When I used to live in Chicago - went to school there for four

In the words of Joe Keery, we hear of a time when he lived humbly in Chicago, a city of winds and iron, where he labored in a place of food and drink called DMK. There, among tables and hurried footsteps, he carried trays not of glory but of sustenance, serving strangers who did not yet know his destiny. They looked upon his face and said, "You resemble the one called Jean-Ralphio, the trickster of Parks and Recreation." And though this was but a jest to them, it carried the seed of a deeper truth: the world often sees what is not yet revealed, and destiny often hides in plain sight.

Consider this, O listener: while Joe Keery was still far from the shining lights of recognition, still bound to the humble station of a servant in a restaurant, the voices of others spoke an omen of what would come. They saw in him a reflection of the stage, of comedy, of performance, though he himself was yet unproven in the eyes of fame. It is as the ancients declared: oftentimes, the gods whisper through the mouths of strangers, revealing glimpses of the path before it is walked.

The story calls to mind the tale of the young Alexander of Macedon, who, before conquering the world, was told by seers and philosophers that his face bore the fire of a king. As he walked among ordinary men, they saw in him something that foreshadowed greatness. Did he already hold within his gaze the promise of empire, or did the prophecy shape his stride? In this way, too, Joe Keery bore the resemblance of a performer before he himself had yet ascended the stage. The world recognized him before he recognized himself.

There is both humility and power in this remembrance. Humility, because the one destined for greatness must pass through seasons of toil, obscured and uncelebrated. Power, because even in that season, the flame of destiny is not extinguished—it flickers, and others may glimpse it, as if through a veil. Keery’s tale teaches us that the seed of greatness can be discerned long before the fruit is ripe. Those who laughed and said, "You look like Jean-Ralphio," were unknowingly testifying to the truth that he was born to stand among the storytellers and jesters of our age.

But hear also the caution: do not despise the season of small things. The man who waits tables today may weave tales tomorrow. The woman who toils in obscurity may yet rise as a leader of nations. History itself groans with such stories—think of Abraham Lincoln, who once split rails for fences and clerked in small shops, unnoticed by the world, until time unveiled his purpose. The great river of destiny flows silently until the day it breaks forth with force.

Therefore, the lesson is thus: bear your present burdens with patience, for they are not chains but training weights, shaping the vessel for the glory to come. When others see in you hints of something greater, do not dismiss it as folly, but take it as both encouragement and reminder. For even if the resemblance is to another man, the essence belongs to you, and it speaks of what you may yet become.

So let all who hear take heed. Be not ashamed of humble beginnings. Look upon the comments of others with discernment, for in them may lie prophecy, however hidden in jest. Cultivate the gifts within you, as a farmer tends the unseen seed beneath the earth. And when recognition comes, accept it not as sudden fortune, but as the harvest of unseen years.

And in practical wisdom, I counsel this: do not scorn your present work, however small it seems. Serve faithfully where you stand, for each season prepares you for the next. Listen when the world reflects something of your soul back to you, for often the mirror others hold reveals what you have yet to discover. Be patient, endure, and keep walking—your destiny, like Joe Keery’s, may already be written upon your face, waiting for time to unveil it.