But It's Not Fair!

This past Sunday, my pastor started his sermon by reading us the parable of the workers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1-16). I'm very familiar with the story, but a funny thing happened this time around. As we were reading, I thought of it in a totally different way--a way that's very applicable to my state of mind of late. And then the pastor gave the same application in his sermon that I was thinking!


To refresh your memory, the parable is about a man who starts in the morning employing workers for his field. They agree on a day's wages and everyone is happy. But then in the afternoon, he employs some more folks and at the end of the day, pays them the same as the poor slobs who've been slaving away all day. So the first workers, who started out happy and thinking how generous their master was, degenerated into grumbling and complaining and feeling sorry for themselves. The master pointed out that they had been happy until they compared themselves to others. That he had given them a good deal, and that they shouldn't complain just because he wanted to be generous to the late-comers.


Of course, Jesus applies this to the Kingdom of Heaven. He demonstrates that all of us reach the Kingdom through his generosity, and that if someone accepts his gift at the end of their lives or late in the day, they'll attain it just the same as those who have been serving Him their whole lives.


That's the way I've always thought of that parable. The sermons I've heard about it took that approach.

But last Sunday, as I read, I thought about my grumbling and complaining about my so-called writing career. After writing and trying to publish for over 30 years, I have a hard time hearing about others who manage it almost immediately. (Lately I'm even jealous of people who have ONLY been at it for 10 or 15 years!)


I admit it, my attitude is lousy. I don't necessarily get jealous of people with nicer cars or houses or better-paying jobs. But show me a newbie writer with a publishing contract and I go into instant whining mode.


Even worse, some of those newbie folks write a lot better than I do! Talk about adding insult to injury. Why is it taking me so long to accomplish what they've picked up with hardly any work at all? (Add whimper here.)


Picture my surprise when the pastor made the same application to this story, pointing out our tendency to look at others' lives and rewards and engage in a pity party, rather than being grateful for God's generosity.

The parable doesn't explain why some folks have to work longer than others for the same reward. It just focuses on how generous the master was to EVERYONE that he employed, without exception.

My pastor urged us to make a fresh start in 2010. I'm game. Do I have any company out there? (Although come to think of it, most of you previously-unpublished writers who have been reading my blog over the months now have publishing contracts. But I love you anyway. You just might want to invest in earplugs to dampen the sound of the whining.)

Mozart and Me

As you probably guessed from my last post, I've been a little down about my writing and my dreams for the last few days. As I often do in times like this, I reminded myself of the lessons I learned from the movie Amadeus, about what can happen if I want success for myself too much or for the wrong reasons. I decided to re-run a post I ran awhile back on my other blog, The Queen of Perseverance. Hope it helps you, too!

It's been years since I saw the movie Amadeus, but I have to remind myself of some lessons I learned from it at least once or twice a month.

If you haven't seen the movie, here's a brief synopsis. In the beginning, Salieri is an up-and-coming composer who thinks he is writing beautiful music all for the glory of God. Enter Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, a vulgar young man with few morals or redeeming qualities--but with talent that Salieri knows he will never have. Streaming from Mozart, Salieri hears the kind of music that he wanted to write. But why would God give such talent and success to this horrible "creature," instead of to him, who wants to dedicate his music to the Lord?

That question eats at Salieri, until he eventually declares himself God's enemy. He manages to ruin his own life and Mozart's through his bitterness.

It's easy to condemn Salieri, but I have often felt the seeds of those same bitter thoughts starting to grow in me. Have you ever read a book or seen a movie that affected you so deeply that you were astounded by its beauty? That you went around thinking of it for days, feeling it resonating inside you, and yet--you knew it wasn't really worthy?

You know the kind I'm talking about. The stories that leave you grabbing for the Kleenex and rooting for the man to "follow his heart" and leave his wife for his mistress. Or maybe the story is noble, but the writer is an appalling mess. Sometimes I want to ask God--okay, sometimes I do ask God--why do you allow people with such harmful messages to have such talent? I would love to serve you with my gift, and yet it's so paltry by comparison. Why would you allow "them" such success?

And then I remind myself of Salieri. I have to wonder, if serving God had really been his desire, would he have reacted the way he did when he couldn't be the best? Did he really desire God's glory, or his own? And then comes the really tough question--are my motives any more pure than his?

Do you ever ask yourself these kinds of questions? How do we have the necessary drive and ambition to succeed in this writing business, and still keep our focus on God? Have you ever experienced something similar, when you felt that God was clearly choosing the wrong person to carry his message? (In other words, not you!) How do we respond if, even temporarily, God holds us back and chooses to gift someone else?