This morning I was listening to a book and trying an exercise designed to help you find your higher purpose or any purpose in what you do. Sometimes you find out that you do something for no purpose. Sometimes for no good purpose.
Sometimes you’re in the middle of writing the questions in the exercise, discover your higher purpose, and suddenly, in a fit of rage, scribble that purpose out so hard and so violently that you break the pen, tear the pad and throw both at the windshield of your truck. Then you breakdown in gut wrenching sobs, you are overtaken with pain and scream (again) at the Dynamic Duo, how can you expect me to give what I’ve never had?!
And then they answer-
Because you never lost it. It was never out there. Are you slow or something? (They really do say that last part. It’s the only way I can understand- sarcasm and humor help me.)
I cry more. Fits of sobs. Driving down the road for the whole world to see. Hating the world, the Duo and mostly myself, but not really able to hate at all anymore. I stop at a gas station for fuel. And it happens. The Dynamic Duo give me proof-
A man- a big giant of a gentle man, getting fuel in a truck that I’m sure can hardly hold the massiveness of him- and in the backseat of that truck, a little girl. Maybe 6? Maybe 10? Maybe 100 years old in the soul? So innocent and intent upon smiling at me, that I can’t see the details of her face, but her smile is pulling my pain up and out and then wishing it away for me…And for a brief moment, I feel shame, but then the smile says not to. Her father notices this, and he smiles at me. This gentle giant that I now notice has a son as well in the backseat, who is decorating his fathers arms with sticky notes? It’s all so normal. So average. So fricking magical. I had just told God, I don’t want to be average! Why did you put this ridiculous idea of greatness within me?! And this family was the answer. The average family, so full of greatness that in that moment, they were healing me from the inside out.
As we finished our average act, the little girl waves. I wave back. She waves more. I wave too. I don’t want her to go. I want all of them to stay. I get in my truck and she never breaks eye contact. We wave more. Then the dad waves and smiles this big grin- knowing how special his daughter is, but unaware of how much greatness they are, combined.