Leaving a Rushmore-Sized Legacy Through Small Sacrifices

A reflection on what makes true greatness.

The author (right) with her sister at Mount Rushmore.

Late this spring, some friends of mine invited me to go on a camping trip to Custer State Park in western South Dakota. The nights were cold, almost all of us got sick, and yours truly realized that sitting at a writing desk is not good preparation for seven-mile hikes in high altitudes.

Despite these realities, my camping crew staggered home with many more laughs, memories, and ponderings than we embarked with.

A number of the ponderings came from our visit to Mount Rushmore. Yes, the heads were impressive and inspiring, but even more inspiring was the meaning behind each presidential carving. I was particularly struck by one of the quotes on the interpretive sign by Thomas Jefferson’s bust, taken from a letter written just before the end of his presidential tenure: “Never did prisoner, released from his chains, feel such relief as I shall on shaking off the shackles of power.

Nature intended me for the tranquill pursuits of science, by rendering them my supreme delight. But the enormities of the times in which I have lived, have forced me to take a part in resisting them, and to commit myself on the boisterous ocean of political passions.

I couldn’t help but think what a rare perspective this is in today’s political realm. Hardly ever do we find politicians eager to leave behind the levers of power; instead, they’re often all too eager to ascend to greater heights politically, for both the monetary and influential gains that such heights bring.

Not Jefferson. He couldn’t wait to return to a quiet life on his farm, working to build it, his family, and his own personal knowledge through his beloved books.

Indeed, as Jefferson attests, serving as president and in other positions of political prominence was more of a burden than a privilege, in his mind. Yet he submitted to these roles because he recognized that he had been placed in a time and circumstances that were far greater than his own personal wishes and comfort. To turn away from using his gifts to further the well-being of many around him would be a selfish move and a dereliction of duty.

As I pondered this, I began thinking about how many of us are in a similar position.

“What?!” I can almost hear you say. “Me, in the same position as Jefferson, the writer and a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and the third president of the United States? Hardly! The things I do and the paths I pursue aren’t as influential as the things he did.”

I tend to think the same of my own life. Like Jefferson, many of us have hopes, dreams, and ambitions. Yet we often don’t get to pursue them like we want to. Instead, circumstances constrain us to living lives that seem insignificant, disappointing, and far from what we dreamed.

Consider the stay-at-home mom. She likely feels that her time spent making meals, cleaning the house, and wiping the snot-filled noses of little children seems vastly less significant than the successful career trajectory she was once on.

However, her counterpart, the single career girl, likely feels the same. How can her daily tasks in the workforce—even if they are done for a major firm or an influential boss—really compare to the valuable work of a mother training multiple little lives that may influence generations to come?

Or, consider the blue-collar laborer working in carpentry, truck driving, or landscaping. He may have a brilliant mind that he feels is going to waste in his career, but he labors with his hands day in and day out in order to bring home a regular paycheck to put food on the plate for his wife and children.

And then you have the grandparents who thought that they would enjoy their retirement years but instead are raising their grandchildren. Or the software engineer who is dreaming of being outside, working on a small homestead. Or the—well, you get the idea.

The fact is, pretty much every one of us can look at our own lives and see things we wish weren’t reality. The older we get, the more we can look at our dashed dreams and visions of the future and feel like we’re failures—like we gave up our potential and our own personal comfort and desires for the necessities of those around us.

Jefferson likely felt the same. He probably had times in the bickering reality of politics when he wondered whether his efforts were worth it, asking himself why he was giving up his comfortable life and his true loves for the struggle of birthing a nation. But although he didn’t love this path, Jefferson realized that such sacrifice was worth treading it.

Something similar is displayed toward the end of the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. Here, we find Frodo and Sam settling back into the Shire after their extensive journey and struggles. To Sam’s dismay, he learns that Frodo will not be able to enjoy the fruits of his hard labor, but is in fact dying, leaving behind the things that he loved.

Yet Frodo recognizes that the loss of his dreams was necessary so that others could enjoy freedom and prosperity.

“I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me,” Frodo tells Sam. “It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.”

The same is true for us. Just like the fictional Frodo and the real-life Jefferson, we, too, are often called to do things that we really don’t want to do—things that cause us to sacrifice our own dreams and our own well-being for the good of those who come after us.

Such sacrifice isn’t thought much of today.

“Look out for yourself,” they say. “Take some ‘me’ time,” experts pontificate.

We could take their advice. Or we could press forward, doing the hard, unpleasant tasks, living our lives in ways we never envisioned. Jefferson is living proof that such an approach to life is worth it.

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This article is republished with permission from The Epoch Times.