Writer's Block: "The condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing."
That definition is according to Google, so it is obviously the most correct definition there is. And if it is correct, then that's what I've got. I really like writing, but having the desire to write is really frustrating if you don't know what to write about.
There's been a lot on my mind lately, but considering the fact that I'm a woman and everything I think is somehow connected to everything else, I wouldn't even know where to begin. You should be grateful that I'm not going to even try. You're welcome.
However, in thinking about what I've been thinking about, I think I've found a common theme in all of it. The theme is that I very much feel that everything I do is done in some sort of servitude.
Now, I'm not complaining. Please don't think that. I wouldn't be doing any of what I do if I didn't want to. I like feeling like I can make a difference, and I fully believe that we are put here on earth to help each other. If I were the only person alive, would anything I do in a day matter? Nope. I probably wouldn't even shower as often as I do. Gross...maybe. True...yes. I do what I do for the people I love. Take it or leave it.
So, this being the case, I'm perfectly fine living a life of servitude. It's what I'm here for. But, I am still human and have the stupid, selfish desire to be appreciated for my life endeavors. My parents and my bishop say they appreciate me... but they have to say those things. I want to feel like I matter to everybody else too, you know?
I think all of us either knew a kid or we were that kid who was dramatic enough to occasionally tie a handkerchief to the end of a stick with some bread and a Gogurt in it, swing it over their shoulder, and yell to their parents that they were running away. My sister did it enough times that I knew the routine well. I even helped her pack her knapsack a couple of times, then was the one sent to go find her sitting on the curb a few blocks down the street a couple of hours later, bread and Gogurt mostly eaten.
I know it's stupid, childish, and selfish... but I feel like putting a knapsack together and just running away. I just want to see if anyone would come find me.
One time, when I was about 9 years old, I went sledding at Clear Lake Park with a bunch of other primary kids. I was playing with another girl who was my age, and I thought we were having a good time. Then some more kids showed up, one of which was also about my age and who I looked to as my best friend. Well, the first girl and I went running over to the second girl, and the first girl said to the second girl, "Oh my gosh, I am so glad you came! I was afraid I was going to be all alone with no one to hang out with!" Yes, I was standing right there. And that's just one of the examples I could give of the many times I felt completely and horribly used as I grew up.
There's a difference between feeling utilized, and feeling used. The feeling of being utilized is a good feeling. It's a feeling of being useful in your contributions to those around you and society as a whole, and being appreciated for it. But after a while, I think it is easy to start feeling more used than utilized if the appreciation isn't there.
There is a happy part to this post. Just wait for it. I don't mean for this to be a "wo is me" speech.
Tonight I had my institute class, and I was reminded of something I tend to forget. I think I get so wrapped up in worrying about everyone else in my life that I forget that I matter. I am a person with strengths and weaknesses like everybody else, but I matter just as much as they do. I am not superior or inferior to a single person I interact with. I am equal to them in worth and potential.
In my class tonight, we talked about how we tend to feel a great love for the people we serve and are given responsibility for, even if we don't know them that well. And when people don't know us well, we don't really believe that they could actually love us. "You don't even know me. How on earth can you say that you love me?"
On the opposite end of things, we have our Savior who knows us through and through. He knows every little thing about us, good and bad. And we still can't believe that we could be truly loved. "But, you know me. You know all my sins and my weaknesses. You know every bad thought I ever have. You know what I'm bad at. You know how selfish I am. You know that I make lots of stupid choices. You know exactly how many times I've fumbled in the past...and you still love me? More than anyone else ever has or ever will?"
Why don't we just accept that we are loved? Why can't we just accept that through the pure love of Christ, it doesn't matter how well we are or aren't known? And that the atonement makes up for any area that we or those around us may lack, and fills it with love?
This was my major realization tonight that ties all of this together. I am not just the Lord's servant. Through the atonement, I am His daughter. And you are my brothers and my sisters. And this is just what family does. We serve each other, and we love each other, and whether you say "thank you" or not, I will still keep serving you. That's what I'm here for.
Yours Truly
