How to Know That Your Work Matters. Really.

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church, creating, doing work that matters, Dr. Peter Steinke, outreach, writing

My recent post “You Are Not Your Job. Really” talked about inspirational “roadblocks” that get us thinking about the meaning of our work. Many people identify so strongly with their job, letting it become an indicator of their worth as a person, that they work long hours and neglect their personal lives in an effort to become “successful.”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about this every once in a while. When time stretches between jobs, I worry that I’m in the wrong profession, making the immediate absence of a job a barometer of my success. Writing assignments = success in this crazy, pointless scenario.

A couple Saturdays ago, I attended a seminar by Dr. Peter Steinke on “Leadership in Anxious Times.” It centered around the church’s role in our changing lives, but much of what Steinke discussed fit easily into everyday life. Steinke regularly counsels churches in crisis – those facing shrinking membership, dealing with internal problems, or uncertain of their significance in our changing culture.

Don’t we all struggle with that every now and then? Our own significance in a changing culture? And if we throw job identity into the mix, it’s even hairier.

What we’re really asking, deep down, is, “Does my work matter? Do I matter?”

Interestingly, Steinke’s answer to these churches (and to us) is the same – it’s not about you.

He turns the focus of each church outward, telling them to interview local leaders – firemen, teachers, hospital administrators – to discover unmet needs in the community. The church can then step in to meet some of those needs. After all, Steinke pointed out, the early church was created and driven by those who served – tending the sick, the poor, the dying – when no one else could or would step in.

I’d guess you feel best when you know your work has helped someone else. I know I do. One of the memories I cherish is when I interviewed a seamstress who sews beautiful doll clothes. My article appeared in the local paper, and a few weeks later, this lady called to thank me. Not for the article, but for the fact that a local organization contacted her after the article ran. They wanted her to give sewing lessons to this group, many of whom suffer from arthritis. The hope was that the classes would serve as double therapy: help for hurting hands and a way for them to sew for others. A great feeling to know that I had participated in that, in some small way.

It’s the intention behind our work that gives it meaning. Not the titles we assume to make ourselves feel important. Whether we work with animals in need, teach at-risk students how to write better, or indulge our love of gardening to grow flowers to share, the result is similar – we’re reaching beyond ourselves to create something better for someone else. 

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Lincoln’s Secret to Great Writing…

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Abraham Lincoln, author, Bixby letter, Gettysburg Address, history, Second Inaugural Address, writing

I enjoy studying our 16th president, Abraham Lincoln. I have shelves of books that examine his speeches and letters, and I’m inspired by the almost-Shakespearean way Lincoln has of funneling deep meaning into few words.

Perhaps his most famous speech is the Gettysburg Address, given on November 19, 1863. Its compassion and straightforward message were exactly what the nation needed, although they wouldn’t fully realize this until after the war, when they would begin to “bind up the nation’s wounds.” Lincoln’s words had gained weight since he first spoke them.

Visiting the Gettysburg National Military Park was a moving experience – I hadn’t expected the battlefield to be so vast, or the stillness to be so powerful. Later, I had the opportunity to stand in the spot where Lincoln stood when he delivered the Gettysburg Address, dedicating the Soldier’s National Cemetery. Being a part of history, even in a small sense like that, is very meaningful.

I’ll always be a great fan of both the Gettysburg Address and Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address. I admire how Lincoln, in both instances, set aside his personal issues to address the nation’s deep needs – not his vision for the future, or his goals for his administration, but what the nation needed at that very moment.

One of my Lincoln favorites is The Bixby Letter, written in 1864 to a widow, Mrs. Lydia Bixby. Expressing his condolences on the loss of her sons during the Civil War, the letter reveals Lincoln’s helplessness as he struggles to console her:

“I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming.

  But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours, to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.”

The Bixby Letter

Authorship of this letter has been debated for years. Some historians think John Hay, Lincoln’s secretary, was the true author; others maintain it was Lincoln. The tone is reminiscent of Lincoln’s other writings – eloquent, yet conveying his humanity and awareness of a wider scope of events. It’s also contested that not all of Lydia Bixby’s sons died in battle – that only two did, while another was honorably discharged and one deserted or died a prisoner of war.

That aside, the writing is powerful and moving, considering the situation under which Lydia Bixby and Lincoln both labored. In a few short sentences, Lincoln conveys almost everything we need to know, leaving us feeling a higher moral purpose. Like good writing should.

But since good writing – and interesting places –  impact each of us differently, I’d like to hear what’s made a difference to you. What has moved you? Filled you with purpose? Called you to action?

The Cinderella Car Wax

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car washing, car waxing, Cinderella, dog, humor, washing, weather, Wisconsin

Not our usual spring weather…

Spring is coming slowly to Wisconsin this year. By now, we normally have temperatures in the upper 40s, sunny days tugging the buds into existence. Lately we’re stuck with grey, damp weather that clings and chills.

But that’s OK.

