I'm sure you've felt it too. You wake up and instead of the joy that another sun has risen over your world, you groan. I've been doing that a little too often lately. Thinking about each day as something to survive, something to try to get through. (Me and the rest of the world?) Trying to get to the next thing...that I also dread. I really do know this is no way to live.
Today as I laid there wishing for the energy or the motivation to get up...I wished for a nudge, a gentle push to get me going. Then all the sudden there it was...That tingle up my spine, the overwhelming presence of spirit to remind me I am more than this flesh that encases me.
I heard a gentle "you got this" and "what you do, does matter." Even though I may not FEEL like it does. God's assurance that He has things for me to do...things that matter to Him was the "kick in the pants" I needed. So I threw my legs off the side of the bed and sat there. Hair in a tangled mass, pajamas twisted around my torso...Pondering, how my life could possibly matter to anyone or make one bit of difference to the universe.
I'm certain I'm not alone. That these are questions we all ask...please tell me I'm not the only one.
Sure it has to do with my mom's death. I'm certainly evaluating life, purpose, meaning, with a fine tooth comb. Deciding if anything I do matters enough.
Do I have a legacy that I can be proud of? Heck, do I have a legacy at all?
Listening to people talk about my mom I realized that all the little things we do matter...at least to the ones we do for others. All the times we reach out, all the times we pick up the phone to check on someone...Maybe we don't think much of it, maybe it's just who we are...but the souls we touch, bless, help...remember. I confess to being surprised at how many people remembered my momma. They remembered her kind words and her amazing hugs. They remembered her Sunday School lessons and how steadfast she was. She made a difference in their lives. That's no small thing.
Pondering those thoughts, I drug myself upstairs to begin the endless supplement, medication regimen that is, supposed to make a difference in Britton's life. I sat down on the side of his bed, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and asked him. "Does anything I do matter to you?" He laughed his dolphin squeal, jumped up, and ran to the bathroom. So much for fishing for compliments.
But he came back after, and he kissed my cheek and handed me a book he wanted us to read. I felt it again, that little nudge, the gentle push to keep doing what I'm doing. I took the book and sat down. Getting us all set up so I can read out loud and he can place his finger under each word.
Twenty-seven books in 2020. Most all of them have been amazing, encouraging, and kept me going when I was just going through the motions. Some of them we've read multiple times. He loves Max Lucado, Beth Moore, Kris Vallotton, and John Eldredge. If you need books to encourage you, just ask me. :) I always feel guilty for struggling for "purpose" when I can't begin to imagine how often my son does the same.
Some days it feels like trudging through deep sludge. Another step, another book, another seizure...on and on. So much introspection...I worry my blogs sound like one sad complaint after the next. I don't mean them to be that I mean them to be REAL.
If autism has done anything to my family, I pray it has peeled away layers of costumes that we used to wear. Believing that we are the family that has our lives together. Nice house, educated children, decent cars... a vacation every year...blah blah blah. It's laughable, we are not that family.
Sometimes I describe us as if we are a used car sitting on a lot somewhere. We've shined ourselves up, used putty to fill in the dents and dings. On Sundays, we've been covered in a coat of wax and shined till we sparkle. But the question should be, what's under the hood?
The truth would be a startling contrast if someone asked for the carfax. The break downs, the betrayals, the crisis of faith...the wrecks that totaled us. But, thankfully unlike a car, our lives are molded and enhanced by our pasts...increasing our value to those around us. Each of those situations created a strength that kept us standing when the next "crash" came along. God can use all the battles of our pasts to give us purpose.
I want to remember that. I need to. You might need to remember it too.
Consider this your nudge. A gentle push to keep doing what you're doing. It matters to the people you reach.
Teresa
P.S. Book 2 NO CHOICE will release NEXT MONTH! That's right NEXT MONTH!
I hope you will consider being part of my LAUNCH TEAM! There's a free book in it for you! I know what you're thinking, there must be a catch. I confess, there is one. I'll be asking you to promote the book. To share it on your own social media. To tell your friends, to WEAR THE TATTOO! LOL, Yes, I'm serious..I'll explain...later. (You don't really have to wear it, but...)
For now, please keep me in your prayers. I need to meet deadlines and most days I have a kind of a buzz in my head. A voice telling me I need to keep living. That it's true, my mother, my one and only mother is gone...gone forever, gone to the next life. No, you cannot call her, no you cannot text her, she is gone...she really is.
So nudge me, or if necessary give me a kick in the pants, I'll be happy to return the "favor."
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." Antoine de Saint-Exupery |
