Not every job is a calling.
Life’s too short to spend 50% of our waking hours working a job we hate. It’s also too short to spend 100% of our time chasing our dreams into poverty. Sometimes that means leaving a great job that’s killing us; sometimes that means staying in an ok job that’s providing for us. Most of the time our jobs occur on a sliding scale between fulfillment and provision that we need to respect. The reality of this tension is uncomfortable, but it’s something we need to address in our age of “follow your heart” influencers.
Jobs put money in our pockets, a roof over our heads, food on our tables, and provide healthcare insurance in a marketplace projected to experience an 18% increase in premiums next year. This is important, especially if you have a young family, as we did, when I reenlisted in the Army a second time in 2003. At 24 years old, I had a wife to provide for, a baby at home, a mortgage we couldn’t afford without combat pay subsidies, and a budget that left us $25 a month to buy breakfast at the chow hall after morning P.T. At that point, I had no college, minimal transferable skills, and maximum responsibilities. I needed to provide, and the Army was the best way to do so.
And while I have loved the Army as long as I can recall–and felt called to serve–the truth is, the luster had worn off after five years of grueling ruck marches and long nights in the cold. I didn't reenlist a second time because my heart led me to; I reenlisted because my family needed me to. It was a tough decision, but we made it together for the stability the Army offered us and the possibility for future growth. And it paid off in more ways than I can count, but it wasn’t all rainbows and lollipops that led me to re-up, nor was it Skittles and Snow-Cones from year five to eleven in uniform.
I experienced similar tensions between what I wanted and what we needed when I left the Army to work in healthcare. The mission to deliver premier insights in cancer diagnostics was a passion that drove me. We had lost Kelly’s mother to melanoma, and my dad died of leukemia. But the business of healthcare troubled me. I persisted in that space because I had experienced incredible growth under talented and inspiring leaders, but I had plenty of experiences with the perverse incentives in the market that made my skin crawl. Toward the end, we were making far more than we needed, but I felt like my fire for the mission had softened.
When I left my corporate job with killer benefits to join a startup veteran-serving nonprofit, I was animated by purpose more than pay. The move inflicted a 60% pay cut, but God orchestrated a miraculous provision of the funds we needed to make ends meet and pay for Kelly to attend nursing school. It was a calling and a passion that enriched my life significantly, and I was surrounded by talented people making a difference every day. Those years were lean, but we still managed to cover our needs until our needs changed. Needs come in more forms than purely financial.
By the end of my run at Team RWB, I had been travelling professionally for twenty years – some years I was gone 90%, others 30%. While I’ve always had an expeditionary spirit, averaging 60% travel for twenty years is a terrible way to build a family. I needed to get off the road, and a local career opportunity gave me that option. I’m glad I took the chance, but within a year, the toxic climate showed it was not going to be a sustainable option for me. We went through a lot in those years. God certainly knew what He was doing when He planted me at home. In those two years, Kel and I remarried, our kids were in a school shooting, and I received inpatient treatment for PTSD and Traumatic Brain Injuries. It was a lot. What we experienced at home undoubtedly impacted my work, but what was unfolding in the business didn’t need any additional help from me to begin with.
At the onset of my second year, I could see the writing on the wall and knew my time was limited. Every day on the job was a slog, and I wanted out. I slogged for another year there because the needs outweighed the wants. I needed to provide for my family while Kelly got established at a new hospital, and I felt responsible to the team I had built at Tennyson. In the fall of 2019, I left with no plan outside of a calling to apply to Denver Seminary. At that stage, Kelly provided our health insurance and basic needs, while the V.A. covered the rest through disability pension and post-9/11 G.I. Bill funding. That coverage allowed us to cofound Applied Leadership Partners in 2020.
We are blessed beyond belief, but no casual passengers on a joyride through life. God is not a lottery ticket. We’ve made every hard choice together and prayed our way through every peak and valley since 2012.
I get to serve some of the most talented leaders I’ve ever met every day. I get to apply all my M.Div - Leadership graduate studies to real missions, with real people, doing really important work alongside people I love and respect 24/7. It is the greatest honor of my life, and yes, some days it doesn’t feel like work, but most days it does. Because it is. It still is real work and it fills my cup and provides for our family every day. I pray that for everyone, but I know that’s not the case.
If you made it this far, I suspect there’s something in this short twenty-five-year synopsis of our tension between following your desires and meeting your needs that resonates with you. Perhaps you woke up today and felt that pit in your stomach as you poured your coffee, dreading your morning commute? I’ve been there. Perhaps you’re doodling at your desk, pushing one more task over the goal line while surfing jobsites for an exit? I’ve been there too. Perhaps you’ve felt your heart grow cold for a mission it once burned white hot for, while seeing through initiatives you initiated and aligned teams to achieve? Man, have I been there.
It’s tough, and you’re normal.
Any and all of these expressions are natural in our world, telling us that a fulfilling job is your birthright and the yellow brick road to all your dreams. It’s neither.
Sometimes a job is a job.
