I don’t remember my childhood aspirations.

Although at one point, watching the Olympics, I said, “Mommy, I will do gymnastics. And you will clap.”

My mom doesn’t remember what I wanted to be either. But she did say that I was “quite passionate and zealous” at whatever I did.

I don’t remember any specifics, wanting to be a ballerina. Or a princess. Nah, those were career choices of a normal girl. If I had picked anything it would have probably been a tree-climber. Or a writer. Or an “Illistrater”. But I don’t know what I wanted to do.

But I do remember what I wanted to be. It was probably when I was 8 or 10 or 12 or something. I remember thinking, “Whatever I do, I want everyone in the world to know who Hannah Chupp is.” I aspired to something along the lines of George Washington. Or Coca Cola. Everyone in the world knows what Coke is. I remember hearing how people in India knew the name of Coca Cola, but not the name of Jesus Christ. I remember hearing that and thinking, “Yes. I want to be just like that.”

How blatantly self-seeking. “I want my name to be known by everyone. I want my name to be bigger than the name of Jesus Christ.”

How often I still seek and promote myself. But how horridly subtle now it is. Of course now I shout that Jesus’ name must be proclaimed, but how does my life proclaim it? Jesus Christ, the creator of infinite universe and of my very being, was betrayed, denied, flayed, and condemned by those he had created, tormented by the being he had cast out of heaven, and crushed by the sin that should have damned me.

And what is my response to his glorious suffering for me? *SNOOZE* “I’m too tired to read my Bible this morning.” Honestly? Is that the most I can do?

Let me aspire to be second. (this is my pastor from home)


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