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<\/a>I have been wrestling with the angel named Vocation. In August, my wife and I sold our small publishing business, and just this week I completed all but the proofreading for the biggest writing project I\u2019ve ever tackled. Meanwhile, Katie and both of our daughters are on the first steppingstones of new life paths. For our entire family, the future is an open book. The only thing I know is, I have to work.<\/a>
Yes, sadly the publishing business did not (never did) reap much of a profit. Selling it was not a lucrative deal. So I will have to continue tending the bread ovens, mixing the dough, stoking the hardwood fires. The only thing that has become clear, or seems to have, is that I will work not as a literal baker, but as a writer.<\/p>\n
You might think that, as someone halfway to age 118, I should have solved the vocation question for myself long ago. But my favorite nonfiction writer, Norman Maclean, saw it differently in the epigraph to his book Young Men and Fire<\/a>, <\/i>and so do I.<\/p>\n As I get considerably beyond the biblical allotment of three score years and ten, <\/i>Maclean wrote, I feel with increasing intensity that I can express my gratitude for still being around on the oxygen-side of the earth\u2019s crust only by not standing pat on what I have hitherto known and loved. While the oxygen lasts, there are still new things to love, especially if compassion is a form of love.<\/i><\/p>\n Not standing pat. New things to love. Compassion is a form of love. <\/i>Maclean (left) also wrote:<\/p>\n The problem of identity is not just a problem for the young. It is a problem all the time. Perhaps the problem. It should haunt old age, and when it no longer does it should tell you that you are dead.<\/i><\/p>\n Fortunately, several enticing and\/or well-paying projects loom ahead of me like islands in the fog. Today, I am going to a meeting about the most enticing of these options, so far anyway. Last week, looking ahead to my meeting today, I thought, \u201cOctober 1. Let\u2019s see whose day that is,\u201d as in which saint. My heart grew instantly warmer inside my chest when I flipped the page on my Catholic desk calendar and saw that it is Th\u00e9r\u00e8se\u2019s day. Something about it seemed so right, so apropos. I felt safe, provided for. I immediately began saying a novena to Th\u00e9r\u00e8se of the Child Jesus.<\/p>\n Stumbling back into this blog last night<\/a>, like not just the Prodigal Son but the Prodigal Father, I find that Frank has beat me to the St. Th\u00e9r\u00e8se punch<\/a>, and if there were ever a lousy, mixed metaphor, that has to be it. But then in the short century-plus since she left this earth and began showering us with flowers, people have never tired of writing about her, a Doctor of the Church with one slim book to her credit.<\/p>\n What struck me this morning and prompted this post was the selection from that slim book, her Story of a Soul, <\/i>in today\u2019s office of readings. Th\u00e9rese wrestled with Vocation as well! Of course, she called this process a \u201clonging for martyrdom,\u201d which are words that have not yet fallen from my lips and aren\u2019t likely to this side of the barroom door:<\/p>\n![](\"https:\/\/1.bp.blogspot.com\/_dmDaLWNETzg\/TKW3ZzkfhMI\/AAAAAAAABag\/1kqyWGDaVgY\/s200\/normanmaclean.jpeg\")
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