Going Home.

So I’ve talked about this wilderness period I’ve been in.

As I questioned God about this strange thing called a “calling” which pulses restlessly with me, I felt as if I were walking in a desert, no longer being sure anymore of what I used to be certain of: When I was younger, I wanted to be an environmentalist/humanitarian; when God became my friend and I entered medical school, the dream then took a natural progression- I wanted to be a medical missionary. But then I came to a point where I wasn’t sure- what if God’s idea is different from mine? What good is any of this artistic talent anyway?

Perhaps, a calling is nothing more than a heartcry, a song of long-ago, a pilgrimage to a place called home, where one’s gifts can truly be unravelled, where one feels most free to be oneself. But as we walk along the long road of life, most of us find it easier to walk along trodden paths, towards cities of great renown. What everyone wants always seems most delectable, other people’s gifts always seem more worthy than ours.

I didn’t realise how long I had been walking in the wilderness away from home, chasing winds, running to cities far far away. Cities chased by people all over. All this time I had been banging on doors asking God what His calling for me was, not realising He couldn’t answer because Home was so far away. He was at home waiting for me.

Today, in my White Place, tears streamed down my cheeks as I asked God what His purpose for my life was. In this transition phase to becoming an adult, I find it pertinent to allow God to sharpen me, to prune away whatever which may distract me from His purpose. He made each of us unique, with special talents and giftings which we are to steward preciously to serve the world around us. Have I been using them to help, to serve, to love?

Sometimes, to realise our Purpose, we need to release old things in order to get hold of what is Real. To pursue the true path, we need to abandon the old one. For new shoots to grow, we need to prune away old branches. This process can be painful.

And all at once I understood why it hurt so much when I felt God telling me to stop pursuing my sporting interests competitively. It hurt because I enjoyed it, but it hurt me more to know it distracted me from the uniquely distinct gifts He had asked me to steward and to use. Gifts of painting, writing, connecting with people and using my time and artistic talents to serve them instead of myself. In the years of wilderness where I ran away, into illness and pride, God could not use me. I was too busy running, literally. And as the illness took away my mind, body and soul, sapping my concentration, demeaning my self-worth, it convinced me that other people’s gifts were always better, that elsewhere was better than Home.

After all, what use is art anyway, and who was I to think I had heard this call to serve the needy? Silly girl. And unconsicously, I dismissed all that God had done in Nepal through the artistic gift He placed in the hand of a silly amateur painter of little faith.

But I am learning, a calling is sometimes not moving forward, but going back. Back home.

Today is the day I was supposed to be at the duathlon cycling and running. But I wasn’t there. Because I have been discouraged, I also very nearly wanted to stop this writing and painting. Why am I only good at something so… frivolous? Today at church, I cried because as we sang, I asked God about His calling for me, why it was that I no longer felt inspired to write nor paint anymore, and whether it was my own silly desire to want to be involved in medical missions or His.

So you can imagine my utter shock and disbelief when the guest speaker’s wife (who doesn’t know me at all) came up to pray for me at the end of the service – “for a restoration of creativity. Young lady, God has given you gifts of imagination which you often suspect may not be from Him but they are, and He is going to use you in a very exciting journey. He has given you a gift of creativity, and He has a specific calling for your life… ”

Coincidence? Maybe. It hasn’t been the first time God sprung up on me like that. Of all things to pray for me. People hardly ever pray so specifically. And of all days. Had I wilfully gone to run and cycle instead, I would have missed that timely prayer and message. Sometimes I find it very hard not to believe that God is right there listening to me.

I am learning, to stop walking to places other people are racing to get to, that each of us are made unique for a unique purpose, that each of our callings and Homes are distinct. And so what God asks us to give up or pursue are also different. So many people have been asking me why I have stopped training and giving me the occassional disdainful look; so many girls dye and straighten their hair and chase latest fads to pursue magazine perfection; so many people are so much smarter than me at the hospital. But I will not be sorry for enjoying sports as leisure, having more time to learn how to serve other people; I am blatantly unapologetic for my rebellious tresses and I am happy to confess any day that I may not be the brightest but I do try. My home is not the same as theirs, my calling distinct and my lot simply different.

God has a specific plan for each of us, and He created us in a specifically unique way to fulfill that Purpose which He has for us.

So I’m laying these things down, these things which are distracting me from responsible stewardship. I realise, that in the past few weeks, I have managed to tear down the old altar to build a new one, one pleasing to God.

I am going back Home, out of this scorching desert, because these other paths lead to nowhere. I am going back to a place of music and portraiture, of song and dancing, and of writing and using these media to touch the lives of people, to tell them a story that brings them closer to the heart of God, to make a difference. I am going back to my room where there was a familiar song hummed by a little girl about helping the very poor and needy… and I’m not going to be sorry for it anymore.

To the world, it would seem like I am moving backwards. But there is nothing but an incandescent joy, bubbling and spilling over in freedom and laughter. I am destroying old altars, rebuilding new ones, and going to a place where I can truly be myself and thank God for the exact way He has made me, with absentmindedness and dreaminess included. When we are where we are supposed to be, we will never feel lesser.

For there is nothing better than obeying the Father’s voice, listening to your heartbeat against His. God never shortchanges us when we let go what we are meant to, to finally have arms free to embrace His Real gifts.

As they say, there’s nothing better than going Home.