Why am I back here?
For the past two weeks I’ve gone to the same table where I wrote the equivalent of a book before…and I just watched Youtube. Then after an hour passed, I lied to my girl each time she asked how the session went because I didn’t want her to know I didn’t care.
So again, why am I here?
Why do I still frequent a place where I don’t produce, stare at a canvas I don’t paint, and get annoyed when I fail the task I had no serious intention of doing?
I’ve never had to answer those questions before. Back then, writer’s block was a mountain to overcome. Poor production was a challenge that inspired creative solutions. And hunger? No one had to question that.
I never reached a point before where I didn’t want to write. And when I say “didn’t want to write”, I don’t mean there weren’t days where I was lazy or frustrated and didn’t pick up a pen. Those days were plentiful, but they aren’t what I’m referring to here.
When I say I never reached that point, I mean that the overall desire to make something out of my words was always there. No matter how tired, nervous, or busy I was, I always felt a need for this outlet.
I don’t feel that need anymore.
Last Sunday, I was encouraged to act in spite of this feeling (or lack of it) though.
My pastor was teaching through a book of the Bible verse-by-verse during a sermon like normal. (If he ended with Luke 8:9 the previous week for example, he’ll almost always start with verse 10 the week after.)
Well, he just so happened to end with Matthew 25:13 the week before, so that meant the Parable of the Talents was up next (see Matthew 25:14-30).
Everyone knows about that one right? It’s a parable about a master who puts his servants in charge of his belongings before leaving for a long time. The “talent” in the story is a large sum of money, and the three servants who receive it in varying amounts were expected to use it to increase the master’s property even more.
Most of us know how it goes from there. Two servants do well by increasing what was given to them while the other hides the sum, does nothing to increase it, and even slanders the master once he returns to view the result.
The first two servants are both showed the same appreciation and reward when the master returns—despite the difference in increase between them. Yet the last servant is predictably punished for his behavior.
One of the obvious applications here is about using the gifts we’ve been given by God to produce for His glory. Sitting on our “talents”, artistic capabilities, or creative outlets that could be used for good is an action rightfully regarded as foolish, and that’s one of the messages my pastor expressed. So in an effort to rally the troops, he encouraged everyone who had neglected those outlets to walk towards the altar in a show of obedience and a commitment to “water our plants” so to speak.
I didn’t go.
I saw a group of 4 or 5 grow to about 50 as people on each row stepped into the aisle and walked up front—but I wasn’t one of them. The calls to action, the threat of missed opportunity, and the constant yanking of heartstrings didn’t work anymore. They didn’t work because their target was a person who didn’t exist.
The truth is, I’m not what I used to be—and I mean that in the best way possible. I’m not fresh off the trauma of an abusive relationship, I’m not an outcast who people hate for legitimate reasons, and I’m not a broke youngster trying to make sense of life anymore. I’m an established and respected professional with a woman who thinks the world of him, and you couldn’t pay me to go back to how it was before.
Back then though, I did feel like an ideal soldier—someone who endured the circumstances he was in and was still down to the dirty work in spite of it. I fully embraced that role then. I needed it just to feel valuable. But now I realize how wrong I was.
I was never an ideal anything. I thought I was then but I’ve been proven wrong, and I’m confronted with more of my weaknesses every day.
So why am I here again?
Because I’ve realized that I don’t have to be ideal.
I may not be as determined as before, but no matter how much my feelings fade, the sense of commitment, loyalty, and duty remain.
There’s another parable in Matthew that comes to mind at this point. It’s the Parable of Two Sons where Jesus tells how the two were both told to go work in a vineyard by their father (see Matthew 21:28-32). The first son refused initially but changed his mind and went later, while the second son accepted the father’s order but didn’t actually go.
It’s clear that the first son was the only one who did what his father wanted—even though he initially declined. And this is the point Jesus makes when He rhetorically asks “Which of the two did the will of his father?”.
Now the main application of this parable has a lot to do with surrounding passages and other context, but the general lesson about obedience is clear. Sometimes we all reach a point where felt needs don’t align with responsibilities. In those times, we don’t love what we do anymore, and frankly, we may not even care about it. But that doesn’t mean the work shouldn’t be done.
It’s times like these where duty is the only thing we have. And we get the simple choice of either doing it, or not.
The reason I’m here now is because I’m choosing to do what hasn’t been fun to me for a while.
I’m sure to most people, that probably sounds like torture. But for those who truly desire to make a difference, it’s just duty.
-Drew
Photo by stein egil liland on Pexels.
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