"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord" (Colossians 3:23). And "the integrity of the upright guides them" (Proverbs 11:3).
These seven stories about vocation, calling and integrity, retold in our own words, include an actor who refused to sell his dream, a teacher whose students became his symphony, a stone cutter who wanted to be someone else, a champion who called his own shot out, a boy whose life changed eight days before Christmas, a parable of three rings and a gladiator who would not be corrupted by power. Each ends with a takeaway for sermons or reflection.
Stories in this collection:
- Sylvester Stallone Refuses to Sell His Dream
- "We Are Your Symphony": Mr Holland's Opus
- The Stone Cutter Who Wanted to Be Someone Else
- An Honest Call: Ruben Gonzalez Rules Against Himself
- Eight Days Before Christmas
- The Parable of the Three Rings
- "Echoes in Eternity": The Integrity of Gladiator
Sylvester Stallone Refuses to Sell His Dream
A true story, though some of the most colourful details come from Stallone's own retellings and are hard to verify.
Sylvester Stallone shot to fame in the film Rocky. But his own story is as remarkable as that of the boxer he played.
Stallone was born in Hell's Kitchen in New York City in 1946. Complications at his birth led doctors to use forceps, which accidentally severed a nerve. The damage left part of his lower face paralysed and gave him his famous snarling look and slurred speech. He spent part of his early childhood in foster and boarding care, was bullied as a child, and was moved between several schools. He has said that at one point he was voted the student "most likely to end up in the electric chair".
He drifted into acting but found little success. For years he scraped by with odd jobs and small parts. Stallone has told how, before Rocky, he was so broke that he sold his beloved dog for a small sum, crying as he did so, and at one stage slept for a time in a New York bus terminal.
His break began on 24 March 1975, when he watched a little-known boxer, Chuck Wepner, fight the world heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali. Hardly anyone expected Wepner to last, yet he battled into the fifteenth and final round before being stopped just seconds from the end. Shortly afterwards Stallone wrote the screenplay for Rocky, by his account in about three and a half days.
When he began offering the script to studios, there was real interest. United Artists saw it as a great vehicle for an established star such as Robert Redford, Ryan O'Neal, Burt Reynolds or James Caan. But Stallone would not sell unless he could play Rocky himself. According to his own accounts, the offers kept rising, reportedly into the hundreds of thousands of dollars, on condition that he stay out of the film, even though he had almost nothing in the bank.
He refused every time. He later said he would never have forgiven himself if he had sold out, and that the film itself was about taking your one shot when it finally comes.
Eventually the studio agreed to let him star, on a small budget of about a million dollars, with Stallone paid modestly. Rocky was released in 1976. It became the highest-grossing film of the year, won the Academy Award for Best Picture and made Stallone a star. By Stallone's account, he later bought his dog back, and the dog appeared alongside him in the film.
Takeaway: Some callings are worth more than security. Faithfulness to what God has called us to do may mean refusing easier offers. "What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?" (Matthew 16:26).
Source: Biographical sources on Sylvester Stallone and Rocky; see also Sopranu's review of Stallone's memoir The Steps.
"We Are Your Symphony": Mr Holland's Opus
The 1995 film Mr. Holland's Opus, starring Richard Dreyfuss, tells the story of a musician who struggles to find success in life.
Glenn Holland dreams of composing a magnificent symphony that will be played by orchestras around the world. The problem is that the real world presents him with bills to pay. So he takes a job as a high-school music teacher, planning to teach for just a few years, save some money and then quit to do nothing but compose.
At first he dislikes teaching intensely. His students are bored, and he is frustrated. But when his wife unexpectedly becomes pregnant, the money set aside for his life as a composer has to go on a house and a growing family. The few years stretch into many.
Over the course of the film we see a remarkable change in Mr Holland. Slowly he comes to love teaching. He finds ways to make music come alive for his students, and to help them discover not only music but also confidence in themselves. Teaching becomes his passion and his source of fulfilment.
Thirty years pass. Budget cuts mean the school's music programme is to be closed, and Mr Holland is being forced into retirement. His great symphony has never been performed, and his dream of becoming a famous composer remains unfulfilled. On his last day he packs up his classroom and heads for his car, believing his life's work has come to little.
On the way out, he hears music coming from the school auditorium. Curious, he goes to see what is happening. When he opens the doors, he finds the hall packed with former students from across three decades. They have gathered to honour him, and an orchestra of his past pupils is waiting to play.
One of those former students, a shy girl he once encouraged when she was ready to give up the clarinet, has become the state's governor. She rises to speak. Mr Holland, she says, had a profound influence on her life, yet she suspects he believes much of his own life was wasted. He was always working on his symphony, the one that was supposed to make him rich and famous. He is neither rich nor famous outside their small town, so he might think of himself as a failure.
