Fire in Our Bones
JUSTIN CAMP
5 min read ⭑
Jennifer and I have three college-aged children. Our eldest just graduated, and he’ll start a one-year grad program next year. Our middle son is a rising junior. And the youngest will begin her undergraduate journey in the fall.
Not surprisingly, with all this college-related activity, the topic of “gap years” comes up sometimes in family conversations. (For those unfamiliar with the term, a gap year is a break students take from their studies, usually after completing high school or college.) And if one of our kids ever got serious about one, I believe its value would hinge almost entirely on the level of intentionality he or she brought to the endeavor.
For example, if said child were to spend a year gaining real-world experience, acquiring new perspectives, building skills and maturity, all while reflecting on what’s most important — maybe by traveling, serving, meeting new people or working on some sort of meaningful project — then a gap year could be of tremendous value.
Giorgione, c. 1477-1510, The Three Ages of Man, c. 1500-1501, oil on canvas
And that got me thinking. What if I were given a gap year? What if you were? Bear with me. Indulge me for just a moment. Imagine if someone dropped upon us the gift of a bonus year? What if someone offered us the boon of 365 days we never expected to get and to live and encouraged us to spend them however we wanted?
If that were to occur (somehow), I think most of us would feel some responsibility to get intentional, too. I think we’d sharpen our pencils and start thinking deeply, praying hard and planning well in order to spend our largesse to its best advantage.
I mean, I doubt many of our bonus-year lists would contain bullets like … • More bingeing Netflix or • More shopping online or • More Candy Crush. No, I think we’d focus on things that could help us become the people we aspire to be: loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle and wise. I think we’d choose things for our lists akin to what teenagers and young adults use to fill out their gap year plans — traveling, serving, meeting people and/or working on meaningful projects.
What do you think your bonus-year to-do list would look like?
But … come to think of it … how would a bonus year like I describe differ meaningfully from the gift of all of our years ahead? How would an unexpected 365 days being wedged into our lives be different from all the days given to us? I mean, how many we get of any of them isn’t up to us — and we can’t know that number. So, it’s all a gift. Every year is a bonus year. And we mustn’t take them for granted; we must try to be intentional with each one.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them (Psalm 139:15,16, ESV).
If I’m honest, though, I think I’ve slouched into giving my time less intentionality than it deserves. A quick audit of the days formed for me reveals some habits that don’t serve me very well. I tend to scroll Apple News beyond what’s necessary to be a thoughtful, informed citizen. And I watch college sports and professional rugby beyond what I need to rest and recharge.
Why? Well, I certainly have a lazy streak. But I also think it’s because my personal mission is shifting — and that’s been disorienting. Things were simpler 15, 10, and even five years ago. My mission then was clear: be the best husband and father I could be while offering my best to a demanding job. But as our family nest empties, things have become murkier.
I know I’ll soon have more time to focus on Jenn and our relationship. What will that look like? I’m not sure. I’m also not exactly sure how to move from being an on-the-scene type dad to more of an over-the-phone- and Thanksgiving/parents-weekend/Christmas/summer type dad. Moreover, while I know I’ll also have more time for my friends, I don’t know what that should look like either.
My new empty-nest mission will undoubtedly resemble the old one. But I think it’ll look quite different in some ways, too. And I haven’t figured out that “different” part, and it’s confusing and uncomfortable not to know the mission. I think that’s why I’ve sometimes felt aimless and defaulted into mindless time-wasters.
But I’ve decided — just now — that I don’t want to do too much more of that.
I don’t want to squander the gift of these years.
Given all of this, an article by Stu Boehmig arrived in my inbox right on time. Boehmig runs Consequential Christianity and used to run Ligonier Ministries. He was also the founding pastor of Orchard Hill Church in Wexford, PA. In his article, he encourages the creation of personal mission statements.
Why do I exist? Why did God create me? Why am I here? What unique mission do I have to fulfill? What does God want me to do with my one and only life? … It might be to be the best mother ever, the best husband and father, the best leader, the best servant. Whatever it is, our mission statement becomes our north star; it’s what fuels us, drives us, and directs us.
When a friend shared Boehmig’s article with our weekly men’s group last week, I knew that a new personal mission statement was just what I needed. And the exercise of refreshing mine turned out to be incredibly helpful. I still don’t know everything. Questions remain. But the process cleared some of the fog, and I’m grateful for that.
Do you have an up-to-date personal mission statement?
According to Boehmig, to be most effective, personal mission statements should be …
One sentence long — “Actually, even a phrase will do,” he writes.
Quite simple — something we can commit to memory and recall easily.
Very personal — capturing ideas that capture our imaginations.
I would argue that statements like these shouldn’t be written alone. To do the best job we can, we need help. We need the loving wisdom of our Father God; we need the guidance and genius of our King Jesus and his Spirit. Therefore, I suggest blocking out some moments when you are unlikely to be interrupted. Then, silence your phone and put it away. Embrace the silence. Pray. And listen for the voice of love.
Justin Camp is the editor-in-chief of Rapt Interviews. He also created the WiRE for Men devotional and wrote the WiRE Series for Men. His writing has also been featured and seen on Charisma, Moody Radio, Focus on the Family, GOD TV, The Christian Post, Crosswalk, Belief.net, LifeWay Men and other media outlets.