My calling. It’s been beckoning, across the years and the decades. And I, I have listened for it, sometimes attentively, sometimes distractedly. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes resisting, I have followed its echo through darkened forests of heavy undergrowth, have felt it push me through tight spots that open into sunlit vistas, its energy giving me momentum to jump across canyons.
I have been faithful to it, across the canyons of time and geography. I have been true, as true as my courage and determination have allowed (which are, admittedly, not unflagging).
After all these years of listening, answering, following, I would think I would have grasped it already, I would predict I would have reached it with a victorious celebration! At the least, I would expect it to have faded slowly to nothing.
But time has only made it stronger. And, lately, it is a command, issued in the imperative.
I can only respond. I want only to respond.
Although I name it “a calling,” although that is a noun, my Calling is a verb, in continuous movement, never attainable, achievable, finished.
And I give thanks for that, for the magnificent white waters it will compel me to navigate, and the shiny mountaintop lakes it will coax me to climb to. I give thanks for all that I will see and learn, that I would never even aspire to, but for my Calling.