The Meaning in the Making

I was a quietly angry, angsty young man in my twenties. A low-level broiling frustration always thrummed away under the hood. Like for many at this age, it usually took the form of a generalised frustration at all the apparent injustice in the world, but as righteous as my anger felt, I didn’t understand it because I hadn’t faced it head-on and asked myself what it was trying to tell me. So many of my efforts to change the world for the better ended up being misguided and ineffectual. In my mind, I was slaying dragons, but in reality, I was often just tilting at windmills.

I said earlier that you would hear about Vic again in this book. Now, I want to tell you the most profound thing he ever taught me.

One semester at seminary we had been asked ...