I started my college journey in Atlanta at Georgia Tech. It was a fine school filled with wonderful people. But something irked me about it: perhaps the career-focused mentality of my peers, perhaps the engineering-focused mentality of the faculty. But most of all I was irked by Georgia Tech’s lack of snob appeal. It did, after all, admit students with only mediocre SAT scores. So I packed my bags, bid adieu to many loyal friends, and headed to the frozen north where I could realize my true potential in the Ivy League.
Two years later, studying at Brown had lost its luster. The suffocating academic atmosphere hindered true learning and prevented me from tackling the world as I intended. I was taking out student loans the size of small countries to pay for an education that gave me nothing in return other than the constant harassment of professors who didn’t appreciate my work.
In the face of such a dilemma, I did what any reasonable person would have done: failed half my classes, dropped out of school, and moved around the Northeast pursuing various jobs as a financial software developer. A year later, that too had become dull. Back to Brown I went, alone and ashamed, ready to suck it up and finish school.
There is no justice in the world. The professors whose wisdom I had scorned readmitted me to the University I had so disparaged. The friends whose worth I had so casually written off welcomed me back with open arms. The family members who invested years of their lives in helping me succeed academically simply shrugged and re-asserted that they would love me with or without a degree.
This time I think I get it. I’ve learned my lesson. No more running away. For real. Commitment cannot wait until I find the perfect environment in which to pursue the perfect goals. Oswald Chambers claims, “God will never reveal more truth about Himself until you have obeyed what you know already.” That’s tough to swallow. We can travel the world seeking greater and greater accomplishments, but that will not please God as much as a humble acceptance of our current responsibilities.
The great Roman hero Cincinnatus understood his responsibilities. One day while plowing his fields, he was approached by the Senate and offered a job. Rome was under attack, and a leader was needed to unite the nation and fend off her enemies. Cincinnatus hesitantly accepted that leadership role and a six-month term as Dictator. His family would have no food if he was unable to tend his crops for too long, so he had to hurry. A mere sixteen days later Rome’s enemies were defeated, order was restored, and Cincinnatus was a hero. He relinquished his dictatorial position and returned to his farm. Could he have clung to power and gone down in history like Nero or Julius? Could he have used that power to bring prosperity to his family? Perhaps. But Cincinnatus understood his role. When duty to his state was necessary, he served the state. When duty to his family was necessary, he served his family. At some point he surely questioned his commitments. But because he refused to abandon either his country or his family for personal ambitions, he lived the rest of his days as a hero. His rewards were the respect of his community, the love of his family, a statue in Ohio, and a Wikipedia entry.
God commands us to be faithful and committed to those who depend on us. The greatest of His heroes are those who have done so. Ruth promised to care for her widowed mother-in-law Naomi despite the economic ruin it would mean for her. “Where you go I will go,” she said.“Where you die I will die.” Ruth’s legacy has lasted millennia. So has that of Moses, who was told that he would not reach the land of Israel to which he was guiding the Jews who had followed him from Egypt. Rather than retiring or settling down in a comfortable home, Moses continued to toil, trekking through the desert so that his followers and their children could enjoy Israel.
We all depend on one another. Ruth depended on Naomi as much as Naomi depended on Ruth. Moses depended on the Israelites as much as they depended on him. When I left Brown, I left knowing that my professors depended on their students. Now I know that students also depend on their professors. I need them to pursue knowledge and pass on that knowledge so that the world does not fall into the darkness of ignorance. My professors have remained committed to my education; it is only right that I remain committed to them.
So on I trek, sometimes miserable in my toil, sometimes content with God’s guidance. Such is life. None of us know what fruit our commitments will bear. Some of them may be completely barren. Or like Moses, they may bring great joy to others while seemingly leaving us empty handed. But maybe, just maybe, they’ll fulfill God’s plan in a way that is so breathtakingly amazing that it makes everything worthwhile. The only way I’ll know for sure, is to stay committed to what God has put in front of me.
