I’ve lost my way, just a little, with this move we’ve made, away from prairie farmhouse and spring crocus and so much family history. I’ve landed in this mountainy place, beautiful but so new, and it’s not been without small challenges.
It is like the suitcase I’ve been packing for so many years – my whole life, maybe – spilled out along the journey west and I have spent these months trying to find my scattered stuff.
I used to write about family and goats and prairie life and raising rowdy boys and finding time.
All of a sudden, or so it seems, the goats got sold and the prairie got left and the boys grew up and the rhythm of the days changed.
Somewhere between Saskatchewan and British Columbia, I lost my babies and my home and my ministries and my church. But mostly, I think, I lost my purpose.
I’ve spent these past months trying to find these spilled things or, maybe, mourning them. But I realized, just the other day, that those things are lost for good. They are gone. They are memories. They don’t fit this new life in this new place.
We’re all faced with change in our lives. If we are moms, our kids grow up. If we are athletes, our careers end. If we are ministers, our ministries evolve. All of these things must happen. Anything else would be unnatural.
What doesn’t change is our desire to contribute, our need to create, our search for purpose.
Purpose is an elusive destination, a shifting X marked on an uncertain map. It’s more likely to find you than for you to find it. That’s the secret of it. I’ve heard it said it may even grow out of your weakness instead of your strength.
Maybe purpose is found in surrender, not accomplishment. Maybe it is more about listening and less about gifting.