A Really Clever Analogy About Living Your Dream
When it was my turn to share in the small group, I simply said, "I just want to serve God in a way that brings me joy and helps other people." They all nodded understandingly, and soon it was the next person's turn to speak.
That was my heart cry in 2016 in an early morning meeting with a handful of church leaders. I was a full time sixth grade teacher at that moment, and I was quite aware that it would most likely be a brief chapter in my life story. Middle school education is a noble occupation (seriously, if that's you I salute you), one that I even enjoyed at times, but I just knew it wasn't for me. Thus the comment.
I remember it vividly because it so captured the longing of that season. Four years later, now working at a church part time, it's still something I'm yearning for, something that feels closer but still just out of my reach. What was I made to do? I keep asking. It's like a windy mountain road where the going is slow and your attention is continually fixated on the next gravelly turn in front of you, but every so often a panoramic view opens up to your left and, for just a second, you stop missing the forest for the trees. There it is: clarity on who you are and what you're called to do!
Hark: an analogy occurred to me on the way home today. And what's the use of a good analogy if you don't make it into a blog? Here goes:
There was a short season out of high school where I was frequently hired to play the drums in several musicals and performances here in Visalia. A memory of that time crossed my mind, and I realized it was a perfect picture of me happy in my calling. This is what I mean.
I wasn't the best drummer in Visalia, but I was solid enough to find myself invited to play for this stuff. I was proud of what I could contribute, and I was confident that it was serving people. It's probably not your calling if you totally suck at it, right? And there's nothing more gratifying than a job well done by yourself. So that's point #1 for what I want out of "my calling" in life. I want to be good at it.
Secondly, it wasn't a solo act. I was part of a team; a whole orchestra, in fact. And the team I was a part of was creating something beautiful. What we created wasn't primarily about me or my contribution. To me that's a picture of ministry to God. We play our small part in the body of Christ, whatever your gift/instrument may be, and it's part of a song that touches hearts and leads people to the Truth that sets them free. Joy is found not in people eyeing my cymbal crashes and fancy fills, but in seeing people affected by the music.
Interestingly, I don't remember if I got paid for those gigs. And I'm quite sure it wasn't on my mind. I just liked doing it. It even felt like a privilege. This all feels like a pretty good sign you're doing what you're made to do. Money is important; I mean, you've got to pay bills, feed a family and live and whatnot. But in the sweet spot you're not mentally clocking in and counting down the hours until you're off. At least, ideally--we all know that even the sweet spot can hit some rough spots. As long as we're being idealistic though, my goal is to get lost in my calling and then remember afterwards that I'm getting paid for it. I think this is what Peter meant when he said that elders should lead "willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly..." (1 Peter 5:2).
Finally, those Friday and Saturday night showings were the culmination of hours of practice. Hours spent years earlier learning my instrument, and hours spent that month practicing with the team. The preparation is part of the process. The athlete getting up early to train; the preacher saying no to other activities so he can immerse himself in the Word; the teacher staying in the classroom late grading papers and preparing lessons. The sacrifice is worth it when you can visualize the end result.
So that picture of me blissfully playing a drumset in the pit of an orchestra underneath a stage becomes a picture of what I want to do with my life: use my gifts, as part of a team, filled with joy, not because my name is in lights or I'm getting rich, but because together we're making music that is changing lives. And not just for one night of applause at the end of a good West Side Story showing, but for something that effects eternity.
This is the dream. It may just be the occasional vista to my left on the winding mountain road for now, but I'm hoping for more. Until then, I'll keep preparing.
That was my heart cry in 2016 in an early morning meeting with a handful of church leaders. I was a full time sixth grade teacher at that moment, and I was quite aware that it would most likely be a brief chapter in my life story. Middle school education is a noble occupation (seriously, if that's you I salute you), one that I even enjoyed at times, but I just knew it wasn't for me. Thus the comment.
I remember it vividly because it so captured the longing of that season. Four years later, now working at a church part time, it's still something I'm yearning for, something that feels closer but still just out of my reach. What was I made to do? I keep asking. It's like a windy mountain road where the going is slow and your attention is continually fixated on the next gravelly turn in front of you, but every so often a panoramic view opens up to your left and, for just a second, you stop missing the forest for the trees. There it is: clarity on who you are and what you're called to do!
Hark: an analogy occurred to me on the way home today. And what's the use of a good analogy if you don't make it into a blog? Here goes:
There was a short season out of high school where I was frequently hired to play the drums in several musicals and performances here in Visalia. A memory of that time crossed my mind, and I realized it was a perfect picture of me happy in my calling. This is what I mean.
I wasn't the best drummer in Visalia, but I was solid enough to find myself invited to play for this stuff. I was proud of what I could contribute, and I was confident that it was serving people. It's probably not your calling if you totally suck at it, right? And there's nothing more gratifying than a job well done by yourself. So that's point #1 for what I want out of "my calling" in life. I want to be good at it.
Secondly, it wasn't a solo act. I was part of a team; a whole orchestra, in fact. And the team I was a part of was creating something beautiful. What we created wasn't primarily about me or my contribution. To me that's a picture of ministry to God. We play our small part in the body of Christ, whatever your gift/instrument may be, and it's part of a song that touches hearts and leads people to the Truth that sets them free. Joy is found not in people eyeing my cymbal crashes and fancy fills, but in seeing people affected by the music.
Interestingly, I don't remember if I got paid for those gigs. And I'm quite sure it wasn't on my mind. I just liked doing it. It even felt like a privilege. This all feels like a pretty good sign you're doing what you're made to do. Money is important; I mean, you've got to pay bills, feed a family and live and whatnot. But in the sweet spot you're not mentally clocking in and counting down the hours until you're off. At least, ideally--we all know that even the sweet spot can hit some rough spots. As long as we're being idealistic though, my goal is to get lost in my calling and then remember afterwards that I'm getting paid for it. I think this is what Peter meant when he said that elders should lead "willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly..." (1 Peter 5:2).
Finally, those Friday and Saturday night showings were the culmination of hours of practice. Hours spent years earlier learning my instrument, and hours spent that month practicing with the team. The preparation is part of the process. The athlete getting up early to train; the preacher saying no to other activities so he can immerse himself in the Word; the teacher staying in the classroom late grading papers and preparing lessons. The sacrifice is worth it when you can visualize the end result.
So that picture of me blissfully playing a drumset in the pit of an orchestra underneath a stage becomes a picture of what I want to do with my life: use my gifts, as part of a team, filled with joy, not because my name is in lights or I'm getting rich, but because together we're making music that is changing lives. And not just for one night of applause at the end of a good West Side Story showing, but for something that effects eternity.
This is the dream. It may just be the occasional vista to my left on the winding mountain road for now, but I'm hoping for more. Until then, I'll keep preparing.
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