Lent Day 27 Reflection
Our Children’s Minister, Christina Ferrero, recently contributed to our daily reflections during Lent, and today we have a post to share from Christina’s husband, Jeremy. Employed by Midway ISD, Jeremy is a fountain of knowledge in regards to public education, and although he would humbly deny it, he exhibits a wealth of wisdom when it comes to his pursuit to seek righteousness in his various spheres of influence. Enjoy!
I attempted to embrace the purpose of Lent this year. In the past, I have done the standard thing of giving up something seemingly significant only to find, after forty-six days of Lent, Easter Sunday found Jesus still alive and Jeremy still the same person he was on Fat Tuesday.
This year had to be different.
For the sake of my relationship with God and people, it had to be different.
God asked me this year to give up more than I wanted to give up, and against my better judgment I listened.
This is Day 27, and I know for a fact I have inwardly spoken the words of Isaiah found in Isaiah 2:3:
“Come! Let’s go to the Eternal’s mountain,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
So that we might learn from Him how best to be,
to go along in life as He would have us go.”
I am discovering daily that God knows best. He knows the inner workings of my heart. He knows that I fail, even when everyone around me sees success. He knows that I lie, even when everyone around me hears truth. He knows that I need people, even when I push everyone away. He knows me in my darkest most vulnerable moments.
When I think I know better, God knows precisely how to lead me best. With every step that feels dark and scary and unknown, He is light and strength and wisdom. With every step that is rocky and ugly and vulnerable, He brings a smooth beautiful peace.
All too often, I long to be seen. To do something so big that people around me are proud and amazed; and for longer than I care to admit I have felt insignificant. As my daily tasks of marriage and parenting and teaching come to a close each day, I am left wanting more. Grandeur. Greatness. Something glorious to make me feel significant.
Recently, I read a quote from Paul McCartney that helped refocus my delusional desire:
Think globally, act locally.
So simple, but this basic thought helped me understand that my focus is on the wrong thing.
I understand that it is okay to think big. It is okay to want to make an enormous impact. It is okay to long for significance in a world that needs vision and leadership. But … it is never okay to reduce the importance of the daily grind. It is never okay to view my daily tasks as insignificant; and unconsciously and consistently, that is exactly what I do.
My marriage is my calling. To honor my wife and to let her know that I love her deeply and that she can trust me completely is a task worthy of grandeur.
My parenting is my calling. To raise my boys to be well-balanced, Christ-honoring men who love and respect their mates and seek the peace and welfare of the city is a task worthy of greatness.
My teaching and leadership in public education is my calling. To demonstrate Christ’s love and hope to a generation of students and teachers who, many times, never experience love and hope is a glorious task.
I want to see and be part of the big picture, but significance lies in the daily tasks of my life. I want to think globally, but my global impact will happen when I act at the local level.
As I read the second part of Isaiah’s profound words, I’m reminded that, as I allow God to show me who I’m supposed to be, even my daily focus will be conformed to His will and desire. He will truly show me who I’m supposed to be; and I will go along in life as He would have [me] go.
My world is my mission, and the circumference of my world doesn’t determine its significance.
God created me to be right where I am; and as I live each day, I will embrace my calling and not neglect my local actions because they truly have global implications.
If you enjoyed Jeremy’s writing, then I encourage you
to follow his daily Lenten reflections on his blog.