Significance

I think I was sold a lie.

I grew up in the era of vision. To succeed at life, one had to have a bold vision and clear goals, not just goals, but big hairy audacious goals. I was told to dream big, God has a plan for your life! You can achieve anything you put your mind to.

What a crock of….

I’m pretty sure no matter how much I put my mind to it I’m never going to be a prima ballerina, sorry Mum.

I grew up with a great expectation that God had a huge, special and, let’s face it, better than everyone else’s plan for me. *high five God*

I waited, searched, sang, and when desperate enough read my bible in search for this awesome put Bec on the map plan.

It seemed to escape my attention that maybe God’s plan might be for me to clear the dog poo off the lawn.

I persevered, waiting in expectation for the moment the clouds would part, and God would announce his big hairy audacious plan for my life.

And then nothing….

So I started to find meaning and joy in the everyday of life. That’s a good thing, surely. God can take small offerings and make them great after all. I’m on board with that God, in fact to be honest I don’t have the energy for much more so if you could just zap my meagre offering and make it awesome I’d be pretty happy with that. *Cheers God*.

And so I became content with Instagram validation of my piss weak existence. You go girl, you got this, you’re ok.

Except I wasn’t. Because somehow those roots, those foundations had screwed me over. I had become a grain of sand on eighty-mile beach throwing my hands in the air screaming “what about me! I’m special, I’m significant!”

After all it says in the Bec paraphrased version

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his position of significance and follow me. 

So. What if… it’s not me that’s significant. What if I am a grain of sand?

What if I realised that it is my greatest privilege to bow at the foot of the cross and plead for a cross to bear for his names sake. What if I fell to my knees and asked forgiveness for the sheer arrogance of my search for significance. What if I understood that my only and every significance is in who he is, and that I am deeply, deeply significant to him.

What if my life is to glorify him, not me.

Significance.

Who am I? I am a child of the King.

And yeah, I didn’t grow up hoping to be the palace pooper scooper, but if that job is going I’ll take it, anything to hang out with my King. *Chest bump God*