God Has Called Me

By Aletha Gruzensky

                  "I hear you're leaving, Abram. Where are you, going?"

                  "Well, I'm not sure yet. But God has called me."

                  "Not sure yet! Come on, now. Be reasonable. If it were God calling you, surely He'd tell you where to go."

                  "God has called me."

                  "How do you know? Are you sure you aren't just saying God is calling you?"

                  Abram reflects for a moment. The university in Ur is one of the country's best schools. He has studied the disciplines. He has listened to the discussion-producing questions. How can a person know that God is calling him? Does God actually call people in our day? Sure, He talked to Adam and Eve, but that was a long time ago. How does God deal with people now? Why, thinks Abram, don't they ask God that? Maybe God has called them right here in Ur. How am I to know?

                  Abram swallows hard. "God has called me."

                  "But Abram, how do you know you aren't just rationalizing? Maybe you just don't want to stay here in Ur."

                  Yes, Abram thinks, by definition rationalization is an unconscious defense mechanism. But if it is unconscious, then how can I know whether I'm rationalizing? And if I can't know, how can someone outside my mind know? He shakes his head as if to clear it.

                  "I don't know," answers Abram. "But God has called me."

"Abram, think of your future. You have so much potential. We've watched you since you were a little boy. We love you. You could become a city leader. Think of your influence."

                  It is becoming harder to think. Abram has already asked himself what responsibility he owes his teachers and those who have had such great faith in him.

                  "And what about responsibility, Abram? Responsibility."

                  "Yes, responsibility," he muses. "God has called me."

                  "Have you thought about Sarai? City life suits her, you know. And is it wise to have your father make the trip? He's getting old."

                  Abram thinks of Sarai riding for days on the back of a camel, the sun beating down on her back or the rain drenching her hair. He sits down on a folded tent with a sigh. "God has called me."

                  "Abram, if God has really called you, why don't you do something useful? Stay in Ur and go to graduate school. Then you could teach outsiders. It's more sensible to learn all you can here, then maybe you'll know where to go.

                  Why is it, Abram wonders, that what seems sensible when I'm talking with friends doesn't seem sensible when I'm talking with God? And what seems sensible when I'm talking with God almost doesn't seem sensible when I'm talking with friends?

                  "Besides, Abram. you need society to develop your full potential. God needs well-rounded people."

                  True, he thinks, but what is well-rounded? He stares at the strap of his sandal. An ant carrying a white egg pauses a moment by his foot. Its antennae sway trying to check out the top of his foot.

"God has called me," Abram says softly.

                  "If you are truly called, why don't you do missionary work here in Ur? Look around you. There are so many people who need to know how to talk with God as you do. Why don't you stay and teach them? Or are we not good enough for you?"

                  Abram's head sinks into his hands. A dull ache grows somewhere inside his head.

                  "There, there, Abram. Don't let it worry you so. You see, some things in life are excellent in principle, but in reality, are wholly impractical."

                  The ache grows to a throbbing pain. "God has called me."

                  "You are downright stubborn, immature, a thankless sponger of Ur's bounties. There is no hope."

                  "God has called me," he whispers. "And God has His promises. God, You are God, the Creator. I will trust You."

                  "Abram stands, turns, and sets off for a place he doesn't know.

Insight, July 7, 1981