Finding Work That Feeds the Soul
One summer in college, I worked three jobs to pay tuition.
First: painting classrooms and waxing floors at the local high school, the smell of chemicals in my lungs, the hum of buffers rattling my bones.
Second: bussing tables at Al Johnson’s, sometimes chasing goats that leapt from the sod roof while tourists laughed and snapped pictures.
Third: the night shift at a cherry factory, picking bruised fruit off the line until the foreman barked I was tossing too many “good” ones.
Door County Cherry Line
By August, I had money for tuition.
But I had no taste left for cherries.
I slept on breaks.
I stumbled through days.
I was not well.
That was work then—relentless, depleting, a grind to survive.
Now, I’ve found a different kind of work.
Work That Heals
It’s still hard.
But not hollow.
I guide kids, teens, and adults in art-making—clay in their hands, color on the page, stories unfolding in paint. It’s work that heals. Work that sparks joy. Work that pulls the human spirit to the surface.
I joke: I work very hard to make it look like I don’t work very hard.
The ancients wrestled with this too:
“All toil is chasing after the wind.” — Ecclesiastes 4:4
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord.” — Colossians 3:23
“Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” — Matthew 11:28–30 (The Message)
Three voices. Three truths. The question is: which voice do we choose when we lift our work each morning?
I’m not the best me yet. My temple of the Spirit is cluttered with second helpings and too much sitting still. But I’m learning to choose the work that feeds others and, somehow, feeds me too. The kind of work that feels less like toil and more like a gift.
What kind of work feeds you, even as it asks much of you?
Tags: #work #faith #calling #joy #grace #ancientwisdom #forming20 #artandlife #insideout #storytelling
Forming 2.0 
Hard work can feel exhausting or fulfilling—it depends on the kind of work we choose. The author went from grueling college jobs that drained body and soul to guiding others in art, a work that heals, sparks joy, and nourishes both giver and receiver.
The lesson: find work that feeds your soul while serving others, and even effort becomes a gift, not a burden.
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Thank you, Livora — you captured it well. I’m curious, what kind of work has fed your own soul most deeply?
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Thank you, Grafmr 🌿 Your reflections always carry such depth—they stir me to think further. For me, the work that feeds my soul most deeply is writing born from quiet reflection and Scripture—where words become both mirror and window, shaping my own walk while inviting others to journey, too.
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I’ve always believed that when we do anything out of duty and obligation, we’ll never be satisfied and we will look for recognition and appreciation. But work done from a heart of service, toils yes, that work births gratitude and the will to continue doing, faithfully and cheerfully. But we are humans and we will grumble, as long as we still remember to be grateful… I know gratitude and grumbling don’t go together 😁….
I liked the verse which says something similar, when we work, we work for the Lord and not man, also to work faithfully in whatever we do… paraphrasing…
I don’t believe I’ve worked hard enough to feel fulfillment…
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Iba, you call yourself less, but your words tell another story — like a queen traveling incognito as a pauper. Your light keeps breaking through, even when you dress it in humility.
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I have no words to express but thankyou Dean. Thankyou does not feel enough. Please know I’m humbled and eternally grateful for your kindness and encouragement.
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Reading this piece pulled me into a quiet place of noticing the small shifts in how life moves us. I had to pause and ponder on this: “Losing a taste for something familiar like cherries”. I’m guessing you aren’t just talking about food here — it feels more like a metaphor for the way seasons change us without warning. What once brought comfort can suddenly feel distant, and in that gap we’re asked to listen differently to ourselves.
I found myself reflecting on how often we hold on to old habits, flavors, or even people, long after they’ve stopped nourishing us. Sometimes it takes a summer, or a single turning moment, to remind us that change is not a loss but an opening.
Thank you for putting words to that subtle space between memory and change. It reminded me that there’s meaning even in the quiet estrangements of life — and that perhaps, in losing one taste, we’re being invited to discover another.
Lately I’ve been cooking meals that don’t quite make sense — I love cooking, but I feel a little lost in this season of change that’s come sooner than I expected. Maybe it’s time for me to slow down, reflect, pray, and counsel my own heart at a pace I’m not used to.
Have a wonderful weekend. Stay blessed.
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Ulrich, you read those cherries like scripture — peeling back layers I didn’t even know were baked in. For me, it was long hours on the line, being scolded for pulling off what I thought were bad cherries, and wondering how anyone would be happy to find those in a pie. After that, I figured maybe I’d better stick to cherries straight off the tree. I never wanted to taste the factory ones again. But you turned it into a parable of change and seasons shifting. That makes me smile — and also makes me pause. Sometimes a reader sees more in the words than the writer ever intended, and maybe that is its own kind of gift. Thank you. Have a blessed week.
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Thanks …… it reminds me of the gospels Matthew, Mark , Luke and John….. how you see and interpret it is in the eyes of the beholder …. I may view it completely differently to what another person may view it but at the end there is something to learn. A season to reflect and wonder the path you are moving towards ✨️
Have a lovely sunday . God bless 🙌 🙏
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