Purpose

     Habitually we ask, "How are you doing"?  Then we walk away, not even waiting for an answer or wanting one.  "I don't need to hear your problems, I have enough of my own."  On the other side, we habitually answer the question "Fine", when inside we want somebody to truly want to know how we are.  It could be excitement we don't share for many reasons.  We don't want to brag, we don't want to spark jealousy, or we don't expect they care.  It can be hurt or anger we don't share.  "My dog is sick."  "I don't love my spouse anymore."  "My heart is broken."  "I want to die."  Maybe what we want to share is not appropriate for every day conversation, but we all want someone to care.  We all want to matter.  We all want a purpose.
     I felt like God really didn't care about me.  He loved other people and was good to them, but I believed He had more important things to do than talk to me about my hurts.  Then one day I realized that I was asking God questions and not waiting for the answer.  If I truly cared, truly wanted to know His answers, I needed to listen.  When I started taking the time to listen to God he talked to me constantly.  I wondered how I was going to remember it all.  He talked through the TV, through people, through my thoughts, through books, through dreams and even through pictures.  I would be busy doing something and suddenly I would see a picture in my mind.  It got to the point where my prayer life consisted of, "Tell me more." and "Thank you."  He had been waiting for years for me to shut up and listen.  There I was on my knees for 40 years complaining, whining, asking "why me?", and then going back to my life without waiting and listening for an answer.
     I sent an e-mail to the pastor one evening confessing that I had been angry at God for 40 years.  Why had He allowed the abuse?  Why didn't He love me?  I waited for his response, expecting to be invited to the church for my own stoning or some kind of ceremony to cleanse me of my evilness, but he explained that at one time he had been angry at God too and that God has big shoulders.  Immediately after sending my e-mail, a man on the TV said, "I had been angry at God for 40 years."  I knew who was really talking to me.  I didn't know the man's name or story, but I had seen him before.  His face was scarred from some kind of burns.  After shouting out a loud "Amen brother", I waited for his story.  His next sentence was all I heard, "Until a friend of mine told me, God trusted you with those scars."  Wow.  I was trying to grasp all that was said in one sentence.  God trusted me with my scars?  I had gone through the abuse for a good reason?  The statement floated on my mind, without really sinking in.
     The next morning as I sat on the deck drinking my coffee and remembering the words from the night before, God gave me a picture.  The picture was of Jesus' hand scarred from the crucifixion.  I don't know how else to explain God talking to me other than He puts thoughts in my head that I know are not mine.  He said, "All scars have purpose.  It is through Jesus' scars that you were saved.  Others will be saved through your scars."
     I have a purpose.  After many years of looking in all the wrong places for a reason to keep breathing, I have a purpose.  God has a plan for my life.  Not just everyone else, but me.  If He has a plan, I must mean something to Him.  We all have a purpose and I asked God a thousand times why He kept me on this earth and I finally listened for His answer and found ... I have a purpose.