A little death

A little part of me died when I typed in the words, “investment banking analyst.” I felt the death the moment I visualized the kind of work I would be doing in such and such  a company (you know them when you see them, “Capital One” or “First Bank Limited” or “Kwame and Sons LLC”, you know… corporate America) and my attention was slowly drawn to the fact that the job descriptions did not include programming. No programming? Like never again? An imaginary tear rolled down my cheek.

You would never have guessed I felt this strong about software development.

I shrugged my feelings off.  “Look I need a job to move, and I need a job now,” I told myself.

Another part of me died when I realized that I was sending an application to a gaming company. A company that wrote software for video games. Is this what would become of me? A gamer? An employee of so and so entertainment limited? In the name of “going on missions”? I shuddered. Because I am not a gamer. I might be a nerd but video games has never fallen into the list of my pastimes. And I could already foresee the grim days ahead, sitting in a room with white bearded men, who drank coffee and Monster and coded all night. And who lived and ate and drank games and beer. Not only would I not fit in, I would be very unhappy.  But I set my face, sucked in the emotion and replied the recruiter’s email, with what I hoped was enough oomph and excitement to prove to him I was truly interested in working for them. She nudged me, trying to console me, saying “It’s okay if you don’t move, you could enjoy your summer here. You know you’d wanna stay for summer. Because you know who is coming.” But I was not continuing this date with my demons. I needed a break. I put my computer away and turned aside.

Flicking my TV on, I scrolled through my text messages and found the YouTube link to Kari Jobe’s Forever. I let it play. I began to worship. It felt like pushing through high pressure waters. Something like tides. At the sea side. I needed the burden to lift.

Because the mission wasn’t about me. It could never be about me. I was not sending myself. I was not being brave and deciding to defend ideas I had come up with on my own. No, they were His. His gospel. I was just a carrier. He was sending me. And they said how lovely are the feet because there’s not much else I have to do but to go. Going was the part I would play. But He would make the way. He would give me words to say. A place to stay. And since this was the case, I literally had no reason to worry. He would provide. He would send ravens. He would give me the widow’s oil. He would multiply my five loaves. And before I would know it, this mountain would be buried in the sea and five thousand men (not counting women and children) would be changed, their palates satisfied, their mouths and hearts filled with the Bread of Life.

 

And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed. Deuteronomy 31:6

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