The next seminarian that says, “I don’t care where I get a call . . . as long as it isn’t to Iowa” has another thing coming.
Probably a slap upside the head.
There is a tendency in all of us to think that we are superior to other people, that we are better, more intelligent, more well-rounded than those around us. We think we know more about music, more about the culture, more about politics, literature, theology. Our poor doltish neighbors . . . if only they were as brilliant as us!
Don’t make us hang out in the Midwest; we’re city people, after all. We’re refined.
Don’t send us to pig farmers, cattle ranchers, or grandmas in bathrobes. We’re meant for society, for the opera, for the theatre and jazz clubs.
Don’t make us get dirty, be muddy, or get down in the trenches. We have an image to maintain!
I don’t know what it is in each of us that makes us think we are better than others, than we can’t handle others, that the Lord doesn’t place each of us in the exact spot in which we need to be.
Do I love the peacefulness of Iowa, the smell of rain moving across the countryside, the rustle of corn leaves in the wind, the whistle of a train miles away, seeing the Milky Way each night? Absolutely.
Do I love rush hour traffic? Living in a city made of cement? Smog? Sky scrapers? Eleventy million people? Well . . .
But is it where the Lord has placed me for right now? Yes. And for that reason, it is absolutely perfect.
So suck it up, cupcake. If God sends you to Iowa, you’ll go.
And like it.
(No, seriously. You will. Iowa is awesome.)