Who—or what—fuels you in your work, your beliefs, your mission?

My husband subscribes to the blog of Seth Godin, a leading marketer who always has such wonderful insights…not only as to how to get the work of our hands and hearts before the world, but which can usually be applied to life too.

In a recent post, Godin talks about what fuels our work, and how that will affect the work itself. Some of the examples he gives are spot-on. For instance, is our work a response to a fear—a reaction? Then what happens to our work when that fear abates? We have to always have some fear to fuel us.

Do we say we’re not interested in something but continue to track or measure or pay attention to it? Then soon it will start to matter.

Do you want to teach someone a lesson or prove them wrong? Then you always have to have an adversary to teach or defeat.

The examples above that Godin gives were about our work. But the moment I read them, I knew they were just as true in life. This struck me especially given this past election year. So much of politics is fearmongering, and so many of our votes are fueled by that fear. We say we have faith that God will provide but obsess over all the “things” we claim aren’t important. So many of the posts we see or make on social media are about proving other people wrong—not just in politics for that one, but in everything. We want to prove that this book I loved is worth reading. We want to prove that our faith has value. We want to prove that we’re right about pretty much everything.

When we let a response to something negative fuel us, we become trapped. Because in order to keep going, we need to keep that negative thing close. Time and again throughout history, we see what happens when people are only reacting to a negative. When they’re not for something so much as against something else. And on the flipside, we see what happens when instead, they’re given something to believe in.

Even that can take on monstrous form, as we see so clearly with Nazi Germany, for example. Hitler didn’t rise to power just because of the fearmongering (though there was plenty) or by unifying the people against an enemy (though he used that too). What really turned the tide was that he gave them something they could be for. In that case, a stronger Germany, a promise that they were a chosen race. He invited them to be part of something great.

And that can be intoxicating. Blinding.

What if, instead, the something we choose to be for is service? That’s what Godin ends his blog post with, because in our work, that’s one thing that will never go away and which doesn’t leave us empty. If we’re working to serve others, then we will always be fueled to continue, because people will always need that service. And that’s also the root of our faith.

Christ came to serve. He tells His disciples not to seek to lord over others, but to be their servant. He invites us to do the same.

It’s why I write, has always been why I write. Do I appreciate that it’s a career and make some decisions based on monetary needs? I do, yes. But even if the money stopped, I would still write. I wrote before I made a dime, I wrote when it cost me instead of paid me, and I will continue to write no matter what, as long as God fills my heart and mind with stories. I worked for years, pouring time and energy and money into figuring out how to get those books into the hands of readers, because I believed that this calling God had put on my heart was worth that sacrifice. Because I believed that books were a service, that the stories He gave me were for a purpose, that He could use them to touch other hearts and lives.

I cannot count the messages I’ve received this summer, as I went through cancer, from people thanking me for my faithfulness in sharing those words and stories. And each one reminded me of why it’s work worth doing, even when I’m tired. Even when I’m sick. Even when each page is a battle and I’m not so sure the words are coming out right. It’s worth it, because my calling hasn’t changed. Because God still wants to use me.

He still wants to use you too. Not to disprove or fan fear or react to some other negative. He wants to use you for something. To direct eyes upward, toward what is good and holy. He wants to use you to bring joy and hope.

But is that what we’ve invited along our journey? Are we walking with Him in faith and joy and hope…or are we walking beside fear and selfishness and naysaying? In this month of focusing on gratitude, let’s take a moment too to focus on the invisible companions in our life’s journey.

Who (or what) is walking beside you day by day? Is that the companion you want…or is to time to reframe, refocus, and serve?

My parish has three churches, each with a different history. There’s St. Mary’s, which was the Italian church. St. Patrick’s, which was (surprise, surprise, LOL) the Irish church. And Sts. Peter and Paul, which was the German church. I imagine back in the day, one wouldn’t think of going to one of the other churches rather than the one you belonged to, ethnically. Today, however, the churches are united and served by the same clergy, and service times always alternate between them.

Though our Sunday church is St. Mary’s, we love to go to daily mass at Sts. Peter and Paul. It’s just…beautiful. Ornate and gilded with soaring ceilings, murals, stunning stained glass, etc. And one of my favorite architectural highlights is at the very top of the church, right above the altar. There’s a gold circle with a dove.

Though none of our other churches have this, it used to be a standard feature in all churches…only, rather than just a gilded disc, it was once an actual hole at the top of the church. Why?

That dove is your clue–it was a hole through which the Holy Spirit was invited to descend and fill the sanctuary. As Christianity spread to colder climes, the hole was merely symbolic…but what a symbol, right?

We know that we don’t need an actual hole in the ceiling for the Spirit to come among us…but you know what we do need? A hole in our lives to let Him in through. We need to make space for Him. We need to give Him an opening. We need to invite Him in, and that’s exactly what those circles open to the heavens were meant to do.

They are the church saying, “Come, Holy Spirit.” And I love going into Sts. Peter and Paul and looking up at that golden reminder–a reminder that I need to say, “Come, Holy Spirit. Come into my life. Walk beside me. Shine Your light in my heart and show me my faults, banish the shadows.

As we recite the Nicene creed, I love to look up at that reminder when we get to the stanza about the Holy Spirit:

I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the Lord, the giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father and the Son,
who with the Father and the Son
is adored and glorified.,
who has spoken through the prophets.

In the Old Testament, we see the Spirit coming upon people almost forcefully. He didn’t dwell with them, but rather visited them. He is the one who whispered those words to the prophets, who made them abandon their humble lives to be the mouthpieces of God. He is fire and wind and that dove descending upon Christ. He is the part of the trinity that came upon Mary and planted Jesus in her womb.

He is the Comforter that Christ promised would not just visit us now and then, but who would dwell with us, leading us every step of the way.

And yet…we are now given a choice as to whether we let Him in. Not just once, but every day. We can ignore His voice. We can close the door, and too often we do, without even realizing it. We don’t have time or energy or desire to focus on the things of God, so we nudge Him out and stop up the gaps through which He comes. We ignore the nudges and the whisper and turn from the burning flame. We are given that freedom, that right.

But I pray that we regularly stop and wonder. We ask ourselves, “Have I invited Him in today?” I pray we always keep that place at the top of our beings open for the Holy Spirit. I pray we let Him fill us, use us, speak through us, speak to us. Jesus promises that the Spirit will always give us the words we need to speak…but first we have to ask Him to do so.

Let’s turn our eyes upward, my friends. And remember to extend that invitation.