"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens." Ecclesiastes 3:1

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Finding My Purpose

It all started yesterday with one simple question from my husband.

"Hey, how's the blog coming along?"

As I heard the words come tumbling out of his mouth, the dam inside of me broke and my eyes flooded with tears.  I fought them back with everything I had as I mumbled, "It's not.  There hasn't been another post since my first entry."

Even though my back was facing him, he sensed my emotional response right away.  I could tell that he wasn't sure if he should push for more information or just leave me alone.  Obviously treading on thin ice, he pushed.

For the next few minutes, he gently questioned me about why I was so upset.  I answered him, angry at myself for breaking down and even more so because I was listening to myself speak the truth behind my original response.

I was hurt that no one responded to my original post.  I had found myself missing my old blog and I was so sure that God was calling me to start a new one, that it really got me down when I didn't get any reassurance after my first post.  And even when I tried to brush that original disappointment off, it just kept building up inside when no one seemed to notice that I hadn't continued my writing.  Almost an entire month had gone by before my own husband had even thought to ask.

I could tell that he felt terrible as he watched me crumble.  He was feeling responsible for not keeping up with this part of my life, but I knew that these feelings weren't all of his responsibility to bear.  He is busy working hard to pay our bills and even that doesn't stop him from helping out at home with the kids and daily chores that are always leftover from my never-ending to-do list.

Not to mention, he is also trying to start up his own business.

He is a busy, hard working man, and I thank God for him everyday.  But as we have learned over the course of our 14 years together, there's always something that gets pushed to the back burner.  Sometimes it's a chore that takes a year to accomplish, and other times, we forget to follow up with something important to our spouse.

It happens.

This just happened to get pushed to the back burner when I was in the middle of my fourth pregnancy, overwhelmed with emotions and ill-equipped to manage them all on my own.  It really wasn't his fault and I knew that, so I managed to dry my tears long enough to reassure him of it. 

He rubbed my back while I cried to him about my feelings of worthlessness, interjecting every so often to correct me from taking it too far.  He knew I needed to let it all out, even if we both knew better than my obviously unfair self-evaluation. 

I think every stay-at-home mom must go through these valleys.  If we don't keep a steady focus on God's calling in our lives, it's easy to find the time to question our self-worth.  Why wouldn't we, when we allow our minds to reflect on how working made us feel, compared to our worst days at home with our kids?  (Isn't that how we always do it - compare the best days of the past with the worst days of our present?)

When I let myself do this, I drag myself through the dirt and then sit back and wonder how I got to be such a mess.  It's silly, really, but once I realize what I'm doing, I always look up and feel that God is still with me, waiting patiently to clean me off so I can start again.  He never leaves me, even when I'm questioning the purpose of His own creation of my life.

Our God is an awesome God.

So now I'm going to try my best to start again.  Who knows how long it will take me to write another post, but I'm going to try to remember that it doesn't matter.  Life happens.  Things will get busy, kids will get sick, and pregnancy will turn my brain to mush, but one thing will remain the same - God will be with me through it all.  And even when I feel like it's impossible, He will help me find the time and energy to share the moments that He has created for me to share. 

And I will find my purpose in Him.

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