But he would be wrong, she says. He has achieved a success far greater than riches and fame. She invites him to look around the room. There is not a life there that he has not touched, and every one of them is a better person because of him. They are his symphony, she tells him: the melodies and the notes of his opus, the music of his life.
Then the orchestra of former students plays Mr Holland's symphony for the very first time, with Mr Holland himself conducting.
Takeaway: Our true life's work may not be the one we planned. Faithfulness in an ordinary calling can shape lives for eternity. "You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts" (2 Corinthians 3:2–3).
Source: Mr. Holland's Opus (1995), directed by Stephen Herek.
The Stone Cutter Who Wanted to Be Someone Else
A tale presented as a Japanese folk story; a well-known version appears in Andrew Lang's The Crimson Fairy Book (1903).
There was once a stone cutter who was dissatisfied with himself and with his place in life.
One day he passed the house of a wealthy merchant. Through the open gate he saw fine possessions and important visitors. How powerful that merchant must be, he thought, and he envied him and wished he could be like him.
To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant. He enjoyed more luxury and power than he had ever imagined, but he was envied and resented by those who were poorer than him. Soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, surrounded by attendants and soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, however wealthy, had to bow low as the procession went by. How powerful that official is, the merchant thought. I wish I could be a high official.
Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in an embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people around him. But it was a hot summer's day, and he grew uncomfortable and sticky in his chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, quite unaffected by his importance. How powerful the sun is, he thought. I wish I could be the sun.
Then he became the sun, blazing down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and labourers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer reach the ground. How powerful that storm cloud is, he thought. I wish I could be a cloud.
Then he became the cloud, pouring rain on the fields and villages until they flooded, and everyone shouted at him. But soon he felt himself being pushed along by some great force, and realised it was the wind. How powerful the wind is, he thought. I wish I could be the wind.
Then he became the wind, tearing tiles from the roofs, uprooting trees, feared and hated by everyone below. But after a while he came up against something that would not move however hard he blew: a huge, towering rock. How powerful that rock is, he thought. I wish I could be a rock.
Then he became the rock, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, proud and unmoving, he heard the sound of a hammer striking a chisel against his hard surface, and felt himself being changed. What could be more powerful than I am, the rock? he wondered.
He looked down, and far below him he saw the figure of a stone cutter.
Takeaway: Envy keeps us restless, always wanting to be someone else. God gives each of us a place and a calling; contentment begins when we accept it gratefully. "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances" (Philippians 4:11).
Source: Traditional tale; Andrew Lang, The Crimson Fairy Book (1903).
An Honest Call: Ruben Gonzalez Rules Against Himself
As told by the motivational writer Denis Waitley; we have not been able to verify every detail independently.
Ruben Gonzalez was one of the leading racquetball players of his day. According to the story, in his first professional tournament he fought his way through to the final.
In the fifth and deciding game he reached match point. Then he hit a superb "kill shot" low into the front corner. The referee called it good, and so did the linesmen. The tournament was his. The crowd was ready to cheer, and his opponent was ready to shake the hand of the new champion.
But Gonzalez hesitated. Then he turned round and told the officials that his shot had in fact touched the floor before it hit the wall. It was not a winner after all.
Because of his own admission, he lost the serve. His opponent went on to win the match, and with it the tournament.
The next issue of National Racquetball magazine featured Gonzalez on its cover. Everyone wanted to know why a professional athlete would disqualify himself at the very moment he had been declared the winner, when no one else had seen the fault.
His answer was simple. It was, he said, the only thing he could do to keep his integrity.
Takeaway: Integrity is doing what is right even when no one else would know. "Whoever walks in integrity walks securely" (Proverbs 10:9).
Source: Denis Waitley, Being the Best.
Eight Days Before Christmas
A true story told by Timothy David, retold here in our own words with his credit.
When did his life really begin? Timothy David says that, if he is honest, it began eight days before Christmas, when he was nine years old. Or, to be exact, nine and a half, and that extra half makes all the difference to a child who wants to grow up fast. The date was 17 December 1986, and he can still replay every moment of that day in his mind, like a video he can rewind and pause but never stop.
It began like any other school day for a boy itching to get out of class. He was quiet and something of a teacher's pet, but school was hardly thrilling. What he remembers most about that year's teacher is that she would stand at the door at the end of each day and kiss every child on the cheek as they filed out, which embarrassed him terribly.
He cannot recall what the weather was like. It seems such a trivial detail now. But they lived in South Florida, so it was almost certainly hot, the kind of heat that turns your skin red. Whatever the sky looked like, he knows it could not have been a beautiful day.
