pur·pose, pərpəs/

noun

1. the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists.

The age-old question- What is my purpose? Why am I here? About 15 years ago, there was a “movement” in the contemporary Christian community spurred by the publication of Rick Warren’s book The Purpose-Driven Life, which purported to answer the question “What on earth am I here for?” Warren started with the premise that “you didn’t create yourself, so there is no way you can tell yourself what you were created for.”(p. 17)

Armed with the knowledge this book provided, along with the humility, or so I thought, which comes from believing that it’s not all about me, I moved through the next dozen or so years with purpose- I was a wife (maybe the third time’s a charm?), a mother, a lawyer, a student and sometimes teacher of the Bible. I still volunteered at church, was the team mom for baseball, a coach or supporter for other school activities my children participated in. I drove the car pool van, baked the cookies, did the laundry, cleaned the house. During that time I worked as well at various professions-a lawyer, a substitute teacher, a legal assistant, a barista. At one point we moved across the country, and I had the all-important purpose of getting everyone settled into their new environments without giving my own needs a thought-the ever self-sacrificing martyr, doing the right things because, after all, it’s not all about me.

Six years later we moved “back east”, again with a purpose. I thought it was clear why we were coming back – to be closer to family, to help care for my parents, because it was “home”. At first all the “signs” pointed to that being the right decision. Things fell into place- and then they fell out of place. My mother, who was so excited about having all her children close by again, died before I could move back; the house that we thought we had sold in Colorado stayed on the market for a year and a half; the neighborhood we moved back into was far different than when we left. But I pushed on, finding my purpose in the circumstances that remained.

I threw myself into helping my siblings care for my father. We returned to our old church and jumped once again into serving. I thought my mission was to be there for my husband and children, making the clichéd “house into a home”. I took a job designed to provide great satisfaction. And bit by bit everything that gave my life its meaning, those things that I thought I was “created” for, began to slip away. My father died. As challenging as caring for him was, my siblings and I were united in a common purpose, and then it was gone. The church we had invested so much time in, had served selflessly in, crumbled from within, and we had no choice but to leave. My older children no longer needed me as much, not for any reason but they were becoming adults and had to start making their own lives. The job that had been so fulfilling became physically and emotionally exhausting. I found myself floundering, wandering aimlessly from day to day, wondering as I had years ago what on earth I was here for.

I was no longer the responsible eldest child; no longer the revered bible study teacher; no longer the caring, sacrificial mother providing for the physical and emotional needs of her children. I shared with a few close friends that I felt “purposeless”. They nodded in sympathy, perhaps pity. I felt myself entering one of those dark nights of the soul, a place I had been before and had no desire to return to. I started to revisit those feelings that I didn’t matter, I had reached my expiration date.

I went back and re-read a book I had read a number of years ago when it first came out, “The Fresh Brewed Life” by Nicole Johnson. She, in fact, released an updated version of the first edition after life and its fickleness made her look at her dreams and longings again. So with new eyes I went back and read these words: “Our yearnings, longings, cravings, and hopes are telling us something: there isn’t enough love, peace, hope friendship, and intimacy on this earth to completely satisfy us. We will always want more because we were made for more.” ( p. 39)

Rather than give me comfort those words once again begged the question- what am I here for? What is my purpose? I thought about the idea of dreams and longings, those desires which theoretically lead me to find my purpose. As a little girl, I never dreamed of the white picket fence with a husband and children. I didn’t long for fame and fortune. I can’t even tell you what my dreams were, just that I wanted to fit in and never did. Just empty. Johnson says “The emptiness is the mark and reminder of God”( p. 55); our longings “point the way to God every single time” (p. 57). I spent years trying to fill that emptiness with other things, and thought that some 30 plus years ago, when I put down the alcohol and started my “new” life, that I had gotten a handle on filling this hole with God.

I really thought I had found that purpose that God had for me, that I was being obedient to God’s call on my life, to coin a Christian buzz phrase. But lately I identified more with David in Psalm 38:9-10: All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you. My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light has gone from my eyes.”

How had I gotten here? I thought maybe I just hadn’t found the right “audience”, that my gifts were being wasted on people who didn’t truly appreciate the wisdom my colorful life had afforded me. Yes, loneliness and lack of purpose sometimes lead to arrogance as a defense mechanism.

As is often the case, God uses my arrogance, my brokenness, to teach me. I seem to have been confusing purpose with longings and desires. I’ve been making it all about me, trying to figure things out in my head, trying to force my feelings and desires into some God-given purpose. I read books and devotionals about purpose, calling, obedience. I watch as others claim, mostly in posts on that oh-so-spiritual social media site known as Facebook, that they have found their purpose. I feel stirrings of envy, but then my cynical side cautions against that very human trait of rationalization- taking the ordinary occurrences of life, some which might appear to be timely, and attributing them to a definitive indication of “God’s will”.

I am tearfully preparing to bring my youngest child to college 1700 miles away from home. My mind races, as it did with my older children, with thoughts of whether I’ve done enough to prepare him, the all-powerful “me”. And of course there’s that fear of loss of purpose, of no longer being needed. What will happen now that there’s no one in the house except me and Dave? How will I fill my time? How will I measure my usefulness? My anxiety rises as I spend all this time in my head, a practice, as I was told long ago, was a sick mind analyzing a sick mind- not at all productive, and certainly not one which leads to any peace or serenity.

Mary DeMuth, in her book Everything, reminds me that “This world doesn’t covet our intelligence. It doesn’t need our wit or wherewithal. It has no use for our coy phraseologies. It needs Jesus- full of outrageous grace, unconditional love, and hope-filled pardon.” And that thought smacks me back to where I need to be. I did not create myself, I am not the answer. I am merely a vessel. If I allow myself to be filled to overflowing with that grace, love and hope, it can’t help but overflow to those around me.

When I can stop my racing mind long enough to reflect on what I know to be true, what I have learned through this turbulent yet joyful journey called life, I know deep in my heart that I have one purpose: “To do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God” (Micah 6:8). All my desires and longings flow from that.