The Weight of Worship

The Weight of Worship

In 2004 I arrived. It was the year I accomplished everything on my wish list.

After my high school graduation, I packed up my red Chevy Cavalier and headed to the city. I shook the small-town dust off my Birkenstocks and marched full speed toward my dreams. I pursued my degree with unequivocal focus. I landed my first professional job—one that required credentials after my signature. My true love slipped a ring on my finger. I set up house with wedding gifts and bliss and naivete. I birthed an olive-skinned beauty and named her Claire.

I had all I ever wanted, but I’d never felt so lost.

I sat in our three-bedroom starter house, my baby in my arms, surrounded by the life I’d thought I wanted. But even in the middle of my dream come true, I felt very little joy. Every day I had someone to love me, someone to care for, and a lovely place to live. What more did I need?

How is it possible to arrive at your destination only to discover you are in the wrong place?

Even in this place of spiritual discomfort, I kept reading the Bible. My affection for Jesus grew as I learned more about him. I read the Gospel accounts of his compassion for the sick, his regard for the lowly, his respect for women. My love for him grew as I studied his life and his journey to the cross. Serving Christ took the place of striving for self-importance.

Continue reading at The Glorious Table.


Photo courtesy of The Glorious Table: Photograph © Allef Vinicius, used with permission.