Discover Your Significance
Introduction and Prologue
As I deliver this next mini-series of posts, I feel an explanation is in order. In 2014, I self-published a couple of mini-books. They weren’t really good; but, at the time, I was just happy that I had created something. I had been blogging for a little while but it was the first time I actually created an artifact—something that helped a few people enough that it became worth their while to tell me so. Nevertheless, I didn’t do any more with it and let it die on the vine.
Recently, I read Stephen Cope’s book, The Great Work of Your Life and reread, Douglas Wilson’s little book, Ploductivity. Both were good reading with qualification; so, someday, I’ll get around to reviewing those books here. For now, the import of my mentioning them has to do with the fact that these reminded me of that book I self-published over a decade ago. It too was about vocation and calling, titled Discover Your Significance. So, I pulled it up and reread it—oof! Some of you may resonate with the painful experience of rereading your own early work. It’s not good for your self-esteem. I’ll say that much.
However, since I have been contemplating this idea of one’s calling and vocation again, I wondered if there wasn’t anything salvageable—something that would be helpful for people thinking about their purpose and significance in the world. Being aware that it is not the quality of writing for which I aspire today, and that the philosophy is vague and, in some places, shallow, the work still offers some helpful insights, I think. If nothing else, attempting to recover and revive this piece with fresh eyes and a deeper understanding of things as they are, will, at the very least, give me an opportunity to ruminate and write on calling and vocation for a bit.
In the meantime, I am still reworking the manuscript for my book on Christian Humanism, something I haven’t lost sight of. As it turns out, it may be the case there are a couple of books there rather than one very long turgid one. We’ll see. For now, I offer you the refreshed prologue to Discover Your Significance.
Discover Your Significance
Prologue
So, when your eulogy is being read,
with your life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash?
-from The Dash, by Linda Ellis
Shortly after dawn, while the Morning Star was still visible, she exited the warmth of her domicile and scuttled the fifty paces across the garden courtyard, shivering mildly as she went, but not entirely from the cool air. Clutching her cloak and hood, and pulling them tight around her body like a vagrant trying to ward off the cold, she made her way onto the royal avenue and slowed her steps to a dignified pace, never looking up, never allowing her eyes to wander.
"It's a capital offense," she whispered aloud recalling the hushed warning of her handmaid. Realizing she had spoken the words aloud, she scanned the roadway for onlookers. None of the early-morning pedestrians were close enough to hear. She fixed her eyes on the crushed stone leveled neatly under her feet, then straightened herself and hastened her stride. Her heartbeat quickened.
The stones crunched beneath her sandals, woven footwear made of expensive Persian materials, not unlike that of dignitaries—and queens. Her delicate brown feet collected golden dust with each step, emblems of her short journey’s significance. By the time she reached the stone pavement at the entrance of the king's courtyard, the sun had made notable progress in its regular ascent and the streets were filling with common people bound for the market or going about their daily business.
She stopped and lifted her eyes to the large, impenetrable palace doors. Hanging on stone jambs atop a span of stone stairs and stone balustrades decorated in bas-relief were heavy, gold-plated and ornate slabs of cypress. They were intimidating and glorious, like the King who ruled from behind them. Her Majesty would, by now, be seated at the throne, his advisors gathered in the court. Right on time, the doors opened slightly and a courtier slipped out and down toward the opposite landing to greet the day’s first dignitary.
Carefully watching him descend till he was nearly out of sight, the maiden slid back the purple hood that had been hiding her face and she studied her course. Idle soldiers from the palace garrison were gathered talking at the base of the stairs where a fire lit to warm their hands in the night had recently gone out. One of them, an aging warrior with a troll’s face, took notice and gave her a furtive, indecent smirk. Recoiling from his stealthy gesture, she averted her eyes. The old troll laughed and returned his attention to the soldiers’ conversation. Inhaling deeply, she fought off the anxiety that stole her breath and stabbed at her heart. She closed her eyes, now wet with tears, whispered a prayer, and then leapt toward the palace steps.
The troll noticed first and lunged at her. He fell hard dropping his buckler. The soldiers cursed and gave pursuit. Gripping the seams of her robe, she hoisted it high enough to free her feet from its hem and bounded the deep steps two at a time. The soldiers pursued hard, spewing their commands for her to stop. But the paragon of grace ascended with the speed and dexterity of a hunted deer. Her sable hair, now freed from the hood, cascaded and danced behind her as she carried herself up the stone staircase. She could feel the soldiers’ breath as they cursed and demanded her submission. Ignoring their commands, she pressed harder. Perspiration gathered in beads around her temples and her hands turned cold. She reached the palace doors and threw herself at the heavy wooden slabs. The bronze hinges creaked as the heavy doors, barely moving, stopped her abruptly.
The guards grabbed at her cloak but she pushed through the breached entrance into the grand majesty of the palace court. The ringing of iron suddenly pierced her ears as the king’s guard, with swords drawn, seized her. Immediately covering her head with her trembling hands, the maiden fell to her knees, and screamed: "Long live King Xerxes!"
"Wait!" Xerxes shouted, standing from his ivory throne. The soldiers fixed their eyes on their king and waited for his command. The crowned giant descend the few steps, hastened forward, and knelt before the intruder.
"My dear Hadassah," he whispered extending his golden scepter. "For what dire circumstance have you risked your life this day?" Hadassah raised her head, slowly, and gazed into her husband's eyes.
Touching the end of the golden scepter, she whispered the blessing again, "Long live King Xerxes."
Next week, Chapter One: Lessons From a Tombstone