Purpose

Even though I can barely remember the details when a friend asks what I’ve been up to this week, I can clearly recall some of my first days home with Baby Andrew in our tiny one bedroom apartment situated above a professor’s garage. I’d worked full-time until the day before I had him, but all of a sudden I was alone all day with no company. Todd left us at 5:30 in the morning to drive half an hour to work, so we were on our own.  I knew instinctively my job was to get stronger and to keep Andrew alive.  And get ready to move in two weeks. But it didn’t seem like much of a job. I remember feeling out of the loop, no longer productive or useful; all I did was rest on either the bed or the couch and take care of the two of us and our little life.  But as we all know, I was everything to our baby in those days.  I was his lifeline, his whole world.  I remember holding him and cuddling him every chance I got.  I read aloud to him just so he could hear my voice.  I of course fed us and kept us and our tiny apartment and clothes clean. I did all I could to rest and heal quickly while packing and making arrangements for our pending move.  But it still wasn’t the same as working full time, I felt like I was on the sidelines watching everyone else.  I couldn’t even go shopping with my family when they came to visit.  My life had slowed to a crawl, a new and disconcerting experience for me.

Same with my sister, who on a recent visit, was convalescing on our couch.  I asked how she was doing that first morning of feeling sick, and she said she felt purposeless.  She wasn’t sure what she would be getting up for that day or the following day.  What was her life for at the moment?  All I know is that she continued to serve by editing hundreds of pictures for her friends and family.  And she continued to enrich her mind by reading.  She still checked in with friends across the country and world and spread encouragement and joy over the phone. I loved just having her around, I enjoyed her company.  She didn’t have to do anything, just having her with me at home for the day helped me relax and feel at ease while I went about my work. When she was upright and felt more herself, she served us in a million different significant ways, but even from a reclined position, even when she didn’t have her normal energy, she still made a difference in the lives of many.

I think back to the hours I spent sitting on the floor last fall with a friend who had hurt her back and couldn’t do much but lie on her blanket all day.  She was surprisingly chipper, alert, talkative, engaged, cheerful, and so enjoyable to be with.  Did she have reason to think she had nothing to give? Probably.  But she was such a fun conversationalist.  She played board games with her daughter.  She talked on the phone.  She hadn’t disappeared, she was still herself, full of personality and vibrancy.  She continued to serve simply be being herself and sharing her enthusiasm for life with all of us.

I think of our friends, one who was sick for months, and another who injured his leg.  Both felt out of sorts. They are normally always on the go, productive and busy, constantly serving others.  But to be tethered to home.  To a couch.  For long stretches of time.  They've reflected on how difficult those times were for them, I think in large measure because they couldn't help people the way they were used to and wanted to.  But they were available for long, long talks.  We'd invite ourselves over and do nothing but visit for hours.  They were as cheerful and upbeat as ever.  We felt happy just being with them in spite of their set-backs.

I imagine my grandma friend has felt sort of the same way because her health limits what she’s able to do; she struggles with balance and diabetes.  Just recently, though, she shared an experience that shows how valuable we all our, even at less than full speed.  Not long ago she had prayed to know how to serve with her limited capacity.  She had attended church with her family but ended sitting out in the foyer at with a grandchild when a young girl came and sat down next to her.  Before long they started talking and the girl shared her anxieties and concerns, one of which was that she’d just been diagnosed with diabetes herself. Think of the relief the little girl felt as my friend shared that she was a diabetic and had to give herself four shots a day.  As they continued talking, she helped allay this girl’s fears, and it became evident that this grandma, who felt she had nothing really to give at her stage, had been heaven-sent to her new young friend.

I have several other grandma friends and they are amazingly supportive in quiet ways.  I love the one who is a great grandma; her job at church has been to welcome the young kids to primary as their greeter. One may assume she had given her service, it was her turn to rest.  But think how calming it would be to be welcomed with a warm smile and a hug each week.  What a brilliant idea!

I can’t help but think of so many stories I’ve heard of people who continue to serve mightily, to make a significant difference to others, even in debilitating conditions, people who constantly use their energy and days to brighten the lives of others even as they are struggling themselves.

“Despite her illness [leukemia], Jenny continued to serve valiantly as the ward Relief Society president.  Even in her extremity, she made phone calls and sent texts and emails from her bed, and she invited sisters to come see her.  She mailed cards and notes to people, loving her sisters from a distance” (Linda Burton, Certain Women).

Just the other day a friend told of his mom who was in the hospital and how surprised he was that she knew all the nurse’s names.  And their spouses.  And the names of their kids. Wow! I’ve spent time in the hospital and have never thought to even ask.  Let alone remember any of it.  Such a simple way to acknowledge others and help them feel that someone cares.

One grandpa who was 105 years old “lives in a small care center but meets with his entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a gospel lesson” (President Monson, The Bridge Builder).

I have a couple other older friends who live in care centers.  Even as their minds and bodies fade, I love how cheerful and conversational they are.  They are easy to be with, and they help me see the world through their eyes.  I always leave feeling a little more hopeful and optimistic.

I love these examples of people who continue to serve in small and simple ways even as they suffer through pain or discomfort, when physical limits might dictate that they check out and focus on themselves for awhile.

It makes me wonder how we’re doing. And if we have purpose even when when we’re distracted or debilitated.

I have to heartily cry YES!  Our purpose on earth, regardless of our state of health or energy, is to learn and to love. Can we do that from a hospital bed, from a regular bed? Can we do that from the confines of a wheelchair or the confines of our homes? For sure.

Is it harder to care about what we’re learning from our trials when we’re in pain? When our hearts are breaking? When we feel all alone? Absolutely.  But what a valuable way to become more empathetic and compassionate. What better way to know how to serve a friend who’s on bedrest when you’ve been there yourself? How better to know that a new mom needs a visit and some company than remembering how isolated you felt yourself?

But more than just the learning from situations like these, we can use these experiences to continue to spread love.  That is what we’re to learn above all else from our time on earth.  And when we are down, unable to do our regular activities, we’re forced to really tune in to people in more subtle, perhaps more meaningful, ways.  When we’re moving a little slower and not as physically capable as we have been at other times in our lives, we just serve a little differently.  Maybe we can’t bring dinners or clean for a new mom, but we can call her, send her a love note, and encourage her in her significant role when she stops by.  We can ask how our friends are really doing.  And now we have time to listen, we’re not rushing around and we’re less distracted.

So yes, we still have purpose even when we’re sick or injured or in a weakened state of mind or body.  There is a reason for us to get out of bed (or at least wake up) and put on a smile.  Maybe our purpose is to be a quiet companion for someone.  Maybe it’s to summon our faith and pray for our friends who need help, a petition that someone will come to their aid in a way we can’t right now. Maybe it’s to share kind words that will lift someone’s spirits.  Maybe it’s to really see into a loved one’s soul.  Or a stranger’s eyes where we notice something amiss, maybe pain, and we offer hope and encouragement in just a few simple words. Maybe it’s cuddling with and reading a book to a child on the couch even when we’re sick.  Maybe it’s sharing wisdom acquired over many decades with a young adult who’s at a crossroads.  Maybe it’s as simple as listening with an open heart.  And crying with those who mourn.

In so many ways, in our struggles and pains, we’re still able to make a difference.  We’re able to fulfill our purposes in life.  We’re here to learn and to love.  Whatever our circumstances, every day can be fulfilling and full of purpose.