Calling Stories: Krista Vossler's need to press in and go easy in 2020
Welcome to the newest installment of Calling Stories, a refreshed and reimagined series of guest posts for Ordinary Time. In the past two autumns, I’ve hosted a series of guest posts called Work Stories. This year I've reimagined the series to embrace a wider vision of calling and to add some sweet bonus features for my Patreon community. Go here to learn how to join in Calling Conversations with our guest contributors.
What a joy to welcome back my kindred friend from Austin. In 2018, Krista shared with us her work story of embracing her one wild and precious life within the hiddenness of homemaking and homeschooling: Krista Vossler’s Hiddenness Calling. In the middle of that season, God was at work stirring a “fledgling vocational hope” in Krista and confirming that calling within her community.
Two years later, in a season that seems to be taking Krista further away from what she’s hoped for vocationally, she’s had to practice her calling to walk alongside those hanging out in the margins of her church community in unconventional and unfamiliar ways. More than ever, it’s been my delight to watch Krista wholeheartedly pursue her calling as an artist, mother, wife, peacemaker, and friend with integrity and wholehearted surrender. She is fiercely committed to each place and relationship Jesus invites her to pursue, and we, her neighbors and friends are all better for it.
I hope you’ll be encouraged as you read Krista’s update that no matter how winding or rocky the pathway of God’s callings for your life, you’ll be able to receive the blessing of God Krista offers you while you walk and while you wait.
What do you understand more clearly about who you are called to be and what you are called to do? What do you understand less clearly?
Two years ago, I was praying for the courage to acknowledge a fledgling vocational hope. Not long after I wrote for Tamara's Work Series, I did indeed, albeit quietly, say aloud that the Lord had laid it on my heart to pursue ordination as a deacon in the Anglican church. Wherever this process takes me, I understand more clearly that while I still feel a call to homemaking and homeschooling, I am called to make space for and welcome people into our church, specifically those hanging out on the margins--and to build up the body of Christ in an intentional way through worship leading and discipleship. At the same time, the path of discernment has been a winding and somewhat rocky one, not lacking in uncertainty and discouragement. Sometimes I’ve felt unseen and unsure, especially because I am not seeing friends and leaders in the flesh with much frequency. Sometimes I've wondered if there is a place for me. But I haven’t heard the Lord releasing me from the word “deacon,” so I’m pressing on as best I can within the limits of who God made me to be.
Even in the disrupted rhythms of life, what is something you still can't not do related to your work or callings? What is something you can no longer do?
So much of what I want to do in and for the church is to connect with and walk alongside people--this is indeed something I can’t not do. However, the way I have to go about it has changed. My husband and I can’t (yet) invite a motley crew of folks over to the house or take most of the church camping this fall. Whereas before I could lead a mom’s group in a particular spiritual discipline or greet a new family after the worship service, I am relegated to Zoom meetings, phone conversations, and drive-bys. I have to rely on our priests to know if anyone new is watching the service online and has expressed interest in connecting with people in our community. I have to be more intentional and more creative, if possible, and go easy on myself when I fail to be because we're in this for the long haul.
Where have you had to "pump the brakes of your ambition" in this season?
Part of the local discernment process for an Anglican hoping to become a deacon is a discernment committee made up of members of one’s church. Mine wrapped up its meetings in April during a lock-down period in our city, and one of their recommendations was to pump the brakes on my education to focus instead on spiritual direction and counseling. I had been raring to go--wanting to take another class and get down to business, and this brought me up short. Obviously, this isn’t something caused by the pandemic, but COVID19 and its effects on our community (and the world) have sometimes made me feel as if I’m swimming in mud, as if everything in my life takes twice as long to do. After giving my disappointment over to God--to be honest, it’s an ongoing process, I decided to throw myself into their recommendations as best I could. And having to attend counseling sessions online instead of in person means that scheduling them is much easier for this one-car family with little kids.
Where have you seen unexpected "green lights" for your calling(s) in this season?
Since March, our church has been livestreaming our services in favor of meeting in person (though we’re now also meeting in very small groups outdoors and socially distanced). At first, I was saddened to think that this would mean that I would have to give up serving on our worship team, but it turns out I’ve been able to help more regularly as part of a small group of folks who serve on the livestream every Sunday. It’s different, yes, to sing without the congregation, but somehow the Lord meets us in that tiny room each week as we attempt to lead the folks who participate from home. Despite the different format and the longing to worship together as a larger group, God has given me unexpected opportunities to grow as a worship leader.
I’ve also had the time and space to lead an online discussion group with my husband on Reading While Black by Dr. Esau McCaulley and have finally started reading Next Worship by Sandra Maria Van Opstal. Both books have been essential to my understanding of what it means to really make room for people in a community. I doubt either of these things would have been possible had I been taking a class or if meetings had been happening in person.
What does Sabbath look like for you right now?
Sabbath looks like letting go--of my expectations for the day or week, of my definite plans, of my fear, of control. Often and necessarily, this leads to repentance on my part. Practically speaking, this sometimes means scrapping our more structured Sabbath service at the table in favor of relationship repair and mutual comfort around a beloved book, game, or family movie. Sabbath also looks like waiting on the Lord--for healing, for wisdom, for justice and mercy to win the day. This doesn’t mean I don’t work for the aforementioned things to become realities here and now, but it chips away at my pride and my desire to be a savior.
I'd love to leave you with a poem that might be a better answer than any I've given to the questions above. Perhaps the Lord has many of us in a waiting place, wondering how we can "give shade with so much gone." God bless you as you wait on him.
“Slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go.
First she surrendered her green,
then the orange, yellow, and red.
finally she let go of her own brown.
Shedding her last leaf
she stood empty and silent, stripped bare.
Leaning against the winter sky,
she began her vigil of trust.
Shedding her last leaf,
she watched it journey to the ground.
She stood in silence
wearing the colors of emptiness,
her branches wondering,
How do you give shade with so much gone?
And then,
the sacrament of waiting began.
The sunrise and the sunset watched with tenderness.
Clothing her with silhouettes
that kept her hope alive.
They helped her to understand that
her vulnerability,
her dependence and need,
her emptiness, her readiness to receive,
were giving her a new kind of Beauty.
Every morning and every evening they stood in silence,
and celebrated together
the sacrament of waiting.”
This is a song based on Psalm 23, which Paul Zach and David Taylor wrote together, and which Andrew Del Rio and Krista Vossler performed (on a last-minute request from the songwriters). The recording was made on March 13, just as the United States was shutting down, in the hopes that it might provide comfort and encouragement, and perhaps even a voice, for people who may be particularly struggling during this global pandemic, but beyond this time as well.
Lyrics available at the YouTube link: “I Shall Not Want” (Psalm 23)
Krista Vossler is a third-culture kid who still can’t believe she’s put down roots in the great state of Texas. She’s a lover of Jesus, her husband and two kids, and the Anglican Way. Occasionally, she sings for her supper (er, tips), but she can most often be found helping at Church of the Cross Austin, reading a book, or teaching her children to bake, sing, read, imagine, and write.
