A Successful Failed Calling

God has seen it fit to bless me with a pretty incredible group of friends. There are a few in particular that have had a pretty big impact over the years (I’m debating on whether or not to tell them where to find this blog as then they would realize I actually like them, a fact I have been hiding since we met). One of these friends, Molly, recently left to study in France for a semester. I just finished college, moved to a new city, and started a new job, so Molly and I have had some shared feelings lately. I think we both feel a bit out of place. We’re missing our friends and what we knew before, and I’m pretty sure she’s pretending to know what she’s doing as much as I am (it’s okay though because we’re great actresses).

Despite a few struggles here and there, I think we’re both glad to be where we are. It’s been really fun to get to talk to each other about how God is using our circumstances to change us. Molly pursues God like few people I know, so her insights are valuable and her mindfulness of God’s work around her is stirring. It was for this reason that when I had one of the most beautiful revelations of my spiritual life, Molly was the first I told. Also, she was half-way around the world which means I had an excuse for telling her in writing rather than in person, an option I will always elect when given the choice.

But this isn't Molly’s blog. This is my blog, which means it’s about me. So the following is an excerpt from the message I sent Molly on the night of this revelation.

Molly, this week has been so unexpected and so sweet. Since I've moved.. I've been so discouraged spiritually. I don't know any Christians here, and I'm the world's worst at church hunting (I move every four years--how can I still be so bad at this?) Anyway, I started going through Ecclesiastes, which is definitely in the running for Most Depressing Book of the Bible, though I have found it to be surprisingly encouraging lately (I think I remember talking about this realization with you maybe at the beginning of last semester or the one before). So chapters 1-3, God is encouraging me some, but chiding me more than usual (and rightfully so, of course), so I'm feeling especially low.  

Then, last night, I begin reading chapter five. Now this chapter starts off something along the lines of, "Guard your step when you enter God's house". That line is enough to make me stop and really search myself for sins I need to confess prior to coming before God. And when I do, God points them out to me, and it's painful. But then it's so precious; for the first time in so long, God lets me come into His presence--You know that secret place where it's just You and God and completely otherworldly? You know me, Molly. When it comes to deep struggles, I am a person of few words, and that is true even when it comes to God. In truth, one of my most-loved attributes of God is his ability to understand me so personally without me having to fight for words to explain myself. With God, as with other close friends, I am mostly quiet; I prefer to listen or share an easy silence. But last night, in that place, it was so easy to talk to Him. It was so comfortable, and I didn't have to struggle for the best words to express myself. It didn't matter because He was there, and He knew. So we just talked in our secret place. We talked about the difficult issues and the shallow subjects, and He was there, and it was perfect. I had been asking Him to let me in that place again; I so needed that intimacy with my Love.  

Then tonight I had what may have been the grandest spiritual epiphany of my life. It's not astonishing or novel theology, and I have no idea how it took me so long to put it together. Chapter six speaks of the futility of life when there is no joy to be found in it by the possessor of that life. This is an interesting topic for me, because I have only recently learned to procure joy. The turning point was Haiti. Before Haiti, I struggled with depression often. I was lost and often without hope. Though I knew God, and we were close, I was in a perpetually dark place. During "Chelsea's Dark Ages," as I've just decided to refer to them, God called me to missions. You already know this. You also know that I went to Haiti not because I thought I'd like it, but because God told me to and I have a healthy sense of self-preservation. On the trip, I helped almost no one. I didn't lead a single person to Christ, and I came back with a nice, tropical disease that prevents me from embarking on future mission trips overseas. I keep wondering about this. Why did God spend years preparing me for missions, then send me on a trip that ended with the impossibility of further pursuing this calling? But this trip is where I found joy. In those ten very short days, God taught me to be content without regard to my circumstances. He taught me how to find joy in life. In those ten days, God taught me how to live a life that would not be futile. He called me to missions and when I followed Him, He gave me more than I ever thought I could have. Because of that trip, I can be effective in whatever He calls me to next.