The Definition of Purpose
Note: If you are short on time and just want a good story, skip down to the paragraph that begins with "at 5:30 this morning."
Lately, my mind has been somewhat consumed with one thing:
purpose. I moved to Winston-Salem after
graduating from college because as my best friend put it, “I didn’t have a
plan, so I might as well move to Winston to be her roommate again.” That plan satisfied me for a while, but then
I began to search for something else.
What was my purpose as a new grad in Winston? When would I find a job? What was I supposed to be doing?
Although I eventually secured work as a part time adjunct
with Forsyth Technical Community College, it wasn’t long before I wasn’t
satisfied with that, either. I live with
three Divinity students, and after having been graciously invited to several of
their friends’ dinners and game nights, I caught the “grad school bug.” I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in
graduate school, though I had no idea what I would study if I were to go to
grad school. When I was an undergrad, my
life had purpose. I was
somebody. I knew where I stood, I knew
what I needed to work on, and I had a definite goal: graduation. As I sat in my room in Winston, I simply felt
demoted, purposeless, and like I was failing at post-grad life. I wanted to be successful, and though I
originally thought I wanted that success for myself, I think I was looking to
please and impress others more than anything.
I was that girl at Gardner-Webb.
I was involved in all kinds of things, I loved my professors and as far
as I know, they loved me. I was invited
to special conferences, led my peers, and was the first student to become a
puppy raiser while in school. I had
purpose, I had admiration, and I was making the professors I held so dear
proud.
Up until my senior year, I had always assumed I would go to
graduate school straight out of college, or that if I didn’t, it would be
because I had another clear career goal in mind. Instead, I found myself lost in a sea of
unemployed post-grads scrambling for part-time positions. I cherished the moments that I was able to go
back to Gardner-Webb and soak in the feelings of familiarity and belonging. Now, don’t get me wrong. I was actually
really enjoying Winston-Salem. I had
already fallen in love with the city and was beginning to form relationships
with my new roommates and friends from church.
The day to day was actually going very well. It was when I attempted to look down the road
and try to visualize what I would be doing six months or a year from then that
I began to feel anxious.
My wonderful new roommates, who both took a few years off
before coming to graduate school, gave me several great pep-talks and helped me
to somewhat settle in the fact that God has purpose for my life even in the
in-between stages. I had just begun to
take that to heart when the bomb dropped: Tucker was being career changed.
In the moment of that phone call, I felt so many emotions
that I’m not sure I could ever fully express them all. I was sad for him, frustrated with him, and
disappointed in myself. He had come so
close only to be released from the program and into an uncertain future. In the hours and days that followed the call,
I realized that underneath all of the initial emotions, I was actually
extremely upset that I wouldn’t be able to call my professors and
administrators at Gardner-Webb to tell them that he had graduated. I had wanted so badly to prove to them that I
had been right about raising a puppy on a college campus. I still knew in my heart that it had been a
wonderful environment for a service dog to grow up in, but I had eagerly
awaited the news that would show that beyond a shadow of a doubt. In some ways, Tucker had been my last hold
out for success. I my mind, I hadn’t
been terribly successful thus far, and I think I hoped that once Tucker was
proven a success, I could ride the coattails of it and find a renewed feeling
of purpose.
I immediately decided that Tucker was going to be a service
dog. While I do sincerely believe that
he has characteristics that would make him a wonderful service dog, I think I
made this decision more out of an effort to save face than anything. My mouth said, “he’s just so good and he
needs a new job,” and my brain said, “by golly if he can’t put the Leader Dog
title before his name, I’m going to make sure he can put a Therapy Dog title
after it!” At the time, even though I
knew I had mixed motives and feelings about having him certified as a therapy
dog, I still believed that, since therapy dogs are clearly a benefit to
society, that this was the obvious path for him.
I contacted a trainer who graciously invited me to come
watch his current therapy dog training class, and boy I’m glad I did. Based off of the research I had done, I
assumed that Tucker was probably 80 or 90 percent ready for the test. I left the class that night realizing that he
was probably more like 60 or 70 percent of the way there and that it would take
much longer than I originally anticipated to bridge that gap. I felt defeated and unsure, but in my mind,
Tucker still had to have a job.
