Calling... it's a concept that I've not been able to define very clearly. Even after choosing to live cross culturally for 24 years, I feel sort of vague about what the word means.

I think this is because "calling" can come in such a beautiful array of shapes and shades. I know people who can confidently say, "I was called to (some specific spot or people group) when I was 10 years old." Others say, "I received the call during my first year in college," or "...at Urbana," or whatever.

But that's not really how it was for me.

I was raised by parents who were in full-time ministry. For 8 of my growing up years we lived in Europe, splitting time, 4 years and 4 years, between Sweden and England. It was great. I loved each place.

When I was just shy of 12 we moved to Southern California and I settled in for the bumpy ride of a 7th grader finding her way in a city that didn't feel anything like London. I skipped a grade upon re-entry to the United States (because I had been in the English educational system) so I was young for my grade. My new friends wore a little make-up and some even had boyfriends. Yikes! This is re-entry shock for a 12 year old :-)

Ten years later I was on a plane for East Africa with my husband. I was fresh out of college and all ready for the adventure ahead. But when in those 10 years between re-entry and exit again did I receive a calling to Africa? I had never been to Africa? I had been a big city girl my whole life. Stockholm, London, LA--those were the places I knew.

You know what? I can't mark a date or place for that grand event. What I can tell you is that I willingly walked a trail that led me here.

First of all, I knew by virtue of my personality and gifts that I was called to a life of service. I thought maybe nursing was a good option as it could take me anywhere. But my high school science grades told me I was probably wrong about that. My calling had little shape at this point. I would serve others... somewhere, some how.

I met a boy in college (always dangerous) who was raised a missionary kid in East Africa. I found him to be attractive beyond belief. He was sincere, loved conversation, was wild about God, passionate about knowing Him, and pretty darn set on getting himself back to Africa some day. He was also cute and a good kisser.

So I was hooked! What can I say?

In all seriousness, though, we found an easy friendship and great joy together. As we came to the conclusion that we wanted to be together F-O-R-E-V-E-R, we made no assumptions about where we would live when. We spent our first 2 years in Santa Barbara while I was finishing my degree. We looked carefully ahead at what we might do after I graduated and, after a few false starts in a few directions, we settled on a 2 year commitment in Kenya. We asked God specifically to speak to us during those 2 years about a long term commitment to cross cultural ministry.

He spoke. We stayed. We've loved it.

But my point is this: my calling looks more like a pathway that I have traveled and found life-giving. Because it has been life-giving, challenging and fulfilling, I've stayed upon it. Should I say that I am called to Africa? I don't know. I know that since first meeting my husband I've always wanted to be wherever he is.

And here's something amazing: we left Africa in 2000 for a 7 year stint of service in Europe. Did Europe feel like home to him? Not even a little bit. One of the main reasons that we left Africa at that point was because my husband longed to see gifts that were not being used in me come into a season of growth. He saw things in me that needed room to flourish and he knew that a remote range of hills in a corner of Kenya was not going to bring those things out. I guess I just include that to say that this life together has not been about Byron. It never has been.

God has nudged us forward into new places of challenge and grace over these last 24 years. All along the way, He has cared for, blessed and given us joy. I believe that He could have used me in other ways in other places. I believe that He has spoken to others much more specifically about where they are supposed to be. And I believe that there is much grace for every journey and that some callings come in little steps.

I'm thankful I didn't have to know my path as I flew out of LA and toward Africa all those years ago. And I still find that I often understand my path most clearly when I'm looking back over it.

For more ramblings on my calling, see my personal blog here.