Rachel asked me an interesting question the other day: “What do you think you’re supposed to do with the rest of your life?”
The query came out of the blue; we hadn’t been talking about the future much as of late, because we were so focused on the present. We were in the middle of prepping for vacation, trying to get things squared away so we could enjoy the trip, and when stuff like that moves to the forefront, it’s easy for the Big Picture stuff to kind of slide.
The question, once asked, hung in the air because I wasn’t ready for it. Rachel took the momentary silence on my part to offer some clarification: “Do you think it’s for checking off the Bucket List, or do you think there’s a larger purpose? Something that’s geared towards helping people?”
Her clarification was helpful, because it immediately scuttled several of the ancillary and useless rabbit trails my mind was trying to pursue. While we’ve been learning as of late about leaving dualism behind, the dualistic framework she presented in that moment was exactly what I needed.
Was the point of my life after cancer to fulfill my own dreams, or to help others fulfill theirs?
I’ve done a lot to help others fulfill their own dreams. I’ve been a minister, counselor, confidant, companion, and/or friend to hundreds of individuals who needed a shoulder to cry on. Rachel and I have often joked that there must be something stamped across my forehead that lets people know I’m a safe space for them, but the truth is I’ve always been open to those kind of people.
Hurting people. Confused people. Angry people. Lost people.
Up until Mother’s Day 2013, when I officially announced that I was leaving full-time ministry to pursue a career as a writer, being needed by the needy was my thing. It’s what made me unique. Made me valuable. Made me an irreplaceable member of the community.
So stepping out of that identity, choosing to pursue who I was meant to be, was a big step for me. It was the first time I truly chose to put me and my family ahead of everyone else.
There was some awkwardness in the aftermath; people kept trying to fit me back into the old box when I was growing beyond it, growing bigger than the small, limited roles people wanted me to fill. It took me awhile to learn to say “no” and mean it; but once I found my “no,” once I could stand on my convictions without wavering, the less I had to deal with people trying to fit me back into the box.
Loneliness followed soon after, but thanks to Rachel and the kids and our pursuit of God in prayer, I came to realize I was never alone. Ever. I always had the Father with me, always had the Spirit of Christ indwelling me, always had the love and support of my wife and children. I was free to be myself because I was surrounded by people who were cheering for me on my journey.
Eventually, I found myself. Found my calling. Understood my gifting and how to use it. Uncovered my voice and learned to speak up when I disagreed. I found a career with a company that saw my potential and who I could become and settled into a season where people poured into me so I could fully live at the level God designed me to live.
I was as happy as I’d ever been. I felt like I had finally figured it all out, worked past all of the kinks and issues and traumas. I felt like I was fully myself, fully alive, and fully integrated as a son of God.
And then cancer.
Turns out, I still had some things to work through, deeper wounds than I’d allowed myself to acknowledge or address. I had tried to paper over some things that required more substantive and lasting solutions. Cancer put me in a position to where those things were before me every day and I had no recourse other than to address them and grow from the experience.
Except, I didn’t want to.
Rachel had to keep kicking me, prodding me, poking me to dig in and face the deeper pains. She, above everyone else in my life, has seen my potential and believed in it since day one—and she’s fought for it every step of the way, both with others and with me. It’s a strange and stupid feeling when you’re fighting against someone who is fighting for your growth and health; eventually, you come to see how you’re being your own worst enemy.
I came to understand that so much of the work I needed to do was on the emotional level. I needed to allow myself the privilege of feeling; the sensation of emotions washing over your body and brain and just allowing that sensation to exist rather than try to combat it or dismiss it with a train of logic. I needed to cry when things hurt; I needed to weep when I was scared or uncertain; I needed to laugh when things were good.
I needed to release a part of me that had been chained for too long because the chaining of my emotions was what allowed me to perpetually serve. I simply denied my own feelings and instead prized and valued the feelings of others as more important.
And while I don’t think that emotional repression caused my cancer, my cancer certainly served as a big fat reminder that by keeping that part of myself buried, I was effectively killing myself every day.
I’m still learning to fully feel, but it’s getting better. I’m not afraid to cry when I talk to people, which is good because crying seems to be the one thing I’ve never done enough of. I can be extremely happy about something and tears will just start flowing to signify my appreciation or joy. It seems weird, but I’m learning to just let them flow because they’re good for me and good for my growth.
Which brings me back to Rachel’s initial question: What was I going to do with the time afforded me after my cancer diagnosis?
Or as one of my therapists put it to me: Who am I going to become now that I can be anyone I want to be?
Do I want to be Bucket List guy, trying to fulfill as many dreams of my own as I possibly can, or do I want to step further into my calling and be someone who reflects back to others their God-given potential and worth?
Honestly, I want to be both.
I have dreams that I want to see come true, starting with the publication of my book, Learning to Write: A Memoir, Manifesto, and Guidebook for Aspiring Writers. I want to hold a nicely designed, nicely produced physical book in my hand that has my name on the cover and spine. I want that for selfish reasons, yes, but the purpose of the book was to help people who have a desire to write but get stuck somewhere along the way. I have no illusions about selling a million copies; I just know that the book will help at least one person move closer to their dream.
So the book is a both/and.
