I want to tell you a story about service. Not the kind that comes with a uniform or a medal, but the quiet, everyday kind that holds the world together.
This morning, my wife was asked by her boss to come into work. This isn’t unusual; the people she works with recognize her as a sharp, capable person who learns fast. The unusual part is that she, and all of her coworkers, are currently furloughed because of the government shutdown. She isn’t getting paid. But she got up, kissed me, put her jacket on, and went. Because people in remote locations need things, and people in those communities are counting on her to do her part.
I married this woman from my youth because we were made for each other, two chaotically neutral soul mates who finally found their way back. Her desire to be a better person, her unwavering support, her love—it is the very engine of the work I am doing now.
For a long time, I was a broken man. I was an honest person trying to navigate a dishonest world, a world not built for a mind like mine, and the only tool I had for the pain was the bottle. That led to a deep and abiding self-hatred. But the duty to service, the need to do my part, was always there, a faint pilot light in the darkness.
My wife, with her patience and her love, has been the kintsugi for my life. She is the gold that has mended the cracks in my broken foundation. Because of her, the anger that was once a raging fire is now a distant warmth. The animal that used to pace the cage of my mind is now quiet, the hammer to break its glass hidden away for only the most dire of emergencies.
This is what a true partnership is. It is a symbiosis. It is two people, each with their own strengths and their own scars, coming together to build a life that is stronger and more beautiful than either could have built alone. It is a need we all share, but one that many have forgotten in a world that sells us the cheap, easy drug of instant gratification.
There’s an old saying: “Good things come to those who wait.” I am living proof.
I have spent a lifetime in service to others, often without fully understanding why. I just seemed to know, on some gut level, that we all have a fundamental need to belong to something bigger than ourselves.
Service isn’t always a grand sacrifice. It’s not always about running into a burning building. Sometimes, it’s just showing up. It’s serving soup at a kitchen. It’s driving a senior to a doctor’s appointment. It’s going to your job when you’re not getting paid because you know that people in a small town somewhere are counting on you.
It can feel like a sacrifice at first. But if you stick with it, a strange and beautiful thing happens. The work starts to change you. The quiet act of contribution becomes its own reward. And slowly, but surely, things improve. You realize that you are not just giving; you are building.
Service is a payment into your own future. And into the future of your neighbors, your community, and most importantly, your children. It is difficult, grueling at times, necessary, and often the unglamorous work of leaving the world a little better than you found it. It is the only work that truly matters.