Called? Or, Recalled?

My recent excursion to the left side of the United States of America (read: Kalifornia) took me from snow and ice and sub-zero temperatures, to palm trees and green grass and 80 degrees Fahrenheit. It also took me from my immediate family to visit some extended family. And while there, I decided to exercise the Biblical principle of 'not forsaking the friend of my father', and called on some friends of the family I had not seen in some years.

Now, when you're in a Los Angeles-sized multitude of strangers, even the most remotely familiar acquaintance can suddenly seem like an old friend, so after a brief visit in church, I offered to join him for a day at his construction project outside of the city.

It turned out to be a genuine renovation project, the kind I've been familiar with, with plenty of dust and dirt, and crooked walls, sagging floors, and uneven studs. So, we enjoyed the sweat, endured the dust, and tackled the job, while chatting, discussing, and occasionally debating.

"So tell me, Isaac," He mused, "Have you ever considered that perhaps, God may have a calling for your life?"

I smiled. "Of course I have," I answered, "And I can certainly say, that I have no doubt whatsoever that God does have a calling and a plan for my life".

"Well", He paused, "What is it then, and how are you pursuing it?"


I fell silent for a moment, and continued stapling insulation to the ceiling, while I thought about the question.

You see, I knew what he was thinking. I knew that all his life he had wanted to work for the Lord. So he had pursued mission work, and medical work, and teaching work. He had been a pastor. He had, in short, pursued every 'calling' that he felt was 'the Lord's work'. And now he was doing construction, earnestly desiring to be out there, doing the Lord's work, instead of in here, building such temporal buildings.

I knew his heart was honest, and that his desire was pure and commendable. His pursuits had been honorable, and his endeavors never lacking in dedication. And in the question he asked me, I could see that he still felt that a 'calling' simply couldn't be something like... renovating homes.

What is a 'calling', anyways? Is it something that some Christians get, and some don't? Is it something that preachers and missionaries get, while carpenters and fishermen don't? Why are some occupations thought of as 'callings', and others as, well, just whatever you came with? Are some Christians 'called', while others remain in 'uncalled' occupations?

I thought of Paul's words, written to the Colossians, ...and whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him.... And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.

I thought of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Almighty God, working for thirty years in a carpenter's shop - even while His cousin was out on the banks of Jordan, fulfilling His 'calling'. Was one occupation a 'calling', and the other not? Was one 'the Lord's work', and the other not. Was one holy, and the other 'unholy'?

And I thought of myself. And I thought of my own responsibilities, and achievements, and my ideals and ambitions. So much of life ahead is unknown. So much is unclear. And after seeking the Lord's will for all these years, I could only conclude one thing: I know what responsibilities the Lord has given me, but I do not know what He will give me. I know what my present duties are, but I do not know what my future duties may be. And I know, that these present duties, are my present calling. And therefore, in all my occupations, I endeavor to work as to the Lord, and to be faithful in them, to Him. And however small they may seem, however temporal they may be in their own right, my work is for an eternal purpose - not because of the task, but because of the Master.

And so I answered: "Jesus told a parable once, of a nobleman who was departing on a journey. He called three of his servants, and delivered to them diverse talents, and told them 'Occupy till I come'. And we all know what each of those servants did, and how they 'occupied', what happened to the talents, and what transpired upon their master's return.

"Proverbs tells us, 'despise not the day of small things', and Jesus told us, 'He who is faithful in little, is faithful also in much'. To be quite honest with you, I do not know what duties the Lord may call me to in the future, but I know what duties He has given me here in the present. It may seem that my present duties are temporal ones. It may seem that my present occupations as a businessman, or a farmer, or a carpenter are not 'the Lord's work'. But I know, that if I am faithful in what I've been given, and if I work, not for my own gain, but for the Lord's glory, then who knows, but maybe one day, He'll call me to be a ruler over ten cities."

He was silent for a moment, and then concluded, "I never thought of it quite like that, but well, I guess, we're doing the Lord's work right here then!"

"You bet", I grinned, spanking the drywall dust off of my pants, "-Not because of the task, but because of the Master."

I went to the window for a breath of fresh air and looked down through the fog that had rolled in, thinking again about my ambitions and hopes, and desires. I realized that I'd just become aware of one more subtle reality of God's calling:

You see, there's a subtle trap in even the blessed duties of preaching and ministering. Too often when we're called to those places, we begin viewing the 'work' as the focus of our calling. True, it's 'the Lord's work', but even in that, not because of the work, but because of the Master.

