I can’t remember a TON about my childhood, but one thing I do remember is spending a lot of my time “playing” work. I would beg my grandma to slip me a few extra deposit and withdrawal slips at the bank so I could use them in my “bank” at home. I would copy my picture books, word for word, because I wanted to be a writer. I’d go around my kitchen, explaining all of the advantages of such-and-such cabinet or color of wood or appliance choice, because, yes, I was wanted to be a kitchen salesperson. (I can’t make this stuff up).
Work has always been tightly intertwined with my identity.
Even before the Fall, there was work. Because of this, I believe that work at its finest is meant to be something wonderful, and not something mundane and life-zapping. Read More