When I Grow Up...

"What do you do?"

I despise this question. I find it misleading. The inquiry is not one of vocation but one of being: who are you? Somehow I don't feel one's job is sufficient to define them. I'm not the first to express this sentiment, nor will I be the last. Yet there it remains, and the feeling seems to run to the core of my being.

Yes, we all wrestle through the awkward years of figuring out who we are, and what we want to be. Of no assistance is society's content to allow us twenty-somethings to remain in extended moratorium, pondering courses with no impetus to act. Any time I have attempted to choose a profession anxiety and discontent envelope, as if they'd never departed. So the cycle repeats. Today I have come to a realization that I have been delaying for fear of it's implications: I abhor the concept of a career. I don't want one.

I once asked an older friend what he thought I should do. He responded by saying that time and again when he asked young men who they wanted to be, they unfailingly responded with a goal for a particular job. Unimpressed by his opening statement, I awaited his next words; expecting a list of qualities that would point toward a particular occupation. He perplexed me by saying that my career choice should be of little importance. Hold the phone - this went against all conventional wisdom! After all, a man is supposed to attend college, compete for a good job, make a name for himself, and provide for his family... that's the goal, right? More vital, he told me, is to become a good man.

There are three men I know I know that I look up to that come to mind. One of them is a pastor, amazing husband & father of eight, mentor of many, and the best man I've ever met. He has held a number of varying jobs and would do anything to provide for his family. Another is a church elder with a grown family who is very well respected in his community. He cleans carpets for a living. The last is a pastor who cares for his family, has literally moved wherever the Lord has called him, and will take any job to provide. Most recently he has been working on a farm and learning about bovine artificial insemination. These men trust God. They don't have enormous wealth saved up or prestigious positions, but when people ask about them it is not their jobs that come to mind. It is the men that they are - the entirety of the lives that they lead.

So what am I saying? I don't know what I want to do, nor am even I sure that I care. But I know who I want to be. I know the man I have always been passionate about becoming. I want to be like the men I described above. I want a wife I love and a family dedicated to God. One that I can lead and provide for in any way necessary; and I want to be a man that would do so. Whether I have a 40 year career or go from job to job, I trust God will provide. I'd prefer not to have to learn how to impregnate a cow, but I'm willing.

Proverbial Road Trip

Do you remember back before the proliferation of cell phones and GPS navigation? When I started driving, my car’s best feature was it’s intermittent ability to turn on. My mother’s old station wagon had been sitting in the driveway for two years prior to me fixing it - and it then became mine. I knew how to drive that thing, but my mechanic could make it do what he wanted it to - a distinction I was unable to make at the time.

That car died years ago. This weekend, however, I realized that over the last year and a half, God and I have been on a road trip in a car just like it. See, I got to the point where spiritually God wanted me to be in another place. Naturally I insisted on driving. Being the man I am, I wanted to drive as long as I could before relinquishing the wheel. Months, pavement, and landscape flew by as we meandered along the road. But there were a few problems. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t know where we were. I didn’t know how to find out. I didn’t ask, I figured he’d tell me.

Onward we went, I growing as silent as my passenger whom I now resented. As on any trip, disaster happens. Pot-holes. Flat tires. Snapped belts. Blown hoses. Yet still I limped this dilapidated wagon down the highway, hoping that He would tell me when we got there. Exhaustion eventually set in. I had no clue where we were going and was convinced I’d taken at least one wrong turn. No choice remained: I reluctantly surrendered the wheel and became the passenger. Night fell and I slept.

I awoke disoriented. It was still dark, but not as dark as when I fell asleep. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious or how far we had traveled. I hadn’t bothered to ask before slipping into the abandon of mere passenger. Though my driver knew I’d arisen he gave no indication of it; said no word. I was tempted to return the favor. I couldn’t quite make out the road signs. They were neither familiar nor foreign. But I knew they were right. Ashamed, I turned and told him I didn’t hold Him responsible anymore; it was not his fault I didn’t know the end destination. He simply responded: we are right where we need to be - always were. The indigo sky quickly brightened. It was then that I realized how much time had passed. I’d slept so long, thinking I was still so far from where I was intended to be. Meanwhile my driver had been faithful and brought me so much further down the road.

Turns out we were never lost. The trip just took longer than I’d anticipated. With no map, no time frame, and only a direction to go, I’d been frustrated. I felt lost. In my mind I was. Once I let God take over, I rested, and he delivered; the whole time. So often we let ourselves think our situation is much worse than it is. I’m done with that. I thought I went over a year without ‘hearing’ from God. In reality, I spent over a year learning that listening entails more than I thought.

This weekend I awoke. The night finally passed.

08 - Crossroads of an Urban Hermit

I've wondered often how long it took Mr. Frost to make his decision. I've concluded that despite the testimony of the trials of all knowing college freshman, I must agree with the poet. The influence of the path one takes is not known until 'somewhere ages and ages hence,' long after it has been traversed....

I have trapped myself under a battle. My will against my will. More precisely: the fear which my consciousness omits from acknowledgment, against the basic need to live and have relationships which risks the danger of just that. Continuing to hunker down and wishing to escape unscathed is no longer a realistic option. I alone have set myself here and must stand, must choose, in order to proceed.

Four months ago I longed for nothing more than to disappear. In many ways I've been successful. I am disconnected with most of life. I keep people in the dark, though that was not an intentional side effect. I stay in from the world. I venture out when necessary, but one would be surprised how rare necessary is when the meaning is truly understood. I stay connected to the vastness of a digital empire and get lost among the throng of others' meticulously selected snippets of reality shared; all the while contributing to the practice myself. Whether wisdom or folly, I've successfully transformed myself into an urbanized hermit and prepared for the road I thought was ahead.

I've wandered some, though not so much as I should have liked. Why? Reality rains on the romanticism of the vagabond in ways knowable only to those who have attempted the path. I say this not in arrogance but in the humility of one who has been rudely awakened to his own ignorance. The decision to set forth at the outset of my personal monsoon season has hindered me early on a lonely road. I've not yet concluded if this is a saving grace or not. But I do know this: in the attempt to leave everything I've made little effort to ensure the companionship of god. The cost of forsaking everything, including him, is simple and it is literal - a truth that all believe they know until truly tested.

And so the first major crossroad of this meandering journey is realized though I fear I've lingered too long at it's quandary; voluntarily blind to the necessity of a decision. To what degree shall I remain estranged? The quiet whispers of impossibilities and fears of irreparable alienation lie vulnerably naked next to the apprehensive drive to continually see what lies over the horizon. Do I regroup for a time and press on down this lonely road? Do I abandon it and give way to conventional "wisdom"? Part of me longs for the security of a steady job, a welcoming community, and maybe one day even a decent credit score; but I fear more the hell of complacency and settling. Part of me has a need to search, to wander; but fear it's toll on other possibilities. I, like the poet, know I will not be able to return to this junction. Even should these paths cross again, I'll not be able to acquire what lies along the untaken portion. This, then, is what I fear.

A great man, perhaps the best man I've ever known, once gave me words that will never fade:

"Your heart is not broken because God failed. Nor is it broken because you are a failure. It is broken because you are an adventurer and you took a risk. It hurts... it will hurt again. But that is what men like us do. We risk, sometimes to our own demise. Better to have lived and felt pain then to have not lived at all. God is faithful."

This, then, is what I fear: What shall I risk? What will I have to give up? And how much will it hurt? Whatever path I choose, I earnestly desire the company of the God I was once close to.

I think... I think tomorrow this urban hermit will go outside. Mayhaps it shall clear my head.