If the world is a garden and each person has a patch of earth to till, shape, and tend to, I think that there is an old, stone house in need of reconstruction on my plot.
What started as a curiosity for old buildings, the stories I would tell myself about them and the magic they had that the pre-fabricated legions lacked, turned into a passion at university. I spent summer breaks fixing up rooms in houses. I’ve dusted off bricks, evaluated shotty mortar jobs, and unclogged pipes. I’ve sanded, repainted, and replaced rotted wood. Washed and reset fragments of pottery. If you cut me, wood glue might spill out. For me, manual work, likely because I spend much of my academic and professional life in socially rigorous settings, refreshes me.
But beyond repairing buildings and clay pots (work both necessary and satisfying because one sees the result), my vocation is to participate in the restoration of people. I plan to give my life to join in with God’s restoration of society – in education, sexuality, mental health, and human relationships.
This is by nature a much fuzzier field of work than replacing tiles. After all, humans are much more complicated than buildings, and it makes sense that the restoration process is often not as visible. Humans are a mish-mash of pride, unpredictability, hope, and brokenness. And whether it is in a coffee shop or a classroom, I find my purpose in witnessing moments of vulnerability and freedom. I have had generous mentors who lit fires of curiosity in me, offered direction in my search for Truth, challenged my view of the world, and it’s my wholehearted desire to give this to the people God puts around me.
I grew up in an environment open to strangers. People – both family and foreigners – were in a constant tumble in and out our front door. For me, this restorative process begins in deep relationships with others, but more specifically with generosity and hospitality. I think there is even a Biblical premise for this – the kingdom of heaven that Jesus talks about is built on accepting God’s relentless grace and living life open-handed. Accepting this has become the hinge point for me in the restoration of my own view of the world, God, and others.
Isaiah 58 talks about how in the breaking of chains and the feeding of the poor, the city becomes a restored and flourishing place. I think this also applies to the spiritual and emotional needs of people.
It is impossible to know the future, but for now, as I work with high school students and young professionals – both believers and not – I hope that God can use me in some way to restore and bind up the brokenhearted by listening, prayer, expressing hospitality in my home and classroom, and knowing when to direct them to more help. Maybe humans are like buildings; they need maintenance and an attentive eye to stay standing.
Randall's Sandals 