It delays Car Waxing Day, that morning when I lug the hose reel, thumping across the patio, hose nozzle rattling across the bricks, stopping as I reach my car. It’s followed by the bucket with the car wax, rags, and sprays that promise to shred the bugs off my windshield in a single squirt.

I used to think I was pretty good at waxing my car, but really, I’m not. Washing? Not so much, either.

I try, I really do. I crouch down, rag in hand, scrubbing the offending streaks of salt and dirt that accumulated over the course of a long Wisconsin winter, rinsing them away to dissolve in a puddle in the driveway. Things look so promising at this point.

I wax mostly according to the instructions on the orange Nu Finish bottle, sometimes forgetting to park the car in the shade first, and often being too impatient to prudently apply a coat to one small section, letting it dry before I remove it and carefully start on the next section.

A car, waxed by someone who knows how to wax…

I apparently do this with my eyes closed, though I don’t mean to. After I finish, my car sparkles like Cinderella’s carriage the night of the ball. The next day, it’s a sad looking pumpkin in the driveway, streaks of dried wax clinging to the finish here and there like misplaced ersatz racing stripes.

I thought I got them! I really did! But they pop up for the next week or two, here a streak, there a streak, every where a streak streak.

A few years ago, our church had a fundraising car wash. Our family signed up, and my husband snorted that it was a good thing St. Mark’s wasn’t holding a car wax, too. I had to laugh because he’s right – something bad happens when the orange bottle of Nu Finish is in my hands.

There’s also another ritual that’ll happen once the weather gets warm: the dog loves an outdoor bath.

Thank goodness he doesn’t need to be waxed!

 

You Are Not Your Job. Really.

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calling, career, challenges, Christian, creativity, inspiration, job, John Ortberg, mission, Peter D. Mallett, roadblocks, writing

I haven’t been looking for them, but I’ve been finding what I call inspirational “roadblocks” popping up lately.

Generally, it’s handy when our inspiration arrives in neatly wrapped packages. We gleefully open them, and they propel us into the sky of creativity where our work will burst open like a blaze of fireworks, noticed by everyone on the ground.

But inspirational “roadblocks” thwart our efforts, and for good reason. They’re meant to stop us, to get us to consider just why we’re writing, why we’re painting, why we’re delivering mail to hundreds of customers every day.

Are you doing it for the right reasons?

I was given a great inspirational roadblock by Peter D. Mallet, in his recent post “What is Successful Writing.” When I started writing, did I set out to become the next Ernest Hemingway? The next Agatha Christie? Nah. Although it would be nice, I just wanted my writing to make a difference, and Peter’s post discusses this very well.

A few days later, I picked up a great book, John Ortberg’s “When the Game is Over It All Goes Back in the Box.” Ortberg compellingly points out that there’s a distinction between our job and our calling.

And get this: you are not your job.

I borrow from his book, starting on page 160, to share just how to find your calling. It might be the same as your job, but for those who aren’t sure, I hope this helps.

1) Your Mission Starts Where You Are, Not Where You Think You Should Be. Ortberg says “Sometimes we’re tempted to think that our current position/job/situation is a barrier to our mission, but, in fact, it is where it starts. Being significant is not the same as looking significant…”

2) Your Mission Is Not About You. Ortberg uses Jesus’ lesson “You are the salt of the earth” to demonstrate that salt’s job is to “lose itself in something much bigger and more glorious; then it fulfills its destiny…If I do (something) by myself, for myself, it’s death. If I do it with God, for others, it’s life.” He doesn’t mean we should all rush out and sign up to be missionaries in Estonia; it’s whatever situation you’re in now where you can become “salt.”

3) Your Mission Will Use Your Strengths. “We all have the capacity for (strengths like wisdom, courage, humanity and justice),” Ortberg writes. “But a few of them resonate more deeply in you; they are your ‘signature strengths.'” Use them.

4) Your Mission Will Use Your Weaknesses. Your greatest burdens can become your greatest gifts – if you let them.

5)  Your Mission Will Be Connected to Your Deepest Dissatisfactions. “What troubles you most?” Ortberg asks. “Usually we try to avoid unpleasantness, but if you have a sense that your mission involves helping the poor, spend some time around those in poverty. Allow your emotions to become deeply engaged, and carry with you that fire that things must change.”

I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a kid – I created a family newspaper that I sold to my parents for ten cents a copy. It was colorful and shared the exciting tidbits of daily life in our small home. Unfortunately, it folded after one or two editions, due to lack of interest on the part of the head writer. Still, that fire burned.

Fast forward – now, it would be rewarding to share the joy of reading with a child who’s struggling in school. With an adult who’s never admitted they can’t read, but wants to learn.

Ortberg’s points and Mallett’s ideas got me thinking.

I still need to write, and don’t plan on switching jobs, but it’s good to have an inspirational roadblock to shake up your thought process.

Don’t get hung up on letting your job become your identity. Like Peter D. Mallett and John Ortberg point out, consider why you’re doing your work. It’s great food for thought!