Life’s Passion

Could you take your passion in life, right now, and do it for the rest of your life, regardless of whether it ever earned a single cent? Would you continue to share your knowledge with the world for free? Is it worth sacrificing for?

The answers to these questions will help you identify your passion and determine just how passionate you truly are. Words are great, but what about action?

I’ve been thinking for the past two years about work and passion — including the relationship between the two. I’m looking at the idea of a zero-hour workweek, and the existence of true passion. A place where you are so passionate about what you do — your skills, talents and abilities that you share and contribute to the world — that you could care less if you ever earned another cent for it, and you would still sacrifice your time and possibly money to contribute that knowledge to others. Mix this idea with one where your work and play are indistinguishable from each other and you’re paid to merely do what you love. This is the Passionate Zero-Hour Workweek.

What is greatest about this is that anyone can do it. If and only if it is truly your passion and others can see that passion in you. There are people who do this everyday, and they are not all millionaires, but they are all happy — at least in a human sense, and at least temporarily. These concepts do, at first blush, leave God out. However for a Christian, this makes you reliant on God to help — for God to step toward the middle as you approach from the other side — and helps build your relationship with Him further.

I’ve found it takes a few restless nights and a couple heartbreaks to really start to wrap your head around the whole concept. Sometimes, you can’t fully get the idea until you’re at the bottom looking up. At some point, when you get it, and decide you’re dedicated enough and passionate enough to go for it — you’ll jump off the diving board at the top of this skyscraper of thought and you’ll trust God and trust (some of) your built-in instincts to build your own parachute on the way down, deploying it into the wind with enough time to glide over the ocean that separates thinkers from doers and finally come to rest on the other side in the Promised Land.

Turn your thoughts into action and succeed.

Now time stands before me, beckoning to me, asking that I decide what I want.

Money stands before me asking — no, pleading for me to allow it to sit by my side.

Then friends, some closer than a brother and others as mere acquaintances beg silently in their own minds for someone to notice them and give them attention that in one sense, they deserve.

Finally, I turn to look for anyone else who wishes to be with me, by my side, ready to honor any wish my mind would desire.  That’s when I saw him –  a man standing in the shadow of a tree, who now is stepping forward into the glow of the street lamp, silently gazing toward me.  His eyes, tender and still, speak volumes of the thoughts that are on his mind and love that is in his heart.  He steps toward me and places his left hand on my shoulder, and extends his right hand to grab mine.  In a small-town, friendly gesture, I reach out as well and shake his hand.

The whole world suddenly seemed to fade away, leaving only he and I together in the street, staring at each other, speechless.

It took no more than a split second for me to realize whom I had forgotten, but that short moment seemed life a lifetime.  Twenty four years to be exact.  With consciousness and memory returning to the foreground of my mind I realize that I should have come to this man first, to ask him to walk with me and help me make these other, now relatively insignificant decisions.

For some reason, I recall coming to this man several times, needing help, but soon after forgetting to continue growing our friendship.  I hate to label myself as a hypocrite, but I’ve never been fond of it when others do the same to me; befriending me on the weekends only, during the week completely forgetting I even exist.  It seems as though now I’ve committed a personal evil against my fellow man.  Actually, gazing into his eyes again I don’t think this can even be a man.  His compassion flows through his gaze like a fresh spring that, after racing down a mountainside, turns to a larger river and brings life to people, plants, animals and entire civilizations.  Such grandeur from such a small source.  An infinite source.

I begin to recognize the background fading back into the scene, as time, money and friends take their rightful place behind this man.  I noticed, as I dipped my head down to wipe away a tear, that this man carried no luggage, no phone, no computer and no — anything.  He was here by himself.  He needs nothing else to accomplish his mission, and has open arms ready to take my burdens upon him as I was able to identify that these wounds were deep and must not have been properly cared for when they occurred.  They’ve been there for awhile, but were not infected, and didn’t appear to bother the man.  “Perhaps he’s used to them by now,” I thought.  He’s carried so many things for so many people, I suppose he had more important things to worry about than himself.  This is my kind of friend.

After a few more moments, I looked back up and caught his gaze again.  His hand released mine, and he simply asked, “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”  I replied.  I couldn’t think of any reason not too.  He’s been there any time I needed him, regardless of my attitude, actions or my forgetfulness of him.  “I will.” I restated.  “Will you help me?”

“I will never leave you, nor forsake you.” He promised.  He’s told me this before, yet I still forget him.  He is so good to me.  God is so good.