Saying Yes to God

I gave my first fiat in Africa. I was on safari in the Ngorongoro Crater with my foreign study mates from Furman. After the thrill of seeing a whole pride of lionesses less than ten feet from our vehicle, we were stopped for lunch. I remember sitting on this huge rock in the middle of that vast wild space, feeling so alive and inspired. I wrote a prayer in my journal along these lines: God, I don’t know what wild adventure you may have in store for me, but I’m in. I’m open. I’ll go anywhere in the world with you. I want what you want for my life.

It was full of the wide-eyed optimism of youth, and the excitement of this trip that was changing my life minute by breath-taking minute. I didn’t really know what I was writing. And yet I meant it in some deep sacred place in myself that was beginning to awaken.

The change of plans was not without angst. I had been struggling for years with the question of vocation. I was a pre-med student and biology major now in my third year. I would have told you at the time that I enjoyed math and science, and wanted to use those aptitudes to help people. Becoming a doctor felt like what I should do, what others wanted me to do, but I knew my heart and soul were not in it. When I was even more painfully honest with myself, I knew I was driven as much, or maybe even more, by the allure of wearing the white coat and enjoying all the creature comforts a doctor’s salary would afford.

Letting go of all that was hard, I’m not going to lie. I liked having a clear plan. I liked how it felt to say I was pre-med, and how people responded to that. I had slogged my way through organic chemistry, physics, and the like, and I wanted that BS degree to show for it. I liked choosing a profession that was so respected and admired.

I worried about what other people would think. And I didn’t have to wonder for very long. I could tell that many loving adults in my life didn’t get it, had their own set of disappointments and anxieties around my change of course. I still remember talking to a former boss whom I greatly admired, sharing that I was planning to go to seminary instead of med school. He replied, “I’m disappointed to hear that. What a waste of your intellect.”

Was I wasting my life, my gifts? I had my own doubts and insecurities.

But let me be clear. What compelled me to change my plans was not a Voice making me feel guilty or shaming me into giving up the life I thought I wanted. I had caught a glimpse of, tasted another kind of life that was possible. The Summer before my trip I had served as the youth intern at my home church, and had experienced a joy in vocation I didn't know could exist. I loved connecting with the youth in authentic ways, exploring the great questions about life and faith, teaching and learning the Bible and prayer and service in new ways. It felt full of purpose, meaning, and sheer delight.

The trip to the Middle East and Africa then opened up a whole new world of possibilities. The landscape out there, and inside me, was so much more vast, complex and beautiful than I had known. I remember looking out the windows of our jeep in the middle of Tanzania thinking I had never seen green so green or a pink sunset so pink. It was like the Creator had a more vibrant palette for painting Africa. And it symbolized how I felt on the inside . . . more lush and verdant, full of fresh, ripe possibility, more fully alive, more liberated, more me.

And it wasn’t just the landscape; it was also the people there. Many had so little materially, by comparison to what we had in the States. But there was a look in their eyes, an ease in their way of being, a joy in their welcome and their music that was utterly foreign to me. I sensed a generosity of spirit, a depth of soul I had not known. I discovered a longing in me for a different way to be in the world.

So when I said Yes that day in the middle of that lush green inside me, and as far as my eyes could see, I was captivated by Another Voice, drawn toward something I could scarcely begin to describe. I was both invigorated and frightened.

I think that’s why I’ve always loved the story of the Annunciation in Luke's gospel. The angel Gabriel brings greetings to Mary, announcing this fantastical plan for her to bear God’s son into the world. She is rightly perplexed, but the angel encourages her not to be afraid, revealing that the Spirit’s mysterious overshadowing will accomplish this impossible conception. She is asked not to do something herself, but to surrender and allow God to do something through her.

We take it as a foregone conclusion that Mary said Yes. But I believe she was utterly free, as we all are, to pass on the divine invitation. I’ve always wondered if there were others who couldn’t bring themselves to say Yes. Was there a more complicated, messy discernment that Mary experienced to arrive at her response? Was there any hesitation or angst in her as she weighed this most monumental of propositions? All we know from the biblical text is that she said, “Here am I, the servant of Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” And with that fiat, her life and the whole history of humanity was irrevocably transformed.

I wonder about the divine invitation that comes to each and all of us. Caryll Houselander, in her spiritual classic The Reed of God, wrote “We are all asked if we will surrender what we are, our flesh and blood, to the Holy Spirit and allow Christ to fill the emptiness formed by the particular shape of our life.” Or as the Domenican mystic, Meister Eckhart wrote, “We are all meant to be mothers of God . . . for God is always needing to be born.”

I had no thought of Mary, no sense of being called to be a mother of God, that day in the Crater. But I did feel invited by a Mystery greater than me into an unknown future. I felt the first inklings of something utterly new stirring in me. And I was willing to “waste” my life to find Life.

As we move from Advent into Christmas and into a new year, I wonder what Voice, what Mystery, what Longing might be beckoning you? Might there be another way to live, another way to serve, another way to pray that honors the deep sacred shape of your own soul? What might it look like to pray with Mary, "Let it be"?

Grace and Peace be with you,

Kimberly