I recognized it from woman to woman, a call. As when God spoke, “Let there be light,” and the light went forth, I saw a darkness shirk back. I hardly remember specific moments or feel like I bonded unusually with one person in particular. It was more a growing awareness that each set of lips, if they were willing to be tender, were carrying on the same conversation I had been having with God. In buffet lines, the one behind me picked up where the woman in front of me left off. At another meal we sat together at one long table. One who has fed many passed the bread. We soaked up the sauce together. We  clanked our glasses full of wine. We were all little girls in grown-up clothes. We are all the least of these.

It is easy to aggrandize those in leadership, the nonprofit affiliations, the Katies, the columnists, and the pulpiteers. I am guilty of laying dear ones on the altar of pedestal. I am guilty of thinking one place at the foot of the cross is richer than another, but pedestals end up on their sides every time. May as well stay low. If there’s a better place, it’s the lowest one.

When I refer to my calling, I’m not exactly talking about that I’ll preach one day from podiums, though preaching is a gift of the Spirit that can lay one flat with an open ear. When I mention “calling,” I similarly could refer to my writing because writing is often how I hear, but that’s still not the bottom of it.

My calling is a direction, the pang, the narrow low path and Christ with me on it. It’s the left or the right, until I am face to face. It’s the woo of God until all things are reconciled to, restored in, and unified with Him.

Want to know your calling? Want to find your place? Only listen for the woo. It’s usually at the bottom of things. The woo is in the bow.