Having been raised a strict Catholic, I survived sixteen years of indoctrination by dozens of clergy people who were dedicated to saving young souls from eternal damnation. Since the good nuns and priests believed that the most direct route to heaven was to be found by joining their ranks, they undertook a concerted recruitment campaign that made Marine recruiters look like a bunch of slouches. Pretty much from the first grade on, it was not so subtly implied that those of us who were virtuous enough to get called by God would be rewarded with a “get- out- of – purgatory- for- free” card. “The most sacred thing a person can have is a holy vocation”, Father would tell us when he came to visit the class. I wasn’t sure what having a vocation meant, but I thought it might have something to do with dressing like a penguin and reeking of Yardley lavender soap.
To have raised a child with a “Vocation” was sort of equivalent to winning the coveted Heisman Trophy for good Catholic parenting. I overheard my Mother wistfully telling a friend one day that her greatest desire was to have one of her girls become a nun. With five daughters, I’m sure my parents believed that the odds were in their favor so they patiently waited for the day when one of us would suddenly announce that we had received “the call”. Although I waited each night with a mixture of anticipation and dread to get called, it never happened. I wondered if God didn’t want me because I wasn’t good enough. But as much as I liked the idea of attaining a luxury suite in heaven, I was relieved when I didn’t get drafted, because I sensed that living in a convent with a bunch of women in scary black robes was utterly out of whack with my true nature.
By the time I reached my early fifties, even though I had a moderately successful career in video production, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t really my calling. I began to fear that I’d missed the bus and eluded my destiny. Feeling the pressure of my years, I became obsessed with finding my “true” purpose in life for the remaining time I had left on Earth. With a dogged determination to uncover the reason for my existence, I signed up for every class and workshop I could find and regularly haunted the spirituality section of the biggest book store in Denver. Drama Queen that I am, I think I was expecting that my sacred purpose would suddenly be revealed with a brilliant flash of light and a booming voice issuing very clear marching orders. Fortunately, with the help of some wise and wonderful teachers, I made the happy discovery that “The Call” is much subtler and available every day to anyone who cares to listen. I concluded that I no longer had to wait for a disembodied voice commanding me to join the elite ranks of a few Divinely favored individuals.
The word vocation means “voice” and I have come to believe that my vocation is more about listening to a quiet inner voice which gently invites me to grow and become the woman I am capable of being. If I listen in the stillness I can hear the silent whisper encouraging me to use my God-given abilities and talents to be a blessing to the planet. It turns out that I haven't missed my calling and I've always had a holy vocation. Over the years, it has compelled me to do some seemingly unwise things, like quitting a secure job and traveling to foreign lands. Each time I’ve followed it, I’ve been stretched beyond my limits but I’ve always been led into a more fulfilling and meaningful existence.
While I have the utmost respect for those people who have dedicated their lives to God, the most sacred vocation I can think of is to continue trusting those mysterious inner urges and follow the inner road map that is always guiding me into new territory. Maybe it's not the most direct route, but I believe that the unique call that only I can hear is leading me towards the heaven that exists within me.
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