I’ve been thinking a lot about success in the past few months, as I’ve been promoted at work and appointed at church. I have new responsibilities, new spaces for imagination, and new canvases for creativity. But there’s also a lot more time involved: time at my desk, time on the road, and time out of town. Each of those times functions in contrast to a simple act of being: being present with myself, being present with God, and being present with my neighbors. I feel this cost tangibly and relationally, as measured by five young kids who live two doors down. A very quotable mentor of mine, Rich Lamb, once described “the grace of Rich” as being the moment he walks into his house after being away out of town, the moment when his kids come running and delightedly climb all over him. I thought this was a pretty neat (I use that word intentionally) description, but I did not get. At all. Until these past few months. For whatever reason, these kids love Betsy and I. When walk home and turn the corner onto our block, Betsy remarks, “Ready for our self-esteem boost?” moments before the kids come streaming out of their house to impede our way with their hugs, stories, requests, and the latest installment in my ongoing Spanish lessons. This is the grace of me. This is the grace of me.
And when I’m gone away from home, or when I’m confined indoors to work, I wonder, what is success?
As I dream and imagine and hope and labor for change and transformation among some of the best and brightest young people in our slice of the world, I wonder, what is success? As I work on the big picture, the grand narrative, the five-year goals and outcomes, I pause and again, I wonder, what is success?
How much am I indebted to power that my residual image of greatness is prestige and fame (even fame couched in spiritual overtones)? How much of myself have I sold?
Now, you’d be right to ask me, “How much am I indebted to adulation that I get so moved by a bunch of loud kids who are blissfully unaware of boundaries?”.
But I don’t think my musings of success are simply prompted by an unhealthy attachment to the little ones. No, I’ve sold myself much more deeply and frequently to Prestige, that my allegiance to Adulation comes only through Prestige, not through the graces of the least and the low. I guess you could say Prestige is my pimp, in all the sick and violent ways that that image connotes.
Anyway, Prestige and Adulation aside, what is success? I asked my friend Phil this morning, and talked about success in parenting. His response was (to me at least) profound:
“Success as a parent is never about me. Success is always about them.”
My immediate question: is this principle true in other areas of life and relationships and work? Success is never about me. Success is always about them. Ouch. Take that, Prestige.
Could it be, that success is not about prestige nor adulation. Success is about service. Long, committed, loving, service. Such success is hard to come by. Such success is a precious commodity in our world today.
