May You Live Long Enough

To know the reason you were born

Listen here.

I read a lot of biographies. They are a way to be mentored by people you’ll never meet in person. The author sits down across from you and tells you the truth about their life, and you walk away changed.

That happened to me with Viola Davis’ memoir, “Finding Me.”

If you only looked at where she started, you’d bet against her ever making it out. She grew up in Central Falls, Rhode Island, in the kind of poverty most of us only read about. Rats in the walls. An abandoned building with no running water. She went to school in clothes still damp with urine, because there was no way to wash them. She was abused by people who were supposed to protect her, including her own father and brother.

Viola’s Childhood home

Stop and think about that. A little girl. No water, no safety, no reason to believe tomorrow would be any different. So how does a girl like that end up winning an Oscar?

Two things had to happen.

First, she decided. Somewhere inside her seemingly hopeless existence, Viola made up her mind that she was going to be something more. Not because anyone told her she could be. Because she refused to let her circumstances dictate her future.

Second, someone gave her a chance. When she was 15, a man named Bernard Masterson, who ran a performing arts school, saw her raw talent and handed her a scholarship. That single “yes” set a poor girl from Rhode Island on the road to becoming an Academy Award winner and, eventually, one of the few people alive to win an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony.

Now I have to be honest with you. I didn’t grow up like Viola. I grew up in a middle-class home with two parents who loved me. I never once wondered where my next meal would come from or whether I’d have clean clothes for school. My mom and dad gave us a great life. I had every advantage she didn’t.

And that’s exactly why her story is jarring for me.

Because if you had handed me Viola’s childhood, I’m not sure I would have made it out. Having all your needs met can make you soft. Comfort can make you OK with the status quo.

Not that I didn’t work and strive. I did. I had 31 years in corporate roles. A title, a salary, a calendar packed with meetings. From the outside, it looked like success. On the inside, I was at times one of the walking dead, going through the motions, telling myself that someday…I’ll bet on myself.

It took a brain surgery in 2018 to wake me up. Lying in that hospital bed, I wasn’t thinking about my title or my next promotion. I was thinking about whether I had done anything that actually mattered, and whether I had used the life God gave me for the reason He gave it.

There’s an old Cherokee birth blessing that Viola references in her book:

“May you live long enough to know why you were born.”

It doesn’t just say “may you live long.” It says, “May you live long enough to know why.” There’s a difference between being alive and knowing why you’re alive. Viola knew why. She had to fight through hell to live it out, but she knew.

So let me ask you the question I keep asking myself.

Are you living the life you were meant for? Or are you chasing comfort instead of significance? When do we finally turn the corner and start living for the reason we were put here, instead of for the next thing that makes us feel safe?

I’ll leave you with two questions to think about:

1. What’s the thing you were born to do that you keep putting off because comfort feels comfortable?

2. Who in your life is waiting for a yes? A young person with raw talent and nobody in their corner. The employee everyone else overlooks. You might give them the one “yes” that changes their entire life.

There is a day coming when you will take your last breath. Until that day, I pray that you will fulfill your purpose by serving those who are desperately waiting for your help.

See you next Sunday.

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