Before I began this blog, I was having one of those days when I wondered if any of the things I do or say really matter. Like most mother's of teenagers, I'd had a conversation with one of my sons where he'd refused to do more than grunt in my general direction. Another one of them actually rolled his eyes at me. I know this because his Dad caught him and told him to knock it off. This particular day I also went and participated in a book report for my friend Lindy. (sorry if I spelled your name wrong, honey). When I left the school that day i felt, for the first time in a few weeks, like maybe I did have something to offer...
The kids at the school were interested in how I do things as a blind person and how I write my novels. I realized that one of the things that gives my treacherous little life meaning is the ability to tell other people that there isn't anything they can't do.
My good friend Becky convinced me that my stories about my life are lessons. Not just lessons for me, but for other people as well. I don't mind wandering a bit, getting lost, or falling down if I can learn from it. More importantly, if I can help someone else learn without the painful experience.
Today, though, I realized that painful experiences are God's way of bringing us home to be with him. I shouldn't be trying to keep other's from their own pain, it is what brings them to their knees. It is what helps them let go of their own strength and knowledge to rely on a loving Father for support.
Often I have my worst falls when I find myself feeling confident that I know where I am, I can maneuver any obstacle and I have my feet planted firmly on solid ground. It is only after I am on my hands and knees in the dirt, my palms torn and my shins bloody that I remember...
Where I am is far from my true home.Lost in a dark world full of treachery, thorns, and deceivers. I am trying to maneuver around a dark being with over six thousand years of experience and a million minions. Where I stand is knee deep in a world that has forgotten the God who loves them because there are too many voices asking for proof.
When I forget that I am truly less than the dust of the earth, I feel like dirt. Like what I do and say doesn't matter. However, when I remember that I am less than the dust of the earth, and yet my Heavenly Father loves me enough to give me beautiful kids who roll their eyes at me, then I feel like I matter.
Maybe not to the world, or to anyone besides my family and friends. But, who matters more than the people I have built my world around?
I look at it like this: When the world crashes down around us. When it feels like its too heavy for my thin shoulders to bear. When evil is bound and The Savior comes the dust will settle. And if I stand with my loved ones to feel of his love, then I mattered