stairwell accompaniment:The Shins

Since being married, I have become more overtly aware of the unusual collection of "ways that I am." There seems to be a push for people, particularly in the Reformed community, to appoint a specific "calling" as their chief focus. (One might blame this on a largely western need to create hierarchy.) For married women, it tends to go something along the lines of "being a wife/mother is your primary calling...and, well, don't worry about where everything else fits because you probably won't have time anyway." And although I'm not sure what the representational graphic would look like, I'm guessing that people would either go with a stepladder or solar system layout.

However, my personal theories on the role of dreams, vocations and callings for women may not function perfectly as a theologically-correct diagram of relational, vocational, and spiritual calling, it does resonate with me as a quirky representation of my past week. This week, all the colorful, treasured, and sometimes dissimilar strands of what I do and what I love overlapped into a dynamic shower of, well, living.

I read textbooks and expanded my knowledge-base. I studied 1 John, browsed through a new Anne Lamott book and came close to opening Augustine. I made the Dean's List. I visited the doctor and disregarded her advice. I helped three women give birth. I gave 8 massages. I took pictures and journaled. I opened the windows and slept that way. I cooked meals. I grocery shopped. I visited with good friends. I met a neighbor. I ran three times. I dated my husband. I traveled out of the state. I swept our floors. I folded laundry. I watered the plant and fed the cat.

It was a reasonably typical week, but it felt uniquely full and rich. Perhaps it was the particularly meaningful juxtaposition of helping a woman give birth... and then going home and cooking dinner. Domestic, scholarly, academic, artistic, and relational pursuits compressed into this week. And instead of cracking or elbowing for space, instead of me feeling forced to turn internal switches on and off, all the ways of being added depth and relevance to each other.

It is not orderly, it is not uncomplicated, and it is definitely not easy to unpack. But it is real -- incarnational, even -- and I want to live like that.