I looked at my life in frustration, wondering if I had a purpose. My days were monotonous, with me waking up, preparing for work, getting Nate ready for his school day, and then preparing breakfast. Afterward I would lightly clean, before placing on our coats, locking up the house, and walking to the corner of our little street to help Nate onto the yellow school bus. After I waved goodbye, as the bus pulled off, and I quickly jump in my car to rush through the traffic to work.
When my long work day of teaching a class of elementary students was over, I picked up Nate for the drive home. Once we arrived, I would spend some time with Nate, before the evening flew by with preparing dinner, eating, and cleaning the kitchen. If I wasn’t filled with exhaustion, I read or wrote a few lines, or binged on television, before going to bed.
The weekends were no better, with swimming, shopping, and church, and of course preparing for the week ahead.
“Is this all my life is going to be about?”, I yelled toward my ceiling as if my voice was reaching to God in Heaven. “Where is the purpose in my life?” I screamed. “Surely this could not be it…simply raising a child with special needs and working.”
I wanted more, I told God. I had read books, and watched television shows of people doing grand things with their life. Things that were getting noticed. They seemed to have found their purpose and meaning. Why had I not discovered mine?
Yet, the more that I pondered that question and complained to God, I seemed to learn that my thinking was completely wrong. I found that everyone, including me, has a purpose and meaning in life.
For me, I seemed to rank a purpose as bigger and more fulfilling if it was seen by people. A purpose isn’t defined by the number of people it reaches. A purpose is when I’m doing the will of God, no matter who is observing me.
My purpose then and now is to be the mother of Nate, caring for his needs and allowing God to use me, the way that He seems fit. And that purpose is big in the eyes of God.