I read an article recently in which a handful of famous actors and musicians shared their thoughts on fame and life in the public eye. Overwhelmingly, they saw fame as a curse, resulting in a lifestyle they never would have chosen for themselves had they calculated the cost. In most cases fame cost them their friendships, their faith in fellow man, and their freedom.
The soul isn’t made for fame, and yet many of us seek some form of it, thinking it will fill all of the empty places inside of us. So often, we already have everything we need to feel full and satisfied, but our eyes grow larger than what our souls can hold. We stretch against an ever-growing hunger.
While fame isn’t a primary motivation in my life, wanting to be known and admired is important to me in ways that, left unchecked, can become unhealthy. It is the sickness of being fallen and human. I have the love of a good man, the blessing of my children, the support of extended family, the soul-connections of deep friendship, and yet I continue to grasp for more.
When will I sit at the banquet table of my life and taste the sweet abundance spread before me?
“Enough is as good as a feast.” A friend wrote these words, and this truth continues to reverberate in my heart like the clear ringing of a bell. I don’t like this word “enough” and like any good American, I have set my life in opposition to it. I like more, bigger, better. Forget “enough”, forget satisfied. I want excess. Fame. Fortune. Feasting.
My idea of fame and fortune looks different than your average starlet’s, no billboards or magazine covers for me, but it is rooted in the same discontent. It is rooted in the belief that my life should add up to more than the everydayness of it. I forget that when I accepted Christ, I chose to live in an upside down kingdom where the last shall be first and the first shall be last. I am called to become less so that Christ may become more in me.
Enough is as good as a feast, my friend told me. This is love expressed through letters, reminding me to be satisfied in my smallness.