My Calling Doesn’t Come With A Collar

For years, I profusely labored on the back of an “invisible dump truck” swatting annoying flies. It didn’t make much sense in the natural cause society doesn’t find much significance in ladies that freely choose physical labor. It wasn’t a coveted position. No one stood in line for this landfill type of responsibility. Actually, people took pleasure in tossing contaminants in my direction regularly. It was my job to clean up the mess! It was an automatic chore that assumed the responsibility of my hands. I was the help! 

There wasn’t any glory attached, because there wasn’t a huge demand for “grunt work” found buried beneath discarded debris. It was all mine to claim and onlookers treated me accordingly. They sized me up with extra precaution based on my surroundings. They ignored my heart cause my hands were filled with oversized garbage bags. Consequently, my hands were always full.

I was a self-proclaimed expert at making something out of nothing! In fact, I assumed I was a professional servant, but my view was distorted by my own lack of understanding. I didn’t quite know how to effectively serve. My service was rooted in unhealthy generational habits of self sacrifice. I was a self made martyr raised from the dust of the Quarter Road ashes hidden in the rural sticks of Nash County. There was no evidence of our existence except a small dot on a local map that housed a box where we received mail. Nothing significant grew from our dirt road except for broken dreams of leaving this place a distant memory interrupted by the present reality.

I laugh in the face of adversity though. That dirt road prepared me for warfare. Every time the enemy attempts to trash my dreams, I gain favor from God.

I pick up the pieces of his promises. 

I pick up the pieces of his healing. 

I pick up the pieces of his anointing.

My strength is renewed with every disregarded measure of unbelief left behind by others because it forces me to his word.

My job is not attached to a formal title, a desk, or associated with a superior rank. I am not the general, commander in chief or the lieutenant.

However, I refused to bury myself under the piles of rubbish of man’s opinion. I survived constant criticism by hoarding. I stock piled every ounce of knowledge, wisdom and truth to rehearse on my daily duties. I made a bridge from the broken pieces of liter. Even in doubt, I held on to that mustard seed faith.

Today, I intentionally choose freedom.

My assignment is not attached to a clergy collar, a glass podium or massive public platform. 

My “true calling” is to sprinkle seeds of Jesus everywhere my feet land.

My “service connect” abides in obedience and surrenders in servanthood.

My pen, 

my life, 

and my words is a testament of his daily grace, favor and mercy.

Honored that he chose me to pick up the disregarded pieces tossed aside.

It is an honor to serve,
 even in the trenches.