Older than Jesus

It’s official: I’m now older than Jesus Christ.

I don’t mean that as sacrilege; it's just a fact.

Jesus accomplished his mission on this Earth in 33 years. Whatever mine is hasn’t been fully accomplished yet, and last week I turned 34. That means that Jesus was able to secure the salvation of the world in less time than it’s taken me to learn conversational Spanish.

Ouch.

You might be thinking that it isn’t fair to compare oneself to God incarnate. That’s a fair point.

But it isn’t the whole point.

I don’t think God expects me to heal lepers, raise the dead or walk on water, at least not before I turn at 37. At minimum.

But here's the thing: if the years from 30-33 were the most productive time of HIS life, I can’t help but wonder if I should have done more with mine.

I often struggle with the question of whether I’m accomplishing anything meaningful in life rather than just going through its motions--paying the bills, working 40-hour weeks, and watching my favorite shows on tv.
I think my law enforcement job is beneficial, but I’m not so deluded as to think that hundreds of other attorneys couldn’t step in and do the same thing I do, some of them better than I.

I started this blog to do something unique, but making jokes about attacking insects and complaining about holidays that fall on a Monday only helps society so much.

It’s easy to look around and get discouraged at the realization that one’s post-graduate dreams won’t be realized. In my 20s, I came to grips with the fact I’ll never be President, or even follow in my dad’s cousin’s shoes as a U.S. Senator, and that no history books would be incomplete for lacking my biography.

In my early 30s, it dawned on me that I’m not likely to ever even be fully financially comfortable, at least in the upper-middle class sense of the phrase.

But none of that really matters.

Contrary to what society likes to tell us, God never called us to achieve success. We’re just supposed to find an activity that feels uniquely our own and give it our all.

There’s a peace in that. We aren’t responsible for our life’s results, only our life’s efforts.

I might or might not achieve fame and fortune and enlighten the world by Just Thinking. But the crazy thing is that if I fail, it won’t really bother me. Five years ago, it used to tear me up inside that I never saw how far writing career could have gone—that I had as much ability as some of my old friends who hit it big but never found a way to try.

Now, I’m at least finding out. If the blog plateaus at 500 monthly views and no one ever pays me to write sports columns, at least I’ll know I did my part. I found something important to me and gave it my best shot.

And that’s what's really important.

I may not have figured out how to turn water into wine, but I’m glad I at least figured out that.