I must apologize in advance for this essay. I could delete it, I almost did. Perhaps I still shall.
I stopped dreaming. I realized this as I sat in church yesterday.
It’s hard to feel hopeful when you no longer dream. What you conceived for your life is not this, when you look around and hate who you have become.
[It takes me a long time to learn things. I am hard-headed. ]
Perhaps, it is too much to ask? I just wanted to be significant. I imagined that I would do something amazing with my life — all those years of working on Urbana conventions, I felt I was doing something important. Now what?
Is this it?
I am a mother and not that good at it, seemingly always failing my children, a wife which I will never write about, a terrible homemaker, yes I mean lazy and bad at it, an infrequent friend and missing sister, ungrateful daughter who just feels forgotten, a hobbyist-at-best photographer and a sometimes I put words together on the page and call myself a writer … Even this blog is simply an exercise in navel gazing. And here I go again.
My fight with my maker is almost daily – my depression or remission, anxiety seems constant, recovery from alcoholism, battling with the isolation, feeling only loneliness.
I know that I am foremost an ingrate. I don’t need reminders. I have so much! Four beautiful children, a home and husband and all I can think is, … I thought I would be something, more. I put these words here for what?
I feel empty. I feel useless. What purpose does my life serve? Yes, I am looking for evidence of good, any good that I do, and hope.
God is faithful to his promises. What are they, his promises? What has God promised?
I’ve already lost whatever I heard in the sermon yesterday.
He said “God’s results will look different than what we dream or imagine, what we prescribe for ourselves. The book of Isaiah is filled with a promise that wasn’t fulfilled for 700 years. God is not predictable but he is faithful. “
I am filled with longing — sick with it. Perhaps this too is the waiting of Advent.
At times, we wait just for hope. We know we are ungrateful. We know we are useless to Him. He doesn’t need us.
We are simply empty and waiting.
“In this harsh world, draw your breath in pain to tell my story.” — Hamlet