I turned the shower to cold and stood there a while imagining. This was my practice for the waterfall I would have to wash in when I got to the Andes. There I would set up a mission, teach children english and bible stories with my husband. It would be just like Elizabeth Elliott. Our brave sacrifices would be talked about at home and the good works would be praised for the sake of the gospel. That was the day dream. the daily shower dream. But that wasn't the calling I recieved.
As we sang in worship and the power points flickered I prayed for my high school, for revival. The ring of fire from the screen warmed my face as I heard it say;
"There. That's where I want you."
"Yes God, I'll be there for a few more months but after that I have to go to college. I'll do what I can..."
"I want you to teach there."
"Ha. I'm never coming back to that town again. Maybe I'll teach, but let me teach in another country. Or in the inner city with troubled kids. People with real problems. Not these arrogant jerks."
"There."
"There?"
"There."
"Ok God, we'll see. You'll have to prove it, but in the mean time, I'll major in education."
Excuse after excuse, I stopped hearing God. First it was just his silence when I prayed while I wrestled with my call. Soon I stopped hearing him in anything. I did what I thought was fair and right but eventually despair, and disappointment, and disbelief set in. The call became a whisper and slowly faded away.
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