After school he met his little sister, Sarah, at the bike racks, as he did every day. She was two years younger than him and, he admits, probably a lot prettier. They lived nearly two miles from school and had ridden their bikes there and back all that year. Before that they had walked, because there were no footpaths along the road to their house. Both their parents worked full time, and riding home alone felt less like a hardship than a grown-up responsibility. More than that, it was fun.
That day they were in a particular hurry. Christmas was so close that they were sure there might be unwrapped presents hidden somewhere in their parents' bedroom. The plan was to get home before Mum and Dad and sneak a look. Brother and sister were partners in the great and terrible secret mission.
So they rode like mad, past rows of new houses going up in their fast-growing town. New hotels and supermarkets seemed to appear almost every day, and sometimes tour buses rolled slowly by, full of visitors. Royal Palm Beach was a small place growing quickly in those years.
A smiling crossing guard saw them safely across the last big intersection. Just four more blocks. Then they waited side by side for the traffic to clear before crossing to the dirt road where their house stood. Two more minutes and they might get their peek at the presents.
Tim does not know which way he was looking, but he saw a white van coming. It was the last vehicle that would pass before they crossed. He glanced over at Sarah. She was looking down the road the other way. And then he realised her feet were already pushing her bike forward.
He screamed her name and shouted at her to stop. She was in the far lane, almost across. There was a screech of tyres. Sarah never turned her head. He watched her thrown from her bike and sent sliding along the rough road.
The driver of the van leapt out, slammed his door and pressed himself against the side of the vehicle, beating his fists against it in anguish. Sarah lay on the road, not moving.
Not knowing what else to do, Tim shouted to the driver that he was going to get his parents. The man looked at him but said nothing. Tim ran down the dirt road faster than he had ever run, calling for his mum and dad all the way. Their house was the fifth on the right, a small prefabricated home on a hill with a pond in front.
Halfway there he could see the front door open and his mother standing with her hand on her chest. He shouted that Sarah had been run over. His mother flew down the steps and raced down the road in her flip-flops, faster than he had run in his sneakers. She never looked at him or at anything else. All she could think of was reaching her daughter.
Tim kept running to the house. His father was standing in the hallway, strangely still. Tim did not understand why he wasn't moving, so he told him again. Slowly his father went to the phone and began to dial. Then he stopped and asked whether this was some kind of joke.
A few minutes later a neighbour took Tim to her house, and his father hurried off to join his mother. Tim desperately wanted to know what was happening. He felt he belonged with his sister; she was his best friend. About half an hour later a friend of his mother's, Mrs Cramer, came to collect him. Her daughter was the same age as Tim and a friend of both children.
At their house he watched the film The NeverEnding Story almost all the way through, though he spent most of the time crying quietly by himself. Eventually Mrs Cramer came and said it was time to go home. She looked exhausted, and her daughter was sobbing. Tim was simply confused. Nobody had told him anything. He was sure Sarah would be fine. He never doubted it for a moment.
Halfway down the driveway, Mrs Cramer stopped the car and asked her daughter to pick a rose from the bushes in the front garden. The girl cried even harder as she did it.
When they reached Tim's house, there were people everywhere: friends, neighbours, family and police. His father took him by the shoulders and led him to an old wooden swing in front of the house. He sat down beside him and, without any preparation, told him that his sister was dead.
It is not hard to imagine how, for any family that has lived through a day like that, the approach of Christmas, the excitement of children counting down the days, even the sight of brightly wrapped presents, could bring the memory flooding back. Yet out of that loss, Tim says, came something he would carry for the rest of his life.
That, Tim says, is the day his life began. It changed how he thought about people and events. Christmas presents, he learned, are not the most important things in life; family and friends are. He learned to cherish every day, and to make sure the people he loves know that he loves them. Years later he still wept when he thought of his sister and that terrible day. He could no longer clearly picture her face. But he knew one thing for certain: he loved her.
We include Timothy David's story here because it is a painful but honest reminder of how quickly life can change. None of us knows how many days we have, or how many days we have left with the people we love. The things we chase, the presents, the plans, the possessions, can seem so important until a single moment shows us what is truly precious. A life shaped by right values is one that holds people more dearly than things, and does not wait until it is too late to say "I love you".
Takeaway: Tragedy can teach us what truly matters. Our values are shown in what we treasure: not things, but people. "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom" (Psalm 90:12). Tell the people you love that you love them, today.
Source: Timothy David, "Eight Days Before Christmas"; found at Afterhours Inspirational Stories.
The Parable of the Three Rings
Adapted from Nathan the Wise (1779) by the German writer Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, who drew on an older tale found in Boccaccio's Decameron.
In Lessing's play, the Muslim sultan Saladin summons Nathan, a Jewish merchant famous for his wisdom, and puts a dangerous question to him. Your reputation for wisdom is great, the sultan says. You must have studied the great religions. Tell me, which is the true one: Judaism, Islam or Christianity?