That brings us to today (which is now in fact, yesterday). In reality, there wasn’t really anything special
about it. I took Tucker to the vet for a
general check up and my best friend and her fiancé took Tucker with them to a
park for a walk. At the vet, several
other clients commented on how well behaved Tucker was and how handsome he was,
and while Tucker wasn’t necessarily the best of guests on the walk, I believe
my roommate and her fiancé still enjoyed having him there. She showed me a video of him enjoying his
first ride in the back of a truck (which was carefully monitored for safety I
might add) and talked about how he desperately wanted to say hi to a big fluffy
poodle. After she went inside, I sat
with him on the patio and thought about what it would mean for him to just be a
dog. He still brings people joy, both
those close to him and those who simply admire him for a moment, and he really
is just a good ole dog to have around.
However, by the time Tucker and I went to bed, I had completely
forgotten about this inward conversation with myself.
At 5:30 this morning, someone screamed and woke me up. I thought I was dreaming, and sat up to
listen. I heard it again, and again, and
again. Being the detective story and
drama junkie that I am, I immediately assumed someone was being murdered
outside my window in the parking lot.
Though the logical part of my brain said, “what the heck do you think
you can do about it?” the human side of my brain replied with, “well I don’t
know but get your butt up there!” As I
reached the top of the stairs, I realized that the screams were not from
outside my house, but inside. I looked
down the hall and saw that one of my new roommate’s lights was on. I burst into her room to find her crying
hysterically, shaking, and curled up in the middle of her bed. She managed to stutter the word “mouse”
before beginning to cry again and pointed to the corner of her room. As I began to search for said mouse, my other
new roommate appeared and crawled onto the bed to console her.
Though I looked and looked for the mouse, I couldn’t see
evidence of one anywhere. When we
finally got her calmed down enough to hear us, I told her to move to the other
girl’s room and that I was going to bring Tucker upstairs. Tucker, who had heard the screams, was all
too keen on getting upstairs to see what was happening. It had been laundry day for this roommate,
and each corner of the room had a pile of clothes on the floor. Though I surveyed the room with a flashlight,
I didn’t believe I would ever find the mouse and that it might even have
escaped already. It was at this moment
that the other roommate appeared at the door to say that my frightened roommate
had managed to get another word out.
Squirrel.
While I had originally thought that there was a chance she
had just dreamed about her arch enemy, the mouse, I knew that we had been
having issues with squirrels in the past week, and realized that although I
hadn’t seen it yet, there had to be one there.
I got Tucker excited and told him to “find that squirrel!” Though I know he had no earthly idea what was
going on, he understood enough to start poking his nose around the room while I
carefully sifted through the piles and cleared the floor. Sure enough, Tucker found the squirrel.
For the next ten minutes, Tucker and I chased the squirrel
around the room. It was a team effort:
the squirrel would jump into a box in the closet, I would begin slowly pulling
items out, and Tucker would chase it out of the box and back into the
room. Eventually, Tucker helped me
corner it behind my roommate’s printer, and I was able to catch it in a
Tupperware container. As it turns out,
it was a little Sugar Glider who we believe got stuck in the wall when we had a
hole repaired outside yesterday.
I went to my other roommate’s bedroom to tell them we had
indeed captured a small squirrel. My
still somewhat shaky roommate was incredibly excited and called out to Tucker
that he was a good boy. Before I could
catch him, he then proceeded to leap onto this very high bed and smother
her. He was so happy she was happy, and
she was so happy we had a squirrel-catching dog.
As we finally began to laugh about the whole experience, the
second roommate and I realized how differently we reacted to the
situation. When I came into the room and
realized what was going on, I immediately began looking for the mouse. She, on the other hand, immediately sat down
on the bed and began to hold and comfort our terrified friend. My now much calmer roommate thanked us for
coming to her rescue and said she was glad Tucker and I were there to go after
it.
After poking holes in the Tupperware, Duck taping it shut,
and putting it out on the screened in porch, Tucker and I returned to our
room. It was then that I realized that
we do have purpose. It may not be grand
in the scheme of the world and it may not come with fancy titles or
recognition, but we have purpose in the small little corner of the world God
has placed us in and for the people he has chosen to put in our lives. I may not be able to get Tucker certified as
a therapy dog anytime soon, and I may find myself desperately searching for
part-time work again come the spring, but in the end, He has a plan.
Sometimes purpose isn’t fame, fortune, or long-term
success. Sometimes purpose is just
catching a squirrel.
