What Rain Taught Me About Work
A pattering rush of wind and rain lashed against the window of my office rousing me from my work. The UI bug that had occupied my mind receded as I enjoyed the sound, the power of nature just inches away from my chair. My work affords me the luxury of reaching a flow state where time becomes distant, and I don’t take that for granted. Still, the joy of the daily grind is not there.
For the last decade or more, I’ve tried to find joy in my work through learning new skills, accepting new challenges and changing jobs. But to no avail. Work is work—an occupation, financially rewarding, and stable.
Roused by the rain, I got up and walked slowly out the sliding glass door to the back patio. My dog, ever sensible, questioned my sanity as I passed her on the couch. She thinks no decent person would stand outdoors in a rainstorm, especially a windy one. She may be right, but I won’t let that bother me.
The rain fell in sheets. Wind whipped the live oaks, and even caused the palm trees to sway. Refreshing, I thought.
The early rainy season in central Florida is dynamic, exciting, and usually not as frightening as the later months. Standing there with a fine mist hitting my face and raindrops splashing up from the puddle at the side of the patio, I was happy.
This morning, I hadn’t wanted to dive into my work, but this moment of feeling alive, I realized, was brought to me by time in front of a computer solving problems that bored me. The generosity of an employer who supports remote work and flexibility let me leave my office and walk past my judgmental dog. I could enjoy a downpour, and nobody thought less of me (except Daisy).
The work itself needn’t be delightful when its results are.
I struggle to enjoy work each day because I want it to mean more than it can ever mean. Work will never be how I prove my worth. It is not how I protect myself from danger. Work is not my purpose.
My paycheck feeds my family and funds my ability to write simple stories like this. I don’t need to care about the particular work I do, except to do what is good and right. I need not expect work to fulfill me or to express my calling, except the calling to work as a means of provision.
As the rain hit my face, I thought, perhaps this unfulfilled longing for fulfilling work is the Genesis curse in action. At a primal level, work should be fulfilling, shouldn’t it? But in a fallen world where man must eat bread by the sweat of his brow, it is foolish to expect my labor to meet my emotional needs. The beauty of a rainy day reminds me, however, that even in this broken cosmos, work can enable a fulfilling life.
Tomorrow morning as I’m sipping my morning coffee, the stakes riding on my work performance may not be as high as they once were. The knot in my stomach might be a little smaller. I’ll remember, I don’t need to prove my worth—or prove anything at all. Instead, I can just show up, serve, and do what is right.
I have long admired entrepreneurs who create work they love. But that has not been my path. And much to my own detriment, I have believed I was failing because I was not brave, strong, or smart enough to create a business or find work I loved. Instead, line by mind-numbing line, software code has built my home and family. But I’m not here to love work.
I’m here to love and obey God.
