When I was doing my undergraduate degree, I sometimes wanted to quit and just be a farmer.
After my undergrad, working, I very much wanted to quit and go back to school (I did this).
When I was doing my masters degree, I sometimes wanted to quit and just move to Africa and be some sort of missionary or something (I did this, after my masters, briefly).
Now, doing my PhD, I sometimes want to quit and just be a pastor and a writer.
I have this bad habit of hearing other people's stories, wonderful stories, and wanting their story. I read Wendell Berry and imagine myself choosing a place, getting acquainted with it, settling down, farming in a way that respects the land. I imagine myself having "membership" in a place, of living a "three-dimensional life," of putting my "faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years." I imagine myself a farmer, waking up early every morning to work in the fields or milk cows or whatever. I imagine my life's rhythms to be tied to the rhythms in nature. Lambing season, planting season, harvest season, etc. In this alternate reality, I suppose, I also miraculously have no more migraines, no desire to watch Netflix, no more trips away, and happily give up Dominoes large pizza for $12.99 in favour of fresh, homemade food, a la Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.
I went to mission conferences and heard people like Libby Little speak-- people who felt God calling them to go to a specific place, usually very far from their home and often places that were, to me, exotic, but that were also desolate and lonely. Libby Little, for example, lost her husband in Afghanistan, where they lived for many years. I heard her story and I, remarkably, imagined myself in a similar situation. I imagined myself moving to a place, learning the culture, learning the language, learning to love the people, discovering a way to talk to Jesus with them, and having deep satisfaction with the knowledge that this is what God had called me to do, despite the many challenges I would face. The only problem, however, was that this was not what God has called me to do, at least not at this point in my life. Libby's story was not my story, as much as I wanted it to be.
Now, I have just finished reading Eugene Peterson's memoir, just called The Pastor. And reading it, again I felt that imagination cropping up in me. Being a pastor and a writer, described by one person in the book as "the one person in the community who is free to take men and women seriously just as they are, appreciate them just as they are, give them dignity that derives from being the 'image of God,' a God-created being who has eternal worth without having to prove usefulness or be good for anything." I think-- aha! That-- that's who I want to be. But of course you don't have to be a pastor to see people in the image of God.
When I think about why I wanted to be a professor and be in academia, I have the imagination of a few people-- it began, I think, when I read Sheldon Vanauken's A Severe Mercy. The descriptions of life at the University of Oxford really caught my fancy. Same with reading about C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien's life. Then, a few times during junctures in my life while thinking about what to do next, I have read Scot McKnight's One.Life, a book I have found incredibly helpful in discerning God's spirit in choosing a vocation. Reading that book, I remember him, a professor, talking about students coming to his office hours and chatting about their vocations, and the ways he was able to help them. I remember reading that and thinking "I'd like to do that." Then, entering sociology graduate studies, on my way to earning a doctorate, I read Michael Corbett's Learning to Leave, a book about his research in rural Nova Scotia. This solidified my idea of the kind of professor and researcher I want to be-- the kind who has a deep understanding of theory and who does rigorous research, compassionately employing theory to better understand communities, and to help communities better understand themselves. Combine that with the stimulating academic discussion that comes with many intellectuals being together, like in Oxford, and with the mentorship aspect of teaching, I have an idea of my vocation. Of course this imagination can be expanded (why, for example, are all my examples white men? How can I work to make the academy a more inclusive place, really having room to consider all points of view, rather than just the appearance of considering all points of view?).
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| I am just where I'm supposed to be |
[I also feel like I should write my possibly unpopular economic opinion, that a vocation is not a paid job, but in many cases it could include a paid job. But the current economic system in Canada and the US is kind stupid and the rich are getting richer while normal people.... aren't. Which means that many of us are distracted from our vocation by taking a job just to pay the bills. As a whole, productivity is growing, there is more wealth being created, but this is not generally reflected in an increase in wages or jobs for ordinary people. SO I think it would be a beautiful thing to have a universal basic income, so that wealth could be more evenly distributed among people, and I believe this would free up many of us to do our vocation, without worrying about where our next paycheque would come from. What would you do if you didn't have to worry about money?]
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| Source: forbes.com. In other words, the economy is actually getting better, but it doesn't really matter because most of us aren't reaping the benefits. |
