents for their birthdays. And that is just material provision; along every step of the way, God has also provided for me by His presence. I am completely and utterly spoiled.

Yet I forget that. Like the ancient Israelites, I sometimes find that my diet of manna is bland, or that the Philistines of my life (big decisions, relational conflicts, big tests, general stress) loom much bigger than God. I tend to subscribe to a sort of Aesop's Fables view of God: "He helps those who help themselves." The God I sometimes think I serve is manipulable and petty, and will only grant me what I need if I take the right sequence of steps or pray the right prayer, or always make the right decisions. And sure, while I know that I will face consequences for poor decisions/sin, if the "right" (or righteous) decision is not explicitly spelled out in Scripture, I can go ahead, make my decision, and trust that God will pick up the necessary pieces and give the necessary provision.

I need to work on remembering His grace and provision in my life up until this point. That would save me a lot of time skulking around in fear of taking a wrong step and facing unendurable consequences.

An Inner Dialogue

At work:

Outer me: "Sir, would you like a gift receipt with your purchase today?"

Older man: "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Outer me: "Uh. . .*shrill, awkward laugh*

Inner me: "Lie, lie lie. . ."

Outer me: "No."

Inner me: "Really, Lauren? You pick this moment to sprout a conscience? What about that time when you told your mom that you hadn't eaten that bag of chocolate? What about the time you told that guy who asked for your cell number that you didn't have a phone--and it began ringing in your purse 30 seconds later? Really? Now?"

Man: "I want to set you up with my son. You'd be great for him."

Outer me: "Oh. . .um. . .hm."

Inner me: "Wow. Didn't realize you were asking if he wanted a daughter-in-law with his purchase, were you?"

Man: "He's 25, and I sometimes think he's too laid back for his own good."

Inner me: "Tell him you're 17. Tell him you just got out of jail. Tell him you're married. Tell him you're a stripper."

Outer me: "Oh, so you're trying to get him to settle down."

Inner me: "What is wrong with this guy that you are so desperate to get him settled that you're selling him to a girl whose career goals, for all you know, are to be a cashier at Bed Bath and Beyond until the end of time?"

Man: "Yeah. I'll have him come in here and buy something."

Outer me: (in a dazed manner) "Well. . .um. . .I'll be here."

Inner me: "Dear Lord, please please let me now be here. Also, Lauren, on a scale of really poor responses, that registers a 10."

Absurd experiences amuse me.

Bliss is found in

. . .a gloomy morning cuddled up in a blanket, reading my Bible, drinking green tea and eating peanut butter oatmeal.

. . .laying in bed, watching the light creep with increasingly intensity into your room and knowing that you have a few more minutes to lie there.

. . .a cup of potato soup and a whole wheat baguette from Panera, eaten on the way to meet with a group of fellow students.

. . .that meeting with fellow grad students.

. . .a hot shower after an intense run.

. . .finding a sewing table.

. . .giving up on dressing up for class. Jeans and a sweatshirt=good feeling.

. . .driving to and from school with the roommate.

. . .having a prayer day at school.

. . .truth.

. . .eating a piece of maple pumpkin cheesecake (yes, it's as good as it sounds) with the roommate.

. . .sitting in a rocking chair on a screened in porch, discussing theology with other grad students and sniffing the rain-fresh air.

. . .finding pumpkin spice creamer.

. . .a new season of Psych.

. . .clean yellow sheets.

. . .hope.

It's been a good 24 hours. Also, please note how much of a shameless foodie I am.