Moses had to hook up with his God by the burning bush resort and spa.
He couldn’t take his homies along - it was a solo mission.
The superpowers he ended up with were scary - the clan didn’t know if they could trust him - the loneliness was palpable. He didn’t have a Famous Five or a Secret Seven.
He saw the wonders by hisself, and even when he returned with a vision of what life could be like, a vision he struggled to believe in himself, and so struggled to sell to his fellow villagers, his mission was a lonely one.
Each time he had to have a performance appraisal, it was in one of those one-on-one closed session side rooms, where there’s no visitors’ chairs, no one tagging along for moral support - it’s just you and the boss. Then he’d get back to the factory and find the workforce had created a mess. It was hectic man.
That fella Moses, he got the worst deal, man. Forty years tryna keep a bunch of errant peeps on a path that would help them save themselves. Forty years of law enforcement, dealing with their misdemeanours, their grumbling and their drama. And after all of it, after all the scary, frank and open conversations with the most terrifying Board Chairman in history, Moses never got to see the retirement benefits that would have been due to any CEO. Heck, he didn’t even get to attend the big reveal party.
That’s what it looks like when you’re chosen. It’s helluva hard and helluva lonely.
So, if you feel like there are some chosen people that you want to bully into leading the charge, remember Moses, and rather lead yourself. Leave them folks alone.
Ask yourself, “Am I the modern day Moses? Can I withstand the alone-ness?”
Because being chosen means being set apart - standing alone.
You don’t get to choose who is chosen.
You only get to answer if you’re the one.
I write to lend you my courage, to help you find the words for the things you feel, but are not yet ready to say. I write to tell the stories of our time, and to edify those whose stories I tell and their audiences.