In the church calendar, Pentecost marks the start of what is known as 'ordinary time' - we are not building up to Christmas(Advent) or Easter(Lent), and the 50 Days of Easter are over. I struggle with the idea of ordinary time as I have never wanted to be ordinary. I always wanted to be exceptional, to be the best at something, to leave my mark on the world.

As a kid my hero was Bryan Robson. One day I would be the new Robbo. Fearless captain of Manchester United and England, a marauding midfielder who could turn a game round single handedly. I would stand on the Stretford End and watch him lead the team with passion and skill. One day like Robbo, I would be a great goal scoring midfielder, I would play for United and England, I would wear number 7, I would even be 5'10 like he was. Sadly I only reached the dizzy heights of winning the Spring Harvest 5 a side tournament at Butlins (twice!), only got in my school team when some of the lads started smoking weed and couldn't hack it, and worst of all, I only grew to be 5'9. One inch away, but it may as well have been a mile. The dream was dead.

Growing up into adulthood as a young Christian, I was a drummer in a band and longed to be able to play like Martin Neil in Kevin Prosch's band. To have that kind of precision and creativity, to know your drumming actually helps people to experience God, and to be pretty cool at the same time, perhaps this was my true calling. My first experience of recording an album confirmed that this was not the case, as I looked through the glass at the sound engineer after my attempt at a ninth take, he had his head in his hands and was gently rocking back and forth. The album artwork also revealed another issue: I am not cool. Drumming will remain a nice hobby.

Some of my friends and I had an idea to run some youth meetings for Christians in Greater Manchester. These monthly events gathered quite a good crowd and as numbers grew to around 200, I imagined us as the Soul Survivor of the North. Perhaps I could become a world class speaker and host meetings like Mike Pilavachi, and people would laugh at my jokes, and invitations to preach around the world would flood in. Or maybe that was the peak of what God wanted for those meetings, and they would fizzle out as we tried to keep them going longer than we should? We didn't become the Soul Survivor of the North, and I certainly didn't become the next Mike Pilavachi as I had secretly hoped.

Then ten years ago, we started a church. I went on a church planting course and read the great stories of churches that started out in a front room and within two years, were thousands strong. I also heard people tell me that if you start a church in an inner city estate, it's really hard work and it won't grow. I was confident we would buck that trend. I even read books about church planting movements where churches rapidly multiplied around whole regions, and I imagined myself leading such a movement with churches planted all over the North West of England. I would be the Bill Hybels of the inner city church.

(I'm not the Bill Hybels of the inner city church by the way)

We have seen wonderful things happen and many lives changed and an estate transformed in the last ten years, but if you turn up on a Sunday you won't be impressed. Bill Hybels has Willow Creek church, we meet in Willow Tree school, but that's the only similarity. Yesterday there were 25 of us worshipping together. The time before that when I was there, 100 came. We eat food together and talk about Jesus. It's not big or flashy or impressive at all. But I love it.

I'm currently studying for an MA in theology. On Thursday I'm presenting a paper at an academic conference. I now have theological heroes to go with my football/drumming/church heroes. What can I learn from my life so far, when I read about Hauerwas, Moltmann, and Tom Wright, and imagine writing books like theirs and spending my life studying and teaching like they do? I have written myself a memo:

Chris, you're not going to be the next Tom Wright. You're not that clever. Also, you're not charismatic and funny like Mike Pilavachi. You can't write like Don Miller. You can't play football like Bryan Robson. You can't drum like Martin Neil. You are never going to lead a church like Bill Hybels does. You'll never be a great pastor of people like Bob Yule. And that is actually ok. You are ordinary old Chris Lane. You wear glasses that are not as cool as Rob Bell's. And you can't write as well as him either.

Even if you put one sentence on a line like this.

Chris, you are not cool, you are going bald and you're too hairy and you are an ordinary bloke doing your best to be a good husband, a good Dad and a good friend and church leader. Maybe God's trying to tell you to be yourself, and just maybe you are starting to do that after 38 years of trying to be extraordinary. Maybe the best thing you can do is to love the next person you meet, to listen to them, to hear what God might be saying to them, and to pray for them. Then move on to the next person. And perhaps God might want you not to stand out from the crowd but just be ok at everything, and that might just work out well for you. Perhaps it's more important that you spent 5 days just having fun with the kids last week and hardly picking up your phone/iPad/PC, than the fact that this week you're doing 6 preaches and that might make you feel important? Maybe having 25 or 100 people come to a Sunday meeting shouldn't affect your morale so much? Is it not more important that each of those people who did come felt a connection with God and felt loved by his people?

I'm part of a generation who were taught to look for the big bang, to pray for revival, to change the world, to make a bucket list and do it all on our gap years, to live life to the max - to be outstanding and exceptional and be the best - but by definition only a tiny amount of people will be outstanding. The rest of us need to get on with being ourselves, loving the people who we come into contact with, serving others, not waiting for our big break but getting on with living as ordinary people in ordinary time, believing in an extraordinary God.