Vocation

I was talking with one of my buddies from Purdue when he mentioned that I sounded depressed. Well, not "sounded" depressed, but that my blog made me seem like I was depressed.

I am not depressed. Currently, I am facing a vocational crisis, and it is consuming a good amount of my energy. Luckily, my pal Thomas Merton arrived just in time. The chapter on "Being and Doing" just ended, giving way to chapter 8: "Vocation." Hallelujah (or in other words: it's about time).

So here is a little soothing balm for anyone who is also suffering a vocational crisis.

Each one of us has some kind of vocation. We are all called by God to share in His life and in His Kingdom. Each one of us is called to a special place in the Kingdom. If we find that place we will be happy. If we do not find it, we can never be completely happy. For each one of us, there is only one thing necessary: to fulfill our own destiny, according to God's will, to be what God wants us to be.

We must not imagine that we only discover this destiny by a game of hide-and-seek with Divine Providence. Our vocation is not a sphinx's riddle, which we must solve in one guess or else perish. Some people find, in the end, that they have made many wrong guesses and that their paradoxical vocation is to go through life guessing wrong. It takes them a long time to find out that they are happier that way.

In any case, our destiny is the work of two wills, not one. It is not an immutable fate, forced upon us without any choice of our own, by a divinity without heart.

Our vocation is not a supernatural lottery but the interaction of two freedoms, and, therefore, of two loves. It is hopeless to try to settle the problem of vocation outside of the context of friendship and of love. We speak of Providence: that is a philosophical term. The Bible speaks of our Father in Heaven. Providence is, consequently, more than an institution, it is a person. More than a benevolent stranger, He is our Father. And even the term Father is too loose a metaphor to contain all the depths of the mystery: for He loves us more than we love ourselves, as if we were Himself. He loves us moreover with our own wills, with our own decisions. How can we understand the mystery of our union with God Who is closer to us than we are to ourselves? It is His very closeness that makes it difficult for us to think of Him. He Who is infinitely above us, infinitely different from ourselves, infinitely "other" from us, nevertheless dwells in our souls, watches over every movement of our life with as much love as if we were His own self. His love is at work bringing good out of all our mistakes and defeating even our sins.
- Thomas Merton. No Man Is an Island. Pgs 131-132.

I am Good

My friends came home yesterday.

Being a teacher, I am afforded an amazing opportunity to vacation. Just like a kid, I look forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas and Spring Break with an eager anticipation that can only be described as liberation. Last year I went to Big Bend National Park for spring break. The year before that I went to Great Smokies National Park. This year, I stayed home.

My friends went down to Port Aransas for 5 days. They rented a house on the beach, and had crazy adventures like going on a casino cruise boat during a tornado warning, not bringing any cash, having credit machines go down in the storm, and being trapped, sea-sick, with nothing to do except watch other people drink and gamble (because they couldn't get any money). I stayed home.

My friends asked me to come but I declined. I was feeling very single. Three couples were going on the trip, and, well, I just didn't want to deal with it. Looking at them, thinking about being in their company seemed to highlight things that were not (I am not in a relationship. I do not know what job I will have. I do not know what I want.) instead of the things that were (My friends love me. They enjoy my company. I love my friends). So I stayed home.

During the time they were gone, I bummed around. I rode my bike. I climbed at TRG. I watched movies. I read books. I didn't cook. I thought about my future.

Thinking about the future is dangerous for me. I start thinking, and the thinking just spirals outward, ever outward. Figuring out the future is hard because it hasn't happened yet. And I don't want to mess it up. Those two governing criteria make success pretty difficult. Especially because I am not that great about Today, and shoot, I'm doing that right now.

Take teaching. I guess I am an okay teacher. I am not great. I am not bad.
Take engineering. I am an okay engineer. I am not great. I am not bad.
In fact, there is a list that could extend across multiple pieces of paper listing the things I am okay at.

And this fact also adds to the spiral of future thinking. I don't know what I want to do. I look around at people around me, like my friends, and I see qualities that I want to emulate. I see there not-singleness. I see there plans. I see their passion. I see their success. And those things stand in stark contrast against the corresponding abilities in me; the only difference being that I find my qualities to be lacking.

I've been reading a chapter called "Being and Doing", in Thomas Merton's No Man Is an Island.

