The Faux Leather Purse

Well, it's almost time to register for classes. And I have no clue what I'm going to do. Drop the English major to a minor? Add a history major? History minor? Psych minor? Folklore minor? Sociology minor? The choices seem literally endless. 
A couple weeks ago I went to the church rummage sale and bought a communion chalice, a piece of wood with a picture of my church decorated for Christmas back in the 80's, and a big faux leather purse, all for a dollar and sixty five cents. It was a transcendent moment. Seriously. I kept asking God what I needed to do with my life and I end up with a picture of a church and a communion chalice. That rainy, cold Friday afternoon, I almost decided I was going to turn my back on the idea of becoming a pastor. Pull the plug on the long drawn out process. And then here I end up with a church picture and a communion chalice. 
"Calling" is such a confusing word. Biblically, I think it's something that God does and we do back. Grace is not something we passively receive. It goes back to the Wesleyan version of Arminianism: We have free will, and we can reject grace or receive it. But God is inside of you, prompting you to do the right thing. You can tune him out, but no way can you say "yes" without the grace that goes before (prevenient grace) every good thing we do.
I bought the communion chalice, church picture, and faux leather purse with my own change from my own change purse. But God whispered, drew me, called me, claimed me at the rummage sale down in fellowship hall.
Isn't it wonderful that God uses the mundane stuff of life to speak to us, to shape us? Who knew that a rummage sale would become a sacrament, where God meets us in the everyday? Life is full of sacraments. Baptismal founts, chalices, holy bread and wine are everywhere. Beware: a bike ride might be a baptism, the local diner a sacred altar.  
My fake leather purse is a reminder that God is calling me to be a grown-up lady with a grown-up purse. One day soon I'll be pumping gas in a car I bought. I'll be paying electric bills, buying pantsuits. And that's as God wills it.
My grandmother used to say, "You can't eat something you like for dinner everyday." If you're a bad cook like me, or if you're living on campus, also like me, that saying is true. You can't create the perfect schedule, either. You can't major in Religion, Philosophy, English, Sociology, Psychology, and History. Life happens: lines get crooked, toes get stepped on, feet get lodged firmly in mouth. Love slips away, tears well up. The icky dinners and boring classes become sacramental-- God meets us and claims us there-- God redeems time.
It's time to accept it, thank God for it, throw the faux leather purse over the shoulder, and move on.