It’s the other day and we’re on the streets of Uganda, on the morning school run again, this time behind a tanker truck plodding in front of us.
“Danger,” it says in red letters that are big enough. Then, some distance below, near the license plate, “God bless my work.”
Such open prayers and other religious comments are common enough in this part of Africa, often on windshields as much as anywhere else. So I ask the kids about their futures.
Jon wants to a hockey player so he can make enough money to then buy a farm. He’s guessing he might make $200,000 a game to make that possible.
Liz, a teacher, maybe, or a lawyer or a chef. No hurry.
Hannah? Not sure.
A motorcycle passes, the driver, in full garb, standing high on pegs. We’ve seen him often and affectionately refer to him as Evel Knievel.
At least none of the kids wants to jump buses or the Snake River Canyon for a living. But I hope there’s at least some danger in what they finally settle on. Some risk. Some chance-taking.
Because we have only life. One chance at it. And the world is full of people who are very concerned about their living, or lack of, but not so much about their life.
Go for what the market demands is the world tells us. Play it safe. Be careful. Take care.
But there is another way. It’s a way where you discover your great bliss. And not only your great bliss, but how this great bliss can also serve the great needs of the world.
You might have to lose your life, that is pass through at least some danger to find it. But isn’t that a fair trade off? Because really, if you don’t care for your work, why should anyone else?
And where is there any blessing in that?
From the vault, here’s a Spectator piece on this very thing.