What Do You Call Your Calling? (...On Seeing Foam)

I set out this morning on a quick run to the farm store.  I needed carrots to make some slaw.  That's all.

But I found myself instead driving to the place I often take walks. And almost as if some mystical invitation had prompted me, I thought, "Why not a walk? For once, I have the time to do something spontaneous." I parked the car and set out.

I was wearing flip-flops, so I took them off and walked the trail barefoot.  (I read somewhere that's good for you.) I simply walked and marveled at the wonder of walking comfortably barefoot in October.  And, I breathed deeply, smelling the mixed aroma of living things in their spicy submission to the onslaught of the season of decay.
I thought about how hard the last few days have been for me.

 Though the selfless love of my husband is a deep and abiding presence in my life, there are others who are not so loyal to me. There are those who for whatever reason choose to believe that any goodness or value they see in me must surely rest on some secret foundation that is selfish, even devious and malicious in its driving force. One of those people--one I had considered a friend in ministry--approached me with harsh accusations. Life had interrupted our ministry together for the last month or so, and this--our first time to serve together again--was painfully cold and standoffish. I was shocked, devastated by the change in her toward me. With almost involuntary vulnerability, I burst into tears. Then it was my friend's turn to be shocked and dismayed. While she had refused to speak to me of our ministry together before she'd unleashed her accusations, nevertheless she stopped me then, before I could run out the door weeping; and she finally let me talk a bit about my own heart, too.  Eventually, we considered (delicately) the possibility that a third-party jealousy was attempting to intrude, maybe even to ruin my reputation with her, my friend. We talked of Gospel parables making themselves "real" in this instance and in our not-so-little little circle. We left the moment friends yet again, praying that God would protect our unity.

But, her suspiciousness of my motives drove me to the throne of God anyway.  Was I deceiving myself? Did I covet influence with powerful people? I thought I was content with the approval of God alone, that He had no competition in terms of setting the parameters of my value. I won't say I haven't been tested in this.  I have. But I have passed that test every time it presents. Am I to be condemned for even taking the test? Still...was I lying to myself in all this?
So I opened myself to that glaring scrutiny. I steeled myself for desolation, plucked up my courage lest I should hear that He found me lacking.  Then He came with words of love and comfort. Instruction, yes; but not scathing condemnation. Not like humans often seem to try to assign to me. He was God that way.

Then I read the September 30 entry in My Utmost for His Highest, and these words felt penned for me:
"...He gives us a tremendous, riveting pain to fasten our attention on something that we never even dreamed could be his call for us. And for one radiant, flashing moment we see His purpose, and we say 'Here am I! Send me..."

(That was the second of three times that particular verse from Isaiah has come across my path from diverse sources over the past four days.)

Chambers continues: "This call has nothing to do with personal sanctification, but with being made broken bread and poured out wine. Yet God can never make us into wine if we object to the fingers He chooses to use to crush us..." But, O God, my friend? Did You have to crush me with my friend? "We must never try to choose the place of our own martyrdom. If we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed--you can not drink grapes..." Thy will be done...

I walked, finally at rest again after those hard days. I enjoyed the peace of clarity, like fresh air after a sudden violent storm.

Then, I saw a path down to the water's edge, and I felt a beckoning.  So I went down, and I saw this:

Like being struck by a bolt of lightning, I remembered the dream...

I had it a long time ago. I thought I was finished with it.
I wasn't.

In this dream, God sent me on assignment. I visited many churches, specifically to check the level of soapy foam on the floor. (Surely I've spoken of this dream here before.) I did as I was assigned. And eventually, I reported back to God. I was able to tell Him that while the foam was still present, it was dissipating. And this was good news. When I first had it, the dream made me chuckle.

Some days after that dream, I came across this verse in Jude, in a section about recognizing false teachers and false teaching. The verse is one in a series that defines the characteristics of false teachers. They are marked as ones who are like "wild waves of the sea, casting up the foam of their own shame..." (vs. 13) One commentary I read described this as a type of storminess that lifted a shame that false teachers could not even recognize within themselves.

This...this is what I was sent out to assess in the churches.  It was nothing to chuckle at anymore.
And so, I did as I was assigned. Not so much intentionally.  We entered a phase of life in which visiting a variety of churches happened naturally. Not until we were months into it did we realize that we--my husband and I--were walking out the dream assignment. Eventually, we asked God to give us rest from the wandering. We were growing weary so we asked to be planted somewhere. He sent us to a place where we could abide, and we've been there a good year.

I assumed that planting meant the assignment was finished, but it wasn't.  I simply didn't realize I was still on duty until He took me down to the water today and showed me the foam again.
But my friend and I had already found a measure of restoration.

And I had grown in my understanding of my own calling by vast measure in these last few days. I still don't know who was the source of those ugly waves. I only saw the froth that floats in to shore, giving evidence of this violent work. It doesn't matter. What might have been meant for my condemnation, what might still mean my martyrdom in the place where I am now, this only clarified my calling and highlighted His defense of my value to Him.  He was God to me that way.

As far as the state of things between my friend and me, I am thankful I can say the dream proves true all the way to its ending.
Yes, the foam was there...but it is dissipating.