I know I’ve been posting often in other spaces, and I am so grateful for the opportunities to share with different folks around the web. Today, I managed to land in two places at once. I have a guest post up on Story Warren and also my regular monthly post for the Living The Story Column on Bible Dude.
How Knowing Your Purpose Changes Things
Laying on my bed listening to melancholy warbling of the Cranberries, I struggled with questions of purpose.
At 15, I lived a flat faith with a small, but increasing, curiosity about the things of God.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost–I believed it on a surface level.
Connecting this budding faith to who I was, is where the disconnect hit.
I didn’t know my purpose. School friends and popular TV shows offered their opinions–and for awhile, I bought what they were selling. I believed my purpose was to attract boys I had no business dating, or to become a celebrity or to have fun all of the time, and “be my own boss”.
Looking back at this sampling of nonsense, my stomach churns. These useless, selfish pursuits occupied my mind too often, and when I couldn’t fulfill any one of them, my self- esteem plummeted and I’d hole up in my room, comforting myself with the sorrowful songs of R.E.M and Nirvana.
I filled my head with the noise of a culture that no more recognized its purpose for being than I did, all the while expecting to discover who I was meant to be by watching My So Called Life and Friends.
The music, the shows, the vapid advice from my peers–it all failed me. But like an junkie, I’d return to these lonely places again and again, looking for the fix that would last.
Reflections On Beauty and Lessons Learned Too Late
As a child I knew her to be sick. I didn’t know the term depression then, but even a child knows a wounded soul when they see one. I wish I’d spent more time sitting in that back room with her. I wish I’d let her comb my hair, or show me how to draw the faces in those expensive, misused art books. I wish I’d asked her more about her upbringing and her interior decorating business.
Now my memories of her run fluid–a stream of missed opportunities of trying to know her better. I didn’t know Jesus then and I didn’t know how to love well. Now, I credit her with my love of art and interior design. Really, she is likely the source of my love for fashion; a trait she passed on to my mother, who passed it on to me honestly. And I have grown to love turquoise, maybe because it’s beautiful, but mostly because it reminds me of her. …