I mentioned before that I come from a religious background. My family is as unconventional a bunch of charismatic non-denominational Protestants (with a laissez faire evangelical streak) as you’re likely to come across. They have the proud distinction of being in that class of Christians who simply tries to live the book, rather than beat you with it.
That sort of beginning means that despite my current free agent status as regards religion all of my personal metaphors (the one’s not covered by sports) are religious ones.
For those of you in the know, you can imagine how bated my breath is as I sit and wait in my 33rd year for my ministry to begin. After my forty years in the wilderness of New Hampshire and San Francisco I will rise up out of Austin to begin my Great Work.
(My space, my mixed metaphors)
And not for nuthin? But I am the adopted son of a carpenter.
Oh. I know you didn’t click over, but you’re missing out.
After relating a wonderful anecdote about her daughter Tess she asks:
What’s the pig in your panties?
(You know what? I could have lived an entire lifetime without ever having had the excuse to write that question. I feel oddly satisfied now that I’ve had the opportunity…)
What Pig is worth the risk? What Pig is not worth the risk? Distinguishing between the two is important.
And the short answer is?
I have no idea. It drives my wife crazy. It’s part of the reason I started this space to being with. To work it out (in fear and trembling).
What do you do without a focus? A Specialty? A Mission? A Calling?
If you’re me? You hone your skills, and make damn sure that when you do get knocked off your ass you’re ready to go.
So until I do find the pig in my panties? I’m going to help others with theirs. And when The Call comes I’ll be prepared, and there will be people there who will be ready to help.
What’s your Pig? Your Chicken?
What will you risk for them?