I don't know what positions the Lord may call me to in this life, but whatever and wherever, I have resolved to serve HIM to the fullest that His grace empowers me to - whether in music, in business, in farming, in ministry, in government, and (last but in no wise least) family. Do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not to men.

I know I've fallen far short of that attitude, but even so, God has blessed me with many blessings - the least of which I am profoundly undeserving. Indeed, the years of eternity are too short to balance the accounts of divine grace and my human weakness, but this is not an exercise in futility - this is the Refiner's fire.

God bless you all as you pursue His calling for your life!

Where there's smoke, there's fire.

The moon slipped slowly past its zenith. The dogs lay, curled in their particular posts. There was nothing at this time of night to warrant even canine attention. The refrigerator lay silent. The clock read 4:30 AM. And I slept.

You see, when I go to bed, I go to sleep. And I sleep until I wake up (or rather, the alarm wakes me up). And when I wake up, I get up. But right now, I'm sleeping... zzzz...

4:32AM.

4:34AM

4:35AM

I'm still sleeping. But, despite the appearances of perfect slumber and tranquility, something is bringing me to consciousness, even though I'm hardly aware of it.

Slowly, a thin, acrid scent filters through my nostrils.

Where there's smoke, as the saying goes, there's fire.

Instantly, I'm wide awake.

Instantly my smeller starts processing the noxious odour. It smells... electrical... and synthetic. Almost... like burning carpet, but not quite. I know what that smells like, because when I was three years old I thought I'd press the floor and make it look nice - with my mom's iron. However, when she called me, I jumped up and ran out, leaving it on the floor behind the chair. Well... a few minutes later we discovered what burning carpet smells like - and I still remember it. But this smells more like... polyvinylchloride, perhaps.

I jump out of bed and go to the door. But outside in the hall, the air is clean. I pause and sniff around, and go back into my room.

Phew. It certainly is still here. And getting stronger fairly quickly. I turn on the light, and glance around at all the outlets. The one under the desk has nothing plugged into it. The one by the bed has the alarm clock plugged into it and appears normal. But there's one more - behind the dresser. And on top of that dresser is the fishtank - full of water and rather heavy. And now I can hear an ominous hissing and crackling from behind it.

I heave the dresser and fishtank away from the wall, and there, the light cord for the aquarium is rapidly smoking away. I can't quite reach it, and sparks are flying out of it.

Seventeen years ago I had an unpleasant experience with faulty wiring, and I've had a bit of residual phobia of anything electrical that appears remotely unsafe. I was about four years old, and one afternoon took up the idea of organizing my dad's workspace. It was actually right here where I'm sitting in my office now, but at that time, there were no desks, no curtains, no carpet - it was just a concrete garage with a few machines in it, with extension cords snaked all over the floor, because, of course, there were no outlets wired yet.

And a four-year-old has a way of tripping over extension cords, so I was going to organize them. I picked them up off the floor, untangled them, took the loops and knots out, and routed them in a more orderly fashion. But I never finished the job.

Two cords were connected, and I picked it up to disconnect them. It was a heavy duty cord with a metal, grounded plug. Well, it was supposed to be grounded, but back in the outlet, some wires had shifted, and, no one knew it, but hot current was flowing through the ground line, and to that metal cap.

And the four-year-old boy, standing in stocking feet on a concrete floor, picked it up, and 120 volts of electricity began flowing through his right arm, down through his body, to his feet, to the floor.

I'll never forget the feeling. There was thunder in my ears, and the world spun around me, and the floor felt like it was violently quaking, as if I were being shaken like a rat in a dog's mouth.

And what was worse, was that the electricity flowing through my arm had entirely hijacked the control of my muscles, and caused my hand to uncontrollably grip the plug. I couldn't let go.

I don't know how long the ordeal lasted, but it lasted as long as it took my mother to hear some whimpering from the other side of the house, and get there, and yank the cord from the wall.

The Lord preserved my life and health, but the burns to my hand took months to heal, and I will carry the scars for the rest of my life. And ever since then, I hesitate to approach unprotected electricity.

So I heaved the dresser farther away from the wall, and tried to pull the plug. But the two probes were in the process of welding into the outlet. So I gripped the melting plug, and heaved it out.

The outlet was black with smoke, and the plug was partially melted. A few minutes more and the wallpaper would have caught fire.

I opened the window, and got up for the day.

And the rest of the family, slept.

So, one more occasion of God's protecting grace. And since I'm not fighting a house fire this morning, I'll sit down and write about it. :)

God bless you all this day, and protect you from all the unseen dangers and perils of this world!