One thing I have always struggled with is this desire to be important, according to what I or the world sees as important. Perhaps it's not all that hard to figure out from the trajectory of my life: I wanted to be a doctor, before I really understood what all that involved; and I did. I wanted to go to Harvard, before really understanding whether it was the best place for me, not just be the best place; and I did. Ditto for Hopkins.
I don't regret any of those things necessarily, but I feel like God is trying to teach me, particularly in this season of life, that he doesn't care about me being important. He doesn't care about importance at all. Look just at the one chapter we read this week in BSF, Matthew 14: he surrounds himself with disciples who are very ordinary people. The boy who offered the means to a miracle in the feeding of the five thousand was ordinary (or rather, the mom who probably packed his lunch was ordinary).
Dave gets this. He is probably the person I know who lives this out the most. He has given up respected, flashy, impressive roles, titles, and opportunities because he felt it wasn't consistent with what was more important at the time-- and he does it with quiet conviction, no angst or dragging of feet or big show. It doesn't bother him that most people don't even know. On the outside, he seems ordinary, but the more you know him, the more depth and integrity you find, and that is probably what attracted me to him to begin with.
I, on the other hand, struggle with mixed motives. Do I partly want to play for worship because I like being on stage? Does it bother me that I'm not as flashy of a cataract surgeon as I could be if I worked full-time and could rack up a more impressive number of cases? Do I want my kids to be nicely dressed and well-behaved in public partly so people think I'm a good mom?
It's interesting how the trajectory of life has changed as God is teaching me about this, as I'm trying to listen more, in my own feeble way, to what he has to say about this to me. I am learning to play at home with just as much delight when circumstances make it hard to play with a band. I am trying to set my own goals for learning at work that have nothing to do with a measurable outcome. I am learning to care enough about my kids' discipline to risk a public disruption, about their sense of self and creativity enough to risk a mismatched outfit. I am living most of my day completely unobserved to most, I am building an alumni report that is only notable for its unremarkability-- and in some ways it's the hardest thing I've done. But probably (and you knew this line was coming) the most important thing of all.
I don't regret any of those things necessarily, but I feel like God is trying to teach me, particularly in this season of life, that he doesn't care about me being important. He doesn't care about importance at all. Look just at the one chapter we read this week in BSF, Matthew 14: he surrounds himself with disciples who are very ordinary people. The boy who offered the means to a miracle in the feeding of the five thousand was ordinary (or rather, the mom who probably packed his lunch was ordinary).
Dave gets this. He is probably the person I know who lives this out the most. He has given up respected, flashy, impressive roles, titles, and opportunities because he felt it wasn't consistent with what was more important at the time-- and he does it with quiet conviction, no angst or dragging of feet or big show. It doesn't bother him that most people don't even know. On the outside, he seems ordinary, but the more you know him, the more depth and integrity you find, and that is probably what attracted me to him to begin with.
I, on the other hand, struggle with mixed motives. Do I partly want to play for worship because I like being on stage? Does it bother me that I'm not as flashy of a cataract surgeon as I could be if I worked full-time and could rack up a more impressive number of cases? Do I want my kids to be nicely dressed and well-behaved in public partly so people think I'm a good mom?
It's interesting how the trajectory of life has changed as God is teaching me about this, as I'm trying to listen more, in my own feeble way, to what he has to say about this to me. I am learning to play at home with just as much delight when circumstances make it hard to play with a band. I am trying to set my own goals for learning at work that have nothing to do with a measurable outcome. I am learning to care enough about my kids' discipline to risk a public disruption, about their sense of self and creativity enough to risk a mismatched outfit. I am living most of my day completely unobserved to most, I am building an alumni report that is only notable for its unremarkability-- and in some ways it's the hardest thing I've done. But probably (and you knew this line was coming) the most important thing of all.
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