Being raised by middle-class workers who themselves were raised by agricultural laborers, I am familiar with the necessity of work. Growing up, my parents were able to provide what I needed and even what I wanted due to their work ethic and faithful stewardship of finances. They committed a significant portion of their lives to work while still giving their all to their family, community, and church. As a result, they instilled in my siblings and me a strong work ethic and the value of hard work.
I think my parents would agree that regardless of their guidance, I had a natural inclination toward work. I've always been a self-starter, driven to achieve. This was evident as I typically accomplished tasks without being told and led numerous clubs, organizations, and initiatives, both in school, church, and the community. There was no doubt that I enjoyed working.
During my undergraduate studies, I experienced a gradual shift in my perspective. Despite maintaining my reputation as a studious and ambitious leader, both academically and in extracurricular activities, I began to question the deeper purpose behind my pursuits. Although I still valued hard work, I couldn't shake the feeling that the tasks I completed lacked a meaningful impact beyond their immediate completion.
For instance, as an English major (due to Print Journalism being cancelled 😑), I read and wrote about many ancient literary figures. I sometimes found value in their art and even in some of their historical context. But once the work of class discussion was done and the paper was written, I couldn't help but wonder... now what?
For another example, in a recent conversation with my mom, we joked that with each passing day since leaving middle school, we can say, 'Another day has gone by and I've yet to use y=mx+b.'
On a more serious note, I'd reflect on my engagement with certain organizations where a primary reward of participation was obtaining social status. So, after the work of joining, serving, leading, socializing, flaunting, and networking, I found myself questioning: now what?"
After serving as an 'evangelist' for this social organization, representing and promoting their mission, another group of members will come to replace me, and the cycle will repeat with them. Similarly, once I've debated the literary figures of old and presented research about them at conferences, someone else will come along to reiterate or challenge my stance, and the cycle will continue with them.
Even in my post-school career, as I climbed the corporate ladder, earned, spent, and made more money, watch employees come and go, and participated in office culture...I found myself wondering, now what?
But I consider my participation and leadership in various ministry groups as significant. Here, we worked to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ, witnessing the conversion and sanctification of young women who come to the faith and gain an eternal perspective of their lives. Yes, eventually I would graduate and be replaced by new members, and the cycle would repeat after them. But this time, the reward of the work wasn’t temporary.
This time, individuals are left with a firm foundation that serves as the premise and benchmark for everything else in their earthly life. More importantly, they have a heart posture for the next life.
So, I don’t mind working. In fact, God actually commands us to. Yet, He has formed in me a missional desire for the Gospel and for eternity. This does not minimize or negate the work that God can and does do within traditional vocations, or within the mundane or minute details. It’s all needed. But my latest reading of chapters one and two of Ecclesiastes has resurfaced questions and frustrations I’ve suppressed for the sake of maintaining a socially acceptable and palatable perception of “working.”
In these chapters, King Solomon vehemently proclaims that “everything is meaningless.” In its original text, he’s conveying that life is but a vapor or breath as also mentioned in James 4:14. King Solomon, like myself, was frustrated with futile things and the sole focus of our affections being limited to the things on earth that are temporary.
Reflecting on these scriptures brought to mind a question my parents posed a few months back. At the time, it seemed random, yet it's lingered in my thoughts ever since. They asked, "Have you ever thought about becoming a missionary?"
Explicitly? No.
But as I journey through adulthood and mature in my faith, I become keenly aware of my fragility and temporality. It forces me to live life backwards — with the end goal in mind and present decisions subjugated to it. It also requires that I take inventory of the things that I invest in and if those things are wasteful.
Will I ever become a missionary? In many ways, I already am; and still, I am in great anticipation of God calling me, calling us, to more.