There are a lot of things that I think will end up being both/and because my purpose in life is deeply entwined in helping others with their purpose in life. As I achieve my goals, people will be helped; and as I help people, I will achieve my goals. It’s a lemniscate of purpose.1
I love what I’m learning because it ties in so well with the values and principles that I write about and teach through my work; it’s even reflected in the Zig Ziglar quote that I come back to often as I ponder what I’m writing and to whom I’m writing:
“You can have everything in life you want, if you will just help other people get what they want.”
Go ahead and read it again if you need to. It takes a moment to sink in.
If I invest my life helping others get what they want, then I will get what I want out of life. It may sound manipulative on the first pass (it certainly did to me) but when you pause and allow the truth to sink in, it’s just the message of Jesus phrased differently. If that doesn’t sound right, then take a look at some of Jesus’ teachings:
If you want to be first, you must be the last of all and the servant of all.2
If you want to be great, you must first serve; if you want to be first, you must become as a slave.3
If you want to be God’s beloved child, you must love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.4
Help others, help yourself. It’s a paradox that we have to hold in tension, but it’s a powerful and transformative truth. It’s the truth that, lived out amongst people, really can change your world—and the world at large.
So I’m going to choose to help people—but not just anyone. I had a great conversation with my friend Jesse Barnett yesterday on my back porch, one of those good old fashioned catch-up chats, and we talked about this for a good while. Both of us have a purpose and calling to help people live the lives God made them to live; but that doesn’t mean we’re called to help everyone.
Trying to help everyone is an exhausting, unreachable goal. Everyone is an illusion, a demonic voice in your head that’s trying to trip you up. You can’t help everyone, but you can help someone, especially when they fit the profile of the type of person you’re meant to help.
I’m meant to help people who have put in the work to be good, but lost their way. People who haven’t given up on their dream, but know they need help achieving it. People who want to make a difference in the lives of others but struggle to see how their contributions can help.
I’m here to be a momentary helper, a Good Samaritan that assists you today and provides you tools to take care of yourself when you’ve recovered. In short, I’m here to help people who are stuck and need just a little prompting to get back on the road.
It’s a niche, yes, but I know that it’s the right one for me and my calling. I’ve seen it at work, and it’s a blessing every time. With this clarity of whom I’m to help, there’s freedom and joy to be found in each opportunity that builds my desire to continue helping.
It’s a cycle of goodness that creates momentum and joy all along the way, and it’s the answer to my second-half of life question:
I will help others pursue their dreams and in so doing I will see my dreams come true as well.
This week’s prayer requests:
Jason—I’ve asked the doctors for another paracentesis because the amount of fluid building up in my feet, legs, and other lower regions is too much; the fluid build up is impacting my appetite, so I’m taking in protein more through shakes and drinks than actual food, and I’d like to switch that ratio; I have a small pocket of fluid in my right lung that could be drained, but I’m terrified of having that procedure—I need peace and wisdom to know what to do; the swelling makes moving around a challenging (and tiring) endeavor, so I’d like for it to go away so I can be more active on a daily basis; for me to get my C-PAP machine in and see if it makes a difference in my quality of life.
Rachel—patience and wisdom to deal with me and my slow decisions; for rest and restoration each day; for energy to be mom to Ella and Jon as we’ve entered the slower days of summer; for her continued personal growth and figuring out her second-half of life answer.
Ella—for her to continue her reading binge (she’s blown through several books in just a few days, and it’s been awesome); for her to have strength and stamina for her upcoming ballet intensives; for her to enjoy the downtime of summer and not feel pressure to fill each minute of each day with some kind of activity; for her to continue sitting down with Rachel and I for chats about whatever’s on her mind—it’s a great way for us to learn about her and her thinking, and we love that she feels comfortable enough to just start chatting away.
Jon—for his spiritual growth as a young man—he’s been questioning some things and wrestling with the way certain aspects of our faith were taught/are being taught; for him to continue freely talking to us about spiritual matters, or anything else on his mind; for an easy growth spurt that seems to be heading his way; for healing of his eczema; for him to make the most of his summer down time and enjoy being a kid.
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I’ll wrap things up quickly, since it is summer and there’s lots to do. And I’ll start with this: what are you doing with your second-half life? That’s a bit presumptuous, as some of you may not feel like you’re done with the first half, let alone approaching the second.
But here’s the thing. You don’t know when your halftime will arrive. You don’t know when you’ll be facing the question, Who do I want to be from now on?
In fact, you don’t even need a time marker for that question to resonate with you. You can ask it of yourself right now, and begin making the changes necessary to become the person you want—or were meant—to be.
Maybe you’re meant to be a leader. Maybe you’re meant to be a change agent. Maybe you’re meant to be an exceptional parent. Maybe you’re meant to be good friend. The transformation doesn’t have to be huge or extravagant; in fact, most transformations start small and build from there. Maybe you just need to decide that who you’ve been isn’t who you’ll end up being.
That’s enough.
I encourage you to start searching for your second-half self, and make it a point to get to know that person. You’re going to spend a lot of time and effort becoming them, so you might as well get started now.
As always, thanks for reading. I’ll have a new post for you next week.
Best,
Jason
Yeah, I went word nerd on you. A lemniscate is the official term for the sideways 8 that’s used to represent the concept of infinity: ∞. You get a better idea of the image from the picture that goes with this post.
Mark 9:35, NIV.
Matthew 20:26–27, NIV.
Matthew 5:44, NIV.
Praying for you all and sending lots of love and hugs.
Beautifully written and thoughtful content!! And timely for every person since we are smack dab entering the second half of the year. Thank you for listing your prayer request updates also! -Antoinette