Why do we have to spend our lives striving to be something that we would never want to be, if we only knew what we wanted? Why do we waste our time doing things which, if we only stopped to think about them, are just the opposite of what we were made for?

We cannot be ourselves unless we know ourselves....We cannot begin to know ourselves until we can the real reasons why we do the things we do , and we cannot be ourselves until our actions correspond to our intentions, and our intentions are appropriate to our own situation. But that is enough. It is not necessary that we succeed in everything. Am an can be perfect and still reap n o fruit from his work, and it may happen that a man who is able to accomplish very little is much more of a person than another who seems to accomplish very much."
- Pg 126

I think this is very true. When Jesus called his disciples, they were not Torah rockstars. They were not rich, successful people. They were fishermen. They were the people who were not good enough to make the cut to be disciples of Rabbis in the regular Jewish culture. And they messed up. They messed up a lot.

Right after Jesus was crucified, he appears to the disciples and he has a conversation with Peter. Peter was one of Jesus' three closest friends, but Peter lied about this friendship 3 times while Jesus was imprisoned. He had messed up. But the conversation is not about the betrayal. Instead, Jesus comes to Peter and asks if him if he still wants to follow, if he still wants to take part in Jesus' work. Peter doesn't respond with joy. He doesn't even respond with guilt. He responds with, "Well what about HIM? What about John? What are you going to do with John?"

I think that I too often act like Peter. I too often "strive to be something I would never want to be" because I see it in other people and it seems to be working so well. But I am not made that way. Currently, I am an okay teacher. And that's okay. It is not okay if I stay here, if I do not try and improve, but for today, it is okay.

There are other things I can do. I can cook a meal for my friends. I can bless them by providing that for them. I can combine tastes into something amazing that makes you pause as it shouts on your tongue.

I am good at that. And that's okay. For today.

Stress

My dentist is awesome. She is from Bulgaria or Estonia or one of those Eastern European nations that all blend together to me because I am so poor with geography. She has a pretty heavy accent, and regularly takes breaks while cleaning my teeth to ask my accusing questions like, "Do you drink the soft drinks?!"

When I answer that "No," I don't really drink soft drinks ever, she nods in dubious approval, and responds with a "Soft drinks are very bad. 80 grams sodium in each can. Bad for your heart. And caffeine! Ah! Soft drinks bad for teeth too."

I like her because she gives me information on every single thing she does. She asks about every aspect of my oral health, and then describes, in detail, how that will contribute to either bliss or my imminent demise. Well, she doesn't actual link flossing to my death or salvation, but it seems that way.

And she is extremely thorough. Since most people go to the dentist every 6 months, but rarely go to the doctor, she has taken it upon herself to take heart rate and blood pressure readings upon every visit. Apparently, there is something wrong with me, because in 6 months, my blood pressure went from "Really good" to "You are in the danger area. Do you smoke? Drink? Do you sleep? Ever?"

I think it is stress. For good or ill (and at this time, it seems ill) I have taken the TFA mantra, "I am the instructional leader of my classroom" to the nth degree. One of my roommates, who has a poor opinion of our public schools, says "You can't worry about them (the students). They choose to screw around, so you can't make them learn." Part of me knows this to be true. The whole, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink" phenomenon.

But then the other 90% of me, the part responsible for my high blood pressure, says, "Yea, but isn't that why TFA accepted me? Because I would work relentlessly, I would continuously improve and do all the other rah rah stuff necessary to motivate and inspire and coerce (if necessary) my kids until the do learn?

And so I am stressed out. I am completely wound up. I am getting wound up just thinking about it. My kids need to pass the state test. They need to do well. They need to learn all of my material so they can enter 8th grade on level for a change.

But then I read this passage by Merton:

A simple intention rests in God while accomplishing all things. It takes account of particular ends in order to achieve them for Him: but it does not rest in them . Since a simple intention does not need to rest in any particular end, it has already reached the end as soon as the work is begun. For the end of a simple intention is to work in God and with Him - to sink deep roots into the soil of His will and to grow there in whatever weather He may bring.

