Loading...It has taken me years to learn my value. Graduating from high school in 1980 means I grew up in a time when women were trying to find their place in the world. Most women I knew were teachers, nurses, daycare providers, secretaries, working in retail, or were stay-at-home moms. I didn’t have many models of women serving in leadership roles.
Career opportunities when I went to college felt limited. I knew I didn’t want to be a nurse, and doubted my ability to be a teacher, so when I started at a community college, I thought I would work toward a business degree, anticipating my future work would be in the family sales business, or some kind of retail management.
When I won a writing competition at that community college, with a $250 prize and some recognition, I realized that my long-time interest in literature and writing could be an option as a degree. I pursued and earned an English degree with a writing emphasis, adding a minor in Communication Theory in my fifth year of undergraduate work. Yes, I was an English Major!
I also picked up a fiancé, which might have been an unspoken goal for those years of education.
When I graduated from college, I thought I might want to be an editor, or write a book, but I ended up right where I started—as an assistant manager in small drug store chain. Jeff and I got married. I left that position after bouncing from eight stores in four years and changed jobs to be the manager of a boutique bath shop, working for someone my parents knew.
Working nights and weekends, living paycheck to paycheck, wanting a baby, and ending up in a store that the owner had already planned to close, my next real job landed me working for a printing company for eight months. At the end of my time there, I started my Tupperware business.
Jeff and I had decided early in our marriage that when we had kids, one of us would parent our kids while the other held a full-time job, and that’s what we did.
For fifteen years, I was a pretty good Tupperware lady. I managed a team. With their help, I earned the opportunity to drive a Tupperware van, I was able to make enough money each month to cover our mortgage payments. I trained people at our rallies, I learned how to manage time, and could do a very good demonstration.
When I had parties and sales meetings, Jeff did the parenting, building valuable relationships with our kids.
I loved being home during the day, caring for home and family. I loved being a Tupperware lady. I loved the freedom to be as successful as I wanted to be and especially to be my own boss. I became comfortable speaking in front of an audience. I learned a lot about people and would often become the best friend of my hostesses, listening to their concerns and worries and joys for two or three weeks—I was a safe, short-term person in their life for them to confide in.
People would ask me what I did for a living. “I’m just a wife and a mom,” I’d tell them. And I would find myself sometimes lowering my eyes in embarrassment when I would add, “I’m just a Tupperware lady.”
I’m “just” a wife, a mom, and a Tupperware lady. As if those things were something for me to be ashamed of, maybe because I wasn’t using my education, or because I didn’t work a 9 to 5, or because it might look like I wasn’t successful in the eyes of the world. Or I would be judged for our choices.
It took me years to understand that the choices Jeff and I made to live the life we did was something to be proud of. I may have thought I was “just a fill-in-the-blank” but what I did in each of those roles is more valuable to me now than I ever could have imagined then.
It took someone during my years in seminary to tell me that my career as a Tupperware lady set me up to be a pastoral presence for others. When I looked back on it, that’s exactly what it was. Every time a hostess confided in me, I was being pastoral.
I also learned how to run a business. I learned how to manage my time, to make cold and warm calls, I taught others how to build their own business. I financially helped support my family. I was able to confidently stand in front of people to teach—and to sell—what I believed in. Why not sell my faith in God?
I was reminded that being a stay-at-home wife and mother gave me tools and opportunities others only dreamed of. That some of the freedom I had gave me time to be more active in my church, to attend weekday morning Bible study, to volunteer at school, to be home with our kids to teach them and guide them to be the amazing adults they now are.
My point in telling you this is that I have learned that no one is “just” anything. That even in what some might consider unimportant careers or jobs, or who may believe someone is not living up to society’s view of potential, every little bit, every tiny effort, matters. No one is “just” anything.
So, when the disciples come to Jesus and ask him to give them more faith, or, in other versions of this text, to make them more faithful, Jesus reminds them that they have what they need, and that even if they think they don’t do enough or are enough, they do and they are. Even if they think they don’t have what it takes to go out to tell the world about Jesus, about God, about love, even if they only, even if they just, have faith the size of a mustard seed, it’s enough.
We often judge ourselves by our output, Jesus says. We worry more about if we’ve done enough, and Jesus says that if we’ve done what is asked of us, what is expected of us, and nothing more, we’ve done enough.
We may not realize the impact of our place in this world. We might feel that the work we do, the volunteering we offer, the level of education we have, the place we live, or the choices we have made do not make a difference in our own lives—or in the lives of others. Nothing could be further from the truth.
One day, in one of my seminary classes, we were discussing the difference between a job, a vocation and an avocation. To set the stage, let me define each, according to what AI said online: “A vocation is a person's main job or calling, often pursued with a sense of deep purpose or fulfillment,
while an avocation is a hobby or a secondary activity pursued for pleasure and personal interest rather than pay. Your vocation is the work you do to earn a living and contribute to society, whereas your avocation is something you do in your free time that aligns with your passions. A job is a piece of work performed by someone for payment, serving as the primary vehicle for your vocation.”
The seminary I attended was very justice-oriented, and people focused on equity and fairness much of the time, so this became an interesting conversation. I’m not exactly sure how we ended up there, but someone talked about what some might identify as menial labor—you know, jobs like cleaning, fast food employees, or other low-paying work that makes those doing it seem invisible.
Some of the students were focused on how these jobs are low-paying or might be kind of yucky. And yes, there is some truth in their observations. But I commented that for some people, this kind of work could be their vocation.
I said something to the effect that we don’t know if these kinds of jobs are a way to make money, or if they are an opportunity to serve others. Some people, like Jeff’s aunt, worked in a fast-food restaurant when she retired. She loved the opportunity to be out in the public, to help people, to feel needed. Could that have been her vocation at that time in her life? Of course.
Was she “just” an employee at a fast-food restaurant? No.
Many of my classmates disagreed with me. I said something to the effect of, “Maybe for them, this was their vocation. Just because it looks different, doesn’t mean it isn’t their vocation. We don’t get to decide for them.”
If you ever feel like your faith is the size of a mustard seed or that the things you do in this life don’t matter, please think again. Because it doesn’t take something the size and root system of a mulberry tree to define your faithfulness.
Even the disciples, who walked in this world with Jesus, doubted they had enough faith. But Jesus reminded them that how they walked in this world, the actions they took, the way they treated people, were all reflections of their mustard-seed sized faith.
Isn’t that amazing to consider?
However big your faith is on any given day, you get to share it in the world. You get to smile at a stranger, to express delight with children and animals. You get to treat someone with kindness, to make food for someone you love—even if that’s you!
Every single thing you do in love is an act of faithfulness. Every time you do these things you are doing exactly what God desires. You may feel that you, like the disciples, want more faith, but if you examine your life, your choices, your impact on this world, you might find that you have more than you realize.
You can stand up straight and with confidence, look in the eyes of another with love and proclaim, “I am not ‘just’ anything. I am a beloved child of God. It is well with my soul. No matter how large or how small it may feel, great is my faithfulness.”
Amen.
