Sometimes I question if my life matters. Regardless of how hard I try, nothing appears to change. Dark forces seem to follow me, undo every good thing I’ve done, and target the people I love most.
In moments of quiet desperation, I contemplate whether the world is better because I am here or not. Have I really made a difference? In my absence, would the darkness have left my loved ones alone?
I believe that God loves me unconditionally and that Jesus has redeemed my life. I know that they regard me like family and that I will spend eternity with them. But at times this life can feel more like a trial than a predecessor to greatness.
The whole world seems to be built on a foundation of sand. All of my efforts are undone by waves that continue to crash, flooding over my efforts, erasing any marks that they existed.
Serving is a key part of our family life. I have spent years trying to teach my kids that the same love poured by God into our lives will flow from us into others as we get involved in their lives. We can help them to receive His love by ministering to their physical needs.
Both of the kids faithfully follow where I lead, sometimes out of choice, and other times out of obligation. They serve well, and I am proud of them. However, as they grow into independent adults, it is hard to tell if they have internalized the lessons I’ve tried to teach.
Are they following me or their own hearts? Will they carry a life of love into the world? Will they be a beacon of hope, or will the waves of this world wash away the sprouting seeds I have spent twenty years nurturing in them?
“Please God, help me. Give me a sign that my faithfulness will be rewarded.”
And he showed me a pair of neglected boots.
Pastor Dustin is the youth pastor at a local church. James attends there occasionally with friends and has bonded with him. He and his wife are expecting their first baby soon and are moving from an apartment into their first house in eager anticipation of a growing family.
He asked for help with the move, and James volunteered. It was scheduled for one of the last lazy days of summer before James’s senior year started. James asked if he could borrow my pickup truck for the day. I gladly told him he could, and that was the last I heard of it.
The night after the move I asked how it went. He grunted something to the effect of “it was all right” and returned to his silence. I wanted more. I needed more.
As movers go, James is a first first-round draft choice. He is big, strong, and experienced. He has been on the other end of furniture I have carried countless times. He is my go-to when I need help. I know his potential better than anyone.
I also know that he can stare at his phone when it’s time to work. He can idly talk to people when help is needed. His inactivity can be interpreted as lack of interest by the person he is serving. In short, he is a typical teenager.
There was no way I could know what happened while he was gone. Did he lead, follow, or get in the way? Had my years of careful instruction and example been worthwhile or wasted?
Kim had been home that day, so I asked her what she knew about his day. She said he hadn’t told her anything either. All she knew was that he had come downstairs, grabbed my truck key, put on his work boots and left. She apologized that she couldn’t give me anything helpful.
Unknowingly, she had given me the hope I had prayed for.
James has had steel-toed work boots for years. He hates wearing them. They aren’t fashionable. They aren’t all that comfortable. He only wears them if I insist on it. Regardless of how many dad speeches he heard about how they protect his feet and allow him to move furniture more efficiently, they sat in his closet with a light coating of dust on them while he wore running shoes or (say-it-ain’t-so) flip-flops.
But not today. He volunteered when Pastor Dustin needed help and then pulled his boots out of the back of his closet. When the day called for leadership, he brought his best game. He had not only heard me, but he had been listening. A seemingly insignificant preparation revealed his desire to serve well. I had made a difference.
I don’t know Pastor Dustin personally. I didn’t know he needed help. James could have stayed home. No pressure from me had motivated him. He could have shown up and followed along. But he didn’t. He decided to lead and give his best. He chose to be a champion to someone in need. A dusty pair of boots revealed his true nature, even if he wasn’t aware it had happened.
Thank you, God.
When things look hopeless, we don’t need God to pull back the curtain and fully reveal all truth and majesty. We only need a glimpse. Hope is the force that keeps us moving forward.
Hope rests between faith and love. We need infinite love but only a tiny, mustard-seed of faith. One soul radiating a measure of hope is enough to inspire the world.
Hope is a light that pierces the darkness. If you stand in a large room that is pitch black except for a candle burning twenty feet away and are asked what you see, the flame will always be your answer. When we have lost our way, even a small light conquers consuming darkness. We are drawn to the light. So it is with hope.
God provides hope to each of us in our own way, just when we need it. He revealed a trivial detail that would only mean something to me. It is the personal nature of a loving Father.
Do I make a difference? Yes, I do.
I know that I make a difference because he tells me so. Whenever I need hope, he will give it to me in a special way.
This time it was a neglected pair of dusty work boots.