Nathan is in a difficult position. If he says Judaism, he may offend the sultan. If he says Islam, he will betray his own convictions. So he thinks for a moment, and then answers with a story.
Once upon a time, he says, there was a man who owned a magnificent ring set with an opal that shimmered with a hundred colours. Its true power was hidden: whoever wore it with faith and confidence would be loved by God and by other people. For generations the ring was handed down from father to favourite son, until at last it came to a father who had three sons and loved them all equally.
What was he to do? Secretly he had a craftsman make two more rings, so perfectly matched to the original that even he could not tell them apart. Before he died, he called each son to him privately and gave him a ring, so that each believed he had received the true one.
But instead of bringing harmony, the rings brought conflict. After their father's death, each son claimed that his ring was the original, and with it the right to inherit. The rings were examined closely, but no difference could be found.
At this point Saladin interrupts. Surely, he says, you are not claiming that the three religions are the same? There are great differences between them. You are right, Nathan replies, but each rests on faith and on the traditions handed down by those we trust. Who can prove beyond doubt that one is superior? But let me finish my story, for it is nearly over.
The quarrel between the brothers grew so bitter that they took it before a judge. The judge listened to each of them. Then he gave his verdict. The true ring, he said, was supposed to make its wearer loved by God and by others. Yet each of you seems to love only himself, and your rings have brought nothing but hatred between you. Perhaps the original ring was lost, and all three of yours are copies. Or perhaps your father, tired of the tyranny of one ring, wanted to love you all equally.
Either way, the judge advised them, let each of you prove the power of his ring by the way he lives: with gentleness, patience, kindness and devotion to God. Then, in generations to come, a wiser judge may give the final verdict.
Takeaway: Christians believe that truth matters and that Jesus is "the way and the truth and the life" (John 14:6). Lessing's parable has long been debated, but it presses a question every believer must face: does my life show the love I claim? "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another" (John 13:35).
Source: Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Nathan der Weise (1779).
"Echoes in Eternity": The Integrity of Gladiator
One of the biggest films of 2000 was Gladiator, directed by Ridley Scott and starring Russell Crowe. It won the Academy Award for Best Picture. At its heart is the Roman general Maximus, a man who holds on to his integrity whatever it costs.
Near the start of the film, the ageing emperor Marcus Aurelius shares his dream that power should one day be returned to the people of Rome. He asks Maximus to become Protector of Rome and see that this happens. Maximus protests that he cannot. He has hardly ever lived in Rome, he is not of the senatorial class, and in any case he does not want power. All he wants is to go home from the war to his wife, his son and his farm.
The emperor replies, in effect, that this is exactly why Maximus must take it: because he does not want it. Marcus Aurelius trusts Maximus precisely because of his integrity.
That integrity stands in stark contrast to the emperor's own son, Commodus, who is hungry for power and will do anything to become emperor, even murdering his father.
Seeing Maximus as a rival, Commodus orders that he, his wife and his young son be killed. Maximus escapes, but he cannot save his family. Captured and sold into slavery, he is forced to fight as a gladiator. He proves far more skilled than anyone he faces in the arena, and eventually arrives in Rome, where his fame with the crowds grows.
When his true identity is revealed, his popularity again makes him a threat to the emperor. Senators who share Marcus Aurelius's dream plot to free Maximus and return him to his army, so that he can march on Rome, restore power to the Senate and then step aside. Like the old emperor, they are so sure of his integrity that they trust him to walk away from power once he has won it.
At the climax of the film, Commodus himself fights Maximus in the arena. Commodus is killed, and Maximus, mortally wounded, dies having kept faith with his old commander's dream.
What lies behind Maximus's integrity? A clue comes early in the film, when he tells his soldiers before battle that what we do in life echoes in eternity. He lives as one who knows that his choices matter beyond this world.
Takeaway: Integrity grows from an eternal perspective. When we know our lives echo in eternity, we can refuse to be corrupted by power. "We make it our goal to please him... For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ" (2 Corinthians 5:9–10).
Source: Gladiator (2000), directed by Ridley Scott; see also Sopranu's review of Gladiator.
Final thoughts
An actor who would not sell his dream, a teacher whose students became his symphony, a stone cutter who learned contentment, an athlete who called his own fault, a boy who learned what matters most, three rings and a gladiator who refused to be corrupted. Each reminds us that our calling is lived out through faithfulness and integrity, often in places we never planned to be.
For further reading on work and calling, Sopranu reviews Cal Newport's So Good They Can't Ignore You and James Martin's Work in Progress.
Where has God placed you, and how can you serve him there with integrity?
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These stories are retold in our own words for teaching and reflection. Sources are credited under each story.