I’m going to be brutally honest in this post. Because it’s one of those kinds of days. Where I am asking myself the big question.
In the George Bailey sense, what difference does it make that I am here?
Yeah, it scares the hell out me, to go there. When I can’t seem to come up with an answer. When I measure my contribution, my worth, solely in a monetary sense and fall short, especially when I see precious others working their asses off just to keep their heads above water.
What difference do I make? My daughter doesn’t need me so much any more, I am not an other half. Nor am I, to be brutally honest again, indispensable in anyone’s life. I know this as well. You have to need yourself, and even more than that, love yourself. If only I had a quarter for every time I heard that. And I do, most of the time. But today it isn’t enough.
So I don’t know. At least not yet. But I believe with all of my heart that my life has a yet to be God revealed purpose. I have to. Or the world would not have missed George Bailey.