I have spent so much time thinking and worrying about vocation, whether I am called to the religious life. I have spent endless moments in front of the monstrance wondering if the contemplative life is the life for me; if sitting, and pondering, and living in the mystery of spiritual bridehood is enough. Just this morning, I stared at the priest's vestments, asking myself, could clothes like that be meant for me, too? The call to be a contemplative has weighed on me greatly, which many would say is already a bad sign. God does not communicate through weight and anxiety, they say, but through peace. Yeah yeah yeah, but then why do I keep thinking about it? What am I missing? How do I hear him? When is the message clear? Where is peace? That same priest this morning spoke about hearing and responding to the voice of God, and I thought to myself, have I ever heard that voice? Would I recognize it if I heard it? After months and months of back and forth, and misinterpreted messages, I felt that I wouldn't. But then, just a few hours later, I did.
Clarity, sweet clarity. So unexpected. I had quite forgotten about the morning's quandary - was not thinking about religious life at all, in fact - when I went out to shovel off my car. I was in the midst of blogging on another topic entirely when I hit a spell of writer's block and needed a change of scenery. Funny, I felt so inspired this morning and thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but the words just would not come. I felt listless, in need of a nap - though I knew tiredness was not the issue. Yes, I needed to move about for a bit, to get off my bum and get the blood - and the brain - moving again. Off to remove snow I went.
As I pushed and cleared, and brushed and scraped - cheeks pleasantly chilled by the cold air - I was slowly revitalized. I thought more about what to write, had moments of inspiration, and with the last woosh of snow from the hood, with the thump of the scraper hitting my car floor, with the slam of the door, and the beep of the lock, I walked away from Fiona (my car) and back towards home. And then it hit me. A sudden feeling of peace, a sudden reckoning, a sudden answer to a question I hadn't even been thinking of at that moment: I could never join a cloister because I like this too much. Walking down sidewalks, climbing on cars, sounds of the city, freedom to move as I please. All these things, in this approximately less than 15 minute digression in my day, brought me so much joy, so much renewal, so much closer to God and his creation than sitting in my home - my cloister - had brought me all morning.
I know I know, sitting at home and living the contemplative life are not the same thing. Yes, if I truly wanted to - or you truly wanted to - I could come up with a hundred different ways to undermine this moment of clarity, ways that all seem quite logical. But the point is, I don't need to. The challenge, the real challenge for someone like me who likes to overthink and overturn nearly everything, is to simply listen and accept; to be open to and recognize the voice of God. The moment of realization had nothing to do with my sitting at home, with drawing a comparison between snow storm isolation and a life of perpetual contemplation. That was merely a connection I drew afterwards. No, what made the moment of realization so poignant was its utter basicness, so basic that description is inadequate. It was a physical understanding, a mental understanding, and a spiritual understanding all at the same time. It came to me out of nowhere: you are not meant for a cloister. Plain and simple. And finally, I was able to hear and accept that message.
My daily Lenten reflections from Dynamic Catholic have been centered around the idea of becoming "perfectly yourself." Each day, I've dwelt on dreams and aspirations and goals and the question of who God is calling me to become. What are my gifts and how do I use them? I have toiled with this, as I have my whole life. I've never felt "called" to something; never known I was meant to be a doctor, or a mother, or any number of other incredible things. I made a list of my passions this week: travel, history, cooking (pie crusts), etc. But nothing felt innate. Nothing felt communicated to me by God. It was just a list of muddled interests that sounded more like someone trying to be interesting on a dating profile than someone trying to be the best version of themselves. That's why this moment, just a moment ago, was so notable. It required zero effort, zero puzzling, zero counseling. Stop looking to others for answers, Matthew Kelly said in the reflection this morning; look to yourself; look to your conscience.
"Trust thyself; every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events," said my Transcendental hero, Ralph Waldo Emerson. I have spent so long worrying, doubting I was living the life God intended for me; perhaps desperately wanting him to have called me to something so much grander. A contemplative life! How beautiful; how incredible! When really, he has called me to simply take joy in a short walk, a venture into society. How mundane. How simple. Oh, but how true. I know now.
Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.
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