My last post was about how I felt like I had gotten into a rut. Now, two weeks later, there have been a few glimpses beyond the low road I’m traveling, but not much of a change in scenery.
It’s not like I’m in a really bad place. Maybe that’s why the rut doesn’t seem to have a stopping place. It just goes on and on, and I bump against the sides while attempting to spend more time with God, grow as a person, and figure out my purpose. I just can’t quite clear the edge with both tires, and no one’s bothering to give me a tow.
I’ve been waiting for something.
That lightning bolt that will enlighten me — that aha moment where my purpose is clear, and I’m fully equipped to achieve it. I’ve been waiting for the rut to level out, so I could breeze onto the freeway with the wind blowing my hair and sunny skies ahead. But none of that is happening.
Instead, I’m finding my longed for epiphany to be elusive and empty. My purpose, my calling, my vision statement — they all still seem to be just catchy ideas and phrases I’ve come up with instead of something that feels right and resonates.
“Shedding a little life on love”
“Showing biblical truths through fictional lives”
“Exploring the Mystery of Hope”
So what in the world is my purpose, already? I’ve prayed, searched, prayed, studied, prayed, and still nada. It shouldn’t be this hard to figure out. Should it?
You know, maybe I’ve been focusing on the wrong place. I keep looking deep within to find my purpose, but a person’s purpose isn’t singular. It affects others.
“The place God calls you is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Thank you, Frederick Buechner.
That’s the ideal.
But how does me writing intersect with anyone’s need? I write fiction. The world will go on without fiction. (gasp)
So what’s the point?
Aha. And there it is. The epiphany not my epiphany– the world’s epiphany.
He lived. He was God. He is God. And he helped people with fiction.
There’s a whole lot of truth to be told. Jesus knew that. That’s why he told all of those parables. He embraced the story and used those stories to show eternal truths.
Perhaps I’ve made this purpose thing a little harder than it needs to be. What if my purpose is to simply be who he created me to be? A woman who writes stories. Maybe that’s it. It’s not flashy, and it’s not well-known, and it doesn’t really need to have a tagline, but it does go deep. It ventures to places where a sliver of truth taps someone’s experience and draws them to hope and to faith and to love. I write the stories, and he does the rest. Maybe that’s it. What do you think?