There are two places God speaks the loudest to me: in the shower and in the car.
Today it was in the car.
As I drove to meet a dear couple for dinner I had a passing prayer, “Father, I long to be like one of those mighty heroes who lived and died in service to you. The ones you read about in books.” It’s such a funny thing, because God immediately responded.
I could almost see him, looking out the car windows watching the trees fly by. His chin was rested on the palm of his hand, elbow propped up against the door. Just as my thought was out loud, his was equally just “a thought out loud.” Not looking up from the window, and in monotone pondering, he mused, “I don’t think the saints you hear about in books ever thought much about being the saints you hear about in books.”
I was rather aghast by that, but it was right. He was dead on. I spend so much time dreaming of being a “great man of faith,” that I forget what made them all great. It was the drive to be in the shadows, to be behind the image of Christ, which made them stand out. They were “great” because they worked so diligently to become less important and less great.
I pondered further and asked a follow-up question, “How do I do that?”
His eyes left the window and he looked directly at me. He smiled with gentle compassion at my ignorance, “Don’t overlook the little things.”
To summarize, I want to be famous. I want to be popular and well loved. I want to be the guy interviewed for all the news agencies as a man who loves people. But I don’t want to actually have to do it. I want to love people as a broad gesture. I want to do something notable. Yet God wants me to be less notable. He want me to help my neighbor clean his pool. He wants me to fix my grandmother’s computer. He wants me to clean up cat poop. He wants me to do all the little things in love.
“Oh Lord, teach me to be content with that!”