It occurs to me now in this blisteringly cold hospital car park on the outskirts of Glasgow, Scotland, that being called upon to do something because you’re good at it is not the same thing as having a calling.
Julia Whelan, My Oxford Year
Mark and I are heading to visit our boys for the weekend, which feels like a tremendous gift. Three children in college at once is stretching for more than one’s heart, and we’ve become accustomed to long stretches of time between visits for the sake of economy. But how did we end up here, with children so far away for college?
In the Spring of 2021, I stood in the backyard garden talking about the future with my son Liam. He was making his college decision, determining whether or not he would move 2000 miles away for college or stay closer to home. His deadline was approaching, but the decision was his. At my side, the tomato plants sprawled, fragrant and robust. The small, green fruit was emerging, and soon the stems would bend under their weight. Beside them, one small tomato plant remained, never transplanted due to garden space. The plant had remained small, stifled in its growth and ability to produce fruit in spite of receiving ample sunlight and water. Like its companions, it simply needed more room to thrive. That day, Liam bravely decided to go, to move away to pursue the next stage of his education, and with our blessing, we moved him across the country into a new home, where he is flourishing.
Last year, on the cusp of my father's passing, we did the same for our son Burke, piling his favorite belongings into a trailer to haul to a far corner of the country. Then last month, we repeated the process and moved our daughter Blythe to college on the other corner of the country. And so everyone wants to know--How are you? How are they? How is Olive? And the short note is this: each of us is expanding in new, unpredictable ways, and also we each feel homesick for the return to one another. No one can quite prepare a parent for the way the landscape of a home shifts each time someone leaves it, even when the transition is joyful and good. Our house is now empty of sons/brothers and that still feels surreal. With Blythe’s move, we now have only Olive at home, and the sounds of sibling camaraderie which harmoniously scored our home for so many years, now is quiet. Even still, we are finding creative ways to bridge the distance. Our family has shrunk by half in our daily living at home, but just as the plants which expand in breadth and beauty when given the right conditions, so each of our children is increasing in wisdom and knowledge as godly young men and women.
Much can be said about the details as to the where and why and how of our children’s choices after graduation. The onset of adulthood invites the quest to become one’s own person in the world. This naturally precipitates the question of what one must do in the world and how one is to live. This quest is one of calling, response, and unknowns both in relation to God, to others, and to our work.
All great epics begin with a summoning and response. Whether called upon by the gods, a king, or sense of destiny, a noble person always responds, reluctantly leaving the security at home for unknown perils and glory. The calling invites the hero into inevitable struggle, yet by encountering both the terrible and beautiful on their journey, the person's virtue and courage gain true grounds for practice. "We become brave by doing brave acts," Aristotle phrased it.1 But these noticeably brave acts begin in much smaller forms in earlier years of a person’s life. Courage is a habit of the soul, a response grown by practice, which means courage also grows in us by the opportunities that require it.
The Romans used the verb vocare to describe the act of calling or summoning a person. Whether one is a king or a mother, the word implies a responsive action by the one receiving it. We derive the English word vocation from this same verb, a word dating back to the early Renaissance period, connecting the idea of one’s work to hearing a voice, vox, or to being called, vocatus. Yet in our current day, unless one is moving toward ecclesiastical work, we have gutted the root idea of summoning in our use. Instead of a calling into a trade, a particular profession, or even the idea of one's life work, a person more often seeks to "get a job" to satisfy a life of comfort and ease, personal aptitude or self-fulfillment. The latter reasons are not wrong, but as a focal point, they do change the way in which we relate to our work. In this perspective, vocational work becomes something to be endured or mastered before we can get to the good life. It becomes a term of boundary, a reference to a particular skill set, rather than perceiving our work as something that is in itself an integral part of the good life. Understanding our work as a summoning or calling orients us not toward our own abilities, skills, or sense of self-interest or fulfillment, but toward the One calling us to the work at the start.
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