Bricks and towers

Gen 11:4 Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves…”

Gen 12:1 “Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.”

I think about my purpose a lot. Obsessive isn’t the word I would use to describe my fondness with the idea of purpose, but when I say a lot, I mean a whole damn lot. It’s ever present like my shadow, shifting and reacting to the quality of light triggering it’s apparition.

I’d say I’ve been stalked by the desire of greatness my entire life. I remember a conversation with an older cousin when I was a wee babe after he asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Through a wrinkled brow and studied gaze off into the future I expressed that I’d “like to be a pro hockey player, or singer, or actress.” The naivete and pureness of a child’s honesty is astounding, and I wonder if he thought the same when he snorted at my desire to be an actress.

Anyways, clearly from early on I was attracted to the idea of greatness. I don’t remember being desirous of fame or fortune which is usually the madness inducing scent accompanied with those dreams these days, yet I would doubt there wasn’t a gleam of being some sort of hero tucked in with those declarations. Slay the dragon, hoist the cup, face melt a couple thousand with a dirty solo: they still feel right to this day.

And I think about that. Why?

Why is the scent still so effervescent? Why do I still feel that stage planted under my feet hearing the echo of my vocal reverberating off the rafters? Am I just that daft? I’m far past any shot at playing pro hockey, but the glory of winning that last ‘best of 7’ rounds sparkles as clearly as Cinderella’s slipper to this day. WHY?!

FOMO was a term popular in my junior/senior year of high school. Fear Of Missing Out. If you haven’t heard the term, you’ve definitely felt the effects, unless you’re 100% satisfied with all that surrounds you in and out - to which I’d plead you to share and explain. That gut drop that finds you pining to know, join, experience the thing you see in front of you that engulfs your definition of worth is from FOMO. When you don’t experience that thing first hand, you’re wrecked with a heaviness that plays off your fears of insignificance. I think that’s what I feel in many ways.

It’s like there’s a piece of me kidnapped by this elusive figure named “Greatness,” and here on this couch with blinds drawn, I see tracks and traces of that figure taunting me in the movies I watch, the songs I hear, the sports I scream at, and the books I underline words in like I’m on a Scooby Doo chase to unmask the ghoul who’s successfully haunted my mind. Or maybe it’s more like James Bond jumping a dirt bike off a bridge to catch it. Yes, definitely James Bond.

Either way, I haven’t caught it, and that inflicts a ton of interesting shame.

In Genesis 11 we meet a bunch of folks who have this incredible idea to build a tower that will stand proud as tall as God might be able to reach, and will surely thrust them into an everlasting glory with a name chanted across generations akin to Rocky Balboa… but times ten. Then in Gen 12 we see the back side of that shambled attempt at greatness, God asking a man to leave what he knows and step boldly into adventure where his name will be made outside of any activity from his own bare hands. Let’s sit in that for a minute, shall we?

I wonder why these people felt the need to build the tower and be great in the first place? I wonder if it had anything to do with this fear of missing out. Fear of missing out on glory, eternity, value, worthiness, specialness, (enter any other -ness you might know here). I get it, because I have Instagram. Picture by picture, brick by brick, I build this tower of images boasting how good I am at taking pictures or shooting scenes, or how funny I am sliding across my new wooden floor in socks embodying Tom Cruise, or how deep I am taking a picture of a dying rose and talking about times to live and die (yes, all of these can be found on my gallery this moment). All of these bricks I chiseled from my own accomplishments from my own bare hands, and don’t tell me they weren’t. In fact, like them, and for goodness sakes comment too, because they mean nothing unless you’re able to spot the height of my glory from miles away. Do it.

If you don’t, I’m not sure if I’ll ever matter. I’m not sure if I’ll ever make it. Yeah I was told there’s a sort of eternal awe I can take part in as a gift, but I’m not sure that promise is valid so let me just do my best work to hedge those bets with a few floors I can climb for a better view so I know I won’t miss out.

I get it.

Opposite, God tells Abram that his name will shine brighter than anything he could imagine if he puts down the chisel and follows instead. This is where I’ve found myself the last 6 months or so, next to Abram after hearing that invitation drop with a thud thicker than Mr. Cipiti’s 12th grade honors physics text book. Amirite?!

Explore with me, God says, and don’t anticipate any effort on your part except where I might ask you to step next. Let me do this for you while you relinquish any control and power to me, though you can absolutely build something strong and tall (because don’t forget, they were able to actually build a tower - the question wasn’t ‘could they,’ it was 'should they?’).

As I sit here writing, I know my talents are good enough to do 90% of anything I would want. I could build a brand, design an image, sing the theme song, shoot the commercial, and market that product to the world offered to me through social media and the wide open door of commerce. I might even be able to abuse that thing into some semblance of success and fortune - though thankfully I have completely failed thus far. I could totally build a friggin awesome tower, and I’ve been trying for years.

But there’s still that figure eluding me at every step. I’ve yet to clutch what I want so dearly, and as Abram looks inquisitively into the open invitation whistling through that crack in the door, there I stand feeling my own weight sinking through my heels as I contemplate what it means to leave the familiar. Think about it for a minute - what questions do you have at that verse “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you[?]” I’ll list mine:

Go where?
What do I bring?
What do I wear?
Am I going to eat?
How will you show me what’s next?
When I step out of my front door, do I turn left or right?
on and on and on and on

His home, his family, his community, everything around him that he’s had his entire life grounding him in confidence for survival, and God wants him to say bye bye to it. God wants me to say bye bye also to my confident Photoshop abilities, Lightroom, Canon Cameras, lens choices, Premiere Pro, and etc., so that I might follow him to a land I don’t know, where HE will make my name great. I, like Abram, look at that and ask a thousand questions, but the invitation is to go without those loose ends tied up.

To me, it begins to sober my ideas about greatness and God. I very truly used to believe that greatness was a badge of honor, a lighthouse on the bank of worth that would steer wayward glances my way and fill my shores with love, but as I ponder what God offers here I think I’m beginning to see greatness is more of an experience. I think God is beckoning my wonder, teasing out my faith and exciting the possibility of adventure. The point isn’t how well known my name is after the trip, the point is watching the unimaginable unfold before me, simultaneously interacting with the advances from the master. Like a magic trick - pick a card, any card… you have to do the picking of the card, but you have absolutely no idea what to do with it until Mr. Magician starts the abracadabra.

I look back on everything I’ve accomplished thus far in my creative pursuits from music to movies, and I’m tired. I’m exhausted from my pounding on the wall that never falls, or cracks, or shudders at the slightest hint of my balled fist. I used to believe it was a good thing to refuse to quit, and I still do, but at the right motive. Building a tower is a ton of work, and if you quit, the tower will never be built - just the same, a hike to the top of a mountain is a ton of work, and if you stop you’ll never reach the top. One is toil, the other is experience at the hand of effort. I’m more drawn to the latter these days.

I am still pursuing greatness; perfection; mastery. I am firm on the thought, “why do anything if not with all your might?”, however I’m less amused by the shiny glints of popularity, I’d much rather relent to my exhaustion and let more of the current draw my raft. I’ve decided to go. I’m still asking my questions, I’m still wondering what’s next, but neither are hindering my steps forward, and I’ll invite you to do the same.