On Seeking Purpose and Not Finding It

I’ve been thinking a lot about purpose lately. About how we all have one. About how maybe we live it out, in spite of our mistakes and our best intentions.  In spite of ourselves.

About how we are all chosen for a purpose … and how we foolishly think we have a say in how everything is going to play out.

About Why.

And as usual, the hazy chaos of my thoughts finally settle like dust and find truth in the familiarity of a corral.

The gate fell open with a creak and the metallic chime of chain against pipe. All heads raised at the sound, ears swiveling inquisitively toward the source.  A lanky sorrel with a crooked blaze took one shuffling step forward to greet me. I slid my hand under his chin, up around the strong curve of his jaw to his ears. He nuzzled my shoulder affectionately. I ruffled his mane and ran my hand along his back but passed him by.  He was a good horse – had a nice smooth trot that covered the distance without reorganizing your organs, but a little bit clumsy at times. Definitely not suited for the job at hand. 

Next to meet me was the stocky roan. This bad boy had a chest deep enough to drive a Mac truck through.  He was my first choice for pen work but his hooves were soft. Even with shoes, it would be unkind to take him up the canyon. Maybe even a little dangerous – nobody wanted to take a spill onto a solid sheet of rock and I sure didn't want to take the chance of hurting him. So, I passed him by with a pat on his butt.

I needed a specific horse today because I had a specific purpose.

I found him standing quietly in the corner, hip cocked, head down, eyes deliberately averted, pretending he was not The One. A black tipped ear tracked my approach and at the last moment he took a step to the side in a half-hearted attempt to escape. An unspoken disapproval was exchanged and he halted, turned to face me, let me slip the rope under his jaw and around his neck.

To anyone watching it would appear the choice was random. In reality, it was anything but. I knew the bay: knew he had a trot like a jackhammer and could be stubborn. I also knew his hooves were like iron and he was sure footed as a mule. It might not be fun, but he would finish the job.

Though our lives may appear to be random, I don’t believe they are.  Just as the bay didn't choose me that day, the Bible says we did not choose God.  God chose us for reasons known only to Him. He knows things about us that even we don’t know.  He knows our strengths.  He knows our abilities.  More important: he knows the job that needs to be done and selects us with that specific purpose in mind. 

There are so many things I don’t understand. Why am I alone at this stage in my life? Why do have this sudden exchange of people I interact with daily? Why do none of them speak the languages in which I am fluent – Horse, Ranch, Art? What is my purpose in this place that is so very foreign to me?

I mull over this particular quandary a lot. On the drive to work. On the drive home. On weekends, when I hide in my apartment because I'm weary of the very strangeness of my life. I am like a dog, turning in circles, trying to find a place to rest. In the end, I have to admit – I have no clue. I simply don’t know. I can't know. I'm not equipped. That’s the point where faith comes in, I think.  Faith in something bigger, something smarter: I thank God for that faith because it is the only thing that gives me rest. 
And like that bay, when I feel his approach in the dusty corral I can turn away and try to escape or I can stop, turn, let Him slip that rope halter around my neck and follow him into the next great adventure.

In the words of Rich Mullins - I can’t see how you’re leading me unless you’ve led me here. Where I’m lost enough to let myself be led… and so you’ve been here all along I guess. It’s just your way. And you are just plain hard to get.