One of the areas I struggled in after becoming a believer during my mid-twenties was in understanding what my spiritual gifts were. I had married a worship pastor at our local church, and it seemed so evident what his gifts were, which was simultaneously wonderful but also depressing as it made me feel even more inadequate. I loved Jesus and desperately wanted to serve Him, but for a long time, I just wasn’t sure how to go about it.
Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, I eagerly awaited the first glimmer of daylight. As the sun crept through the crack of my blue and white curtains, anticipation began to bubble over. We were going to the beach! My family didn’t visit the Gulf Coast often so it was an extremely special opportunity to swim, find shells and jump in the waves.
We stormed out of the library “together.” Yet we were anything but united. What was supposed to have been a fun, enriching visit to the local library — a summertime rite of passage for my kids who both love reading — turned into a brewing cauldron of emotions.
I woke up tired, the summer heat already resting on my body, my dogs nuzzling and pawing me to get out of bed, my husband sleeping softly beside me. My sleep had been fitful with strange dreams and interruptions. I could have stayed in bed for hours more, but I could smell coffee brewing—ah how thankful I was to have pre-set it the night before—and I knew that I had precious few minutes of quiet before the rising sun and circadian rhythms woke my sleeping children.
We all long for a sense of purpose, to know our calling in life, and to feel like we’re part of something bigger than just our day-to-day. We can spend our entire lives searching for that ONE THING that God’s called us to do. I’ve found, however, that our calling is not a destination. It’s a process of submitting and surrendering to the path God has us on all along the way.