the call

It's funny how life leads us where we belong. Two events happened this week that reminded me of the slightly unlikely journey I took to publishing. First, I was visiting with a young woman about career opportunities in publishing. She's not quite sure what direction she wants to go—or if she even wants to be in publishing. Second, a book that I edited arrived at our warehouse. This isn't an unusual event; at some point, I have my hands on about half of the books that come out of our press. But seeing this one in print made me jump for joy.

These two things made me think of vocation, of being where we belong, of the grace in knowing our place in the world.

I consider the four years I worked on yearbook in high school to be the start of my publishing career. I became the photo editor early on, and in our junior year, my best friend and I were coeditors of the yearbook. We worked hard with our staff, made some beautiful layouts, had a great time writing copy, stayed later in the yearbook lab than we should have done, learned how to use Macs, figured out the importance of saving often, listened to the Rolling Stones, got away with skipping more classes than we can believe, possibly jammed/broke a copier, and ate a fair bit of candy. In short, we had fun. Sure, there were deadlines that were stressful and issues with advisers and problems with staff. But, generally, I learned how to be a leader through yearbook. I learned how to make things look good on a page, delegate tasks to others, set and meet deadlines, collaborate with photographers and printers.

When I graduated from high school, I decided to do yearbook in college, but after one meeting, I knew my publishing career was over. Sure, I was good at it, but it wasn't my passion. Plus, my coeditor wasn't there with me, so it just wasn't the same.

Editing done. On to bigger and better things. Like theology!

Except the theology department wasn't where I found a home at my college. The English department was, especially in Sister T's office, where I completed my work/study hours and was confronted yet again with the opportunity to jump into publishing. She was the adviser for the literary magazine, and I had, simply as her work/study student, worked peripherally on the project. At the end of my sophomore year, she asked me to consider being the editor. No, I said firmly. Not again. I'm not doing this. I have no interest in publishing. You can't make me! No!

Then I drove home for the weekend and realized that, well, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea. It'd look good on a resume, it wouldn't be that hard, and it's something to do. So, fine. Begrudgingly, I accepted the post.

Sister T had me right where she wanted me. And I will always be grateful for her gentle yet firm insistence that I consider editing that magazine.

Because by the time I came to Saint John's, I knew I wanted to start a journal for the graduate school. And I did, along with two other ambitious (or crazy, depending on how you look at it) students.

Again I sought work/study in a place that honed my editorial skills. The day I got my work/study job at the press, I called my mother, who said, "You're going to stay there forever, aren't you?" I laughed and said, "No. I'm getting a PhD and teaching after this. The only way I'd stay is if the press hired me full time."

Sometimes we speak our realities. I spoke mine.

As graduation approached, conversations about giving me a full-time position at the press started happening. I realized that it wouldn't be such a bad idea to wait a few years before starting a PhD. Working at the press would give me a chance to clear my head after many years of being in school; I could save some money, have some stability in my life (rather than moving from dorm to home to dorm to home), and figure out what direction I wanted to take.

In the four-plus years I've been at the press, I've realized that this, right here, is the direction I want to take. A little over a year ago I decided to join a monastery. It was, in many ways, an inevitable decision. I'd been toying with the idea for over eight years. The time had come, I thought, to jump in and go where the Spirit led. So I decided to take one more year at the press, give discernment some good time to do its work, and get myself ready for this utterly life-changing move.

Only, the Spirit shifted. The more deeply I entered discernment, the more unsettled I felt about leaving. It simply wasn't right anymore. At first, I assumed that it was the normal trepidation before a big change. It can be intimidating. There is a sort of grieving that must take place in transition. But this was more than sadness about leaving a place and people I love. This was a deep sense of loss, of turning away from where I am called to be. I returned over and over to my work, to the knowledge that it is a ministry.

It occurred to me during this time that perhaps I was called to be an editor, that this could be my career, that I could spend a lifetime doing precisely what I'm doing and be very happy about it. When I said that to my mother, her immediate response was, "You're just now figuring that out?" Well, yeah, I was.

It's been almost a year since I decided to stay put, since I said yes to this vocation. I could be called elsewhere, I know, but for now, I am where I am called to be.

On Friday when that book showed up in our warehouse, the one that made me jump for joy, I was affirmed in this call. It was the same feeling I had when those boxes upon boxes of yearbooks showed up at our high school. It was the same feeling I had when the literary magazine was assembled and unveiled, when we opened the boxes of the first issue of our graduate school journal, when I saw the first book I'd worked on published at the press. It never ceases to amaze me that the feeling of excitement, accomplishment, pride, and joy continues to surge through me when one of my books is printed.

The day that ends, I'll start listening for my next call.