I have a confession to make. I adore a good superhero story.
Spiderman? Love it.
Dr. Strange? Down with it.
Frodo? Absolutely, completely in love.
And I can’t stop at story characters.
There’s something about real-life heroes like Florence Nightingale, Mother Theresa, C.S. Lewis, Rosa Parks, the former Marine I chatted with the other day, and a little girl I know who’s confined to a wheelchair who raised money to help the refugees in my town.
While all these heroes seem totally different from each other (and different from me and you), we ALL have one thing in common:
We are all ordinary.
Spiderman was a college kid; Frodo, a fun-loving, big-footed person; Rosa Parks, a tired assistant tailor; and Florence Nightingale was an underestimated gentlewoman only suited for looking pretty and creating needlepoint.
Not a single one of these bigger-than-life people would have considered themselves worthy of being called a hero.
But they each had a turning point—a moment in time where they were faced with a problem. Frodo was confronted with a ring, Rosa Parks with an injustice, and Florence Nightingale with broken military men.
And when they chose to conquer the problem, they turned from the path seemingly laid out for them.
They chose the hard thing and became extraordinary.
If you’ve been hanging out with me for any length of time, you know that the last few months have been, well, interesting.
I’ve been tempted to allow myself to slip down the easy slope into frustration and bitterness…I’ve even struggled with how to deal with unmet expectations.But I’m beginning to think that my ordinary life has hit a turning point, a moment where I get to choose. Will I walk the path of a frustrated martyr? Or do I choose the hard thing?
But I’m beginning to think that my ordinary life has hit a turning point, a moment where I get to choose. Will I walk the path of a frustrated martyr? Or do I choose the hard thing?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m as ordinary as they come (complete with a pile of dirty laundry threatening to overtake my living room).
But every single one of us has an opportunity to choose differently and become the extraordinary ordinary.
Maybe I won’t ever conquer Mordor or become a famous activist, but I can choose to celebrate truth. I can choose to really listen to my kid’s wandering tale. I can choose to capture moments of silence. I can choose to be a seed of goodness even when I’m tempted to curl into my bed.
You and I have a choice. What will you choose today?