Another Yardstick
© 2008 by Jean-Christine LeGendre

I've been a secular writer for over a decade. I write. I sell. I get paid. It's a very conventional process with an equally clear-cut concept of achievement. The vast majority of writers I know gauge success based on similar criteria: sales, print runs, publisher support, ranking on the various bestseller lists, industry awards, and lay down in the marketplace.

I've never questioned the criteria, but I do avoid measuring my successes against other authors. As in most businesses, there will always be people who've gone farther and those who haven't come as far. Since I can't know the story behind any career but my own, I choose to be pleased when I hear of another's achievements. One thing I do know is that everyone in my business endures rejection. Success is hard won and deserves celebration.

Not so long ago I was part of an encounter that has stuck with me, inspiring me to look at the meaning of success with a fresh gaze.

The encounter began simply enough. I was outside the parish center with the other adults involved with our church's youth ministry, awaiting parents to pick up their kids. We were chatting, and talk eventually got around to a writing award I'd just received. Everyone was genuine in their congratulations, and I remember feeling not only blessed to have been honored by this award but by having such generous people in my life.

Then the conversation moved on to plans for the upcoming vacation Bible school and, with that timing so unique to God, one of our youth overheard the discussion and joined in. Our director asked if she'd be able to help out with Bible school again as she had for several years.

“Wouldn't miss it,” This lively young woman said then surprised us all by bursting into the catchy chorus of a song about having faith. She performed accompanying dance moves, and when she was finished, we all applauded.

“I remember that,” the director said with a laugh. “I wrote that piece a while ago.”

This young performer nodded before running off to catch up with friends.

The entire exchange took only a few minutes, but the melody of that song lingered long after I left church. I wasn't entirely sure why. Admittedly, the tune was catchy, but that was no surprise. The director of our youth program was a very gifted, classically-trained musician-turned-religious who brought so much to our parish. No Christmas bake sale would have been complete without a performance of traditional carols interspersed with tunes from the Beatles and Led Zeppelin performed by our own youth “Bake-Sale Band.” Winter bonfires were always nights filled with prayer, s'mores and a jam session. Our director connected with young people through music, using his gifts to serve Our Lord.

Although the tune eventually faded, the memory of the encounter hasn't. Because that encounter started me on a journey of reevaluating my own successes.

While great sales, even better reviews and prestigious writing awards are all wonderful things, all pale in comparison to the memory of that young girl bursting into song—a song that brought her faith to life and stuck with her even years later.

What a beautiful legacy!

And that's what has me looking at how I gauge my successes--with a worldly yardstick.

Galatians 4: 1-7: I mean that as long as the heir is not of age, he is no different from a slave, although he is the owner of everything. But he is under the supervision of guardians and administrators until the date set by his father. In the same way also, when we were not of age, we're enslaved to the elemental powers of the world. But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to ransom those under the law, so that we might receive adoption. As proof that you are children, God sent the spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying out, “Abba, Father.” So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God.

There's another yardstick: one that'll bring us and others closer to God.