A right intention is what we might call a "transient" intention: it is proper to the active life which is always moving on to something else. Our right intention passes from one particular end to another, from work to work, form day to day, from possibility to possibility. It reaches ahead into many plans. The works planned and done are all for the glory of God: but they stand ahead of us as milestones along a road with an invisible end. And God is always there at the end. He is always "future," even though He may be present. The spiritual life of a man of right intentions is always more or less provisional. It is more possible than actual, for he always lives as if he had to finish just one more job before he could relax and look for a little contemplation."
- Thomas Merton. "No Man Is an Island." Pgs. 72, 73.

More Heavy Merton

I have been slowly working through "No Man Is an Island" by Thomas Merton. I've been trying to read this book for something like 3 years now, as I keep starting and stopping. Each section is so much for me to handle; I usually have to re-read a one page section a couple times to really understand the points. Then once I have understood it, I need more time to look at my life through the lens of that particular section.

Since we are in the season of Lent, it is fitting that the chapter I am currently working through is entitled "Asceticism and Sacrifice". Below is an excerpt from the section I read last night.

No matter what our aims may be, no matter how spiritual, no matter how intent we think we are upon the glory of God and His Kingdom, greed and passion enter into our work and turn it into agitation as soon as our intention ceases to be pure. And who can swear that his intentions are pure, even down to the subconscious depths of his will, where ancient selfish motives move comfortably like forgotten sea monsters in waters where they are never seen!

In order to defend ourselves against agitation, we must be detached not only from the immediate results of our work – and this detachment is difficult and rare – but from the whole complex of aims that govern our earthly lives. We have to be detached from health and security, from pleasures and possessions, from people and places and conditions and things. We have to be indifferent to life itself, in the Gospel sense, living like the lilies of the filed, seeking first the kingdom of Heaven and trusting that all our material needs will be taken care of into the bargain. How many of us can say, with any assurance, that we have even begun to live like this?

Lacking this detachment, we are subject to a thousand fears corresponding to our thousand anxious desires. Everything we love is uncertain: when we are seeking it, we fear we may not get it. When we have obtained it, we fear even more that it may be lost. Every threat to our security turns our work into agitation.

So this section basically punched me in the face. I think I will need at least a week to sort through it. The detachment section...geez. The reality is that as I am currently thinking about what to do next, yes I am praying "Thy will be done" but at the same time I am thinking "Hmm, I want some place with lots to do, that has mountains and water, that is warm. I want a place with a job that gives me lots of time off, but is meaningful, and uses all of my abilities. I want it to pay a lot. I don't want it to be too stressful. I want a community who will appreciate and validate me. I want I want I want."

Ramble On

Good Led Zeppelin song.

I've been...uh...reconciling this week. It's as if I suddenly found the loose ends of a sweater that I thought was completely unraveled, only to find that the ends lead to a large hole in an otherwise complete garment. On the one hand, I am very used to my wardrobe without these holy garments (to continue this awkward analogy), but on the other hand, I remember the glory days of their association. I loved them. I still love them. But I am a completely different person, and I wonder if/how they will fit.

I've also been reading Thomas Merton's "No Man is an Island". It has some interesting thoughts on friendship that have challenged me this past week.

"In order to love others with perfect charity I must be true to them, to myself, and to God. The true interests of a person are at once perfectly his own and common to the whole Kingdom of God. That is because these interests are all centered in God's designs for his soul the destiny of each one of us is intended, by the Lord, to enter into the destiny of His entire Kingdom. And the more perfectly we are ourselves the more we are able to contribute to the good of the whole Church of God. For each person is perfected by the virtues of a child of God, and these virtues show themselves differently in everyone, since they come to light in the lives of each one of the saints under a different set of providential circumstances. If we love one another truly, our love will be graced with a clear-sighted prudences which sees and respects the designs of God upon each separate soul. Our love for one another must be rooted in a deep devotion Divine Providence, a devotion that abandons our own limited plans into the hands of God and seeks only to enter int the invisible work that builds His Kingdom. Only a love that senses the designs of Providence can unite itself perfectly to God's providential action upon souls. Faithful submission to God's secret working in the world will fill our love with piety, that is to say with supernatural awe and respect. This respect, this piety, gives our love the character of worship, without which our charity can never be quite complete. For love must not only seek the truth in the lives of those around us; it must find it there. But when we find the truth that shapes our lives we have found more than an idea. We have found a Person. WE have come upon the actions of One Who is still hidden, but Whose work proclaims Him holy and worthy do be adored. And in Him we also find ourselves."