clocks

My world caved in on me when my mind was suddenly altered with the looming cloud of depression almost 4 years ago.  My every thought suddenly felt as if it was physically moving inside of me and it took work to sort them all out.  What is real? What is lies? What is healthy? What is me? I found a stumbling block in all my daily habits, routines, ways of thinking, how to act, how to simply just be... me. As if the batteries ran out of my life size watch and suddenly I was forced to crank each knob and turn each wheel to make it function.  Oh how slowly the hands of a clock moves.  And oh how many knobs and wheels there are to turn. 

As I learned to cope and move my slowly functioning clock it began to feel tedious and monotonous and exhausting.  I began to question each wheel I was forced to crank and if it was even worth cranking. I was on a search to find a purpose for things most people probably don't even realize they are doing. As I know I definitely did not realize I was doing before my batteries ran out.  

What is my purpose for:

Doing the dishes? 
Doing my hair? 
Getting dressed in the morning?
Making the bed? 
Cooking dinner? 
Keeping in contact with friends?
Social media? 
Facetiming family?
Going to church? 
Reading my scriptures? 
Playing the piano? 
Reading bedtime stories? 
Cutting hair? 
Taking a shower? 
Signing kids up for sports? 
Going grocery shopping? 
Cleaning the bathrooms? 
Exercising?
Helping with homework?
Organizing closets? 
Brushing my teeth? 
Smiling?
Showing affection?
Recieving affection?
Praying?  

And especially what is the purpose if I can't seem to do any of it perfectly. I fail to keep up with the demands of life Every. Single. Day. It's a vicious cycle that clouds my vision.  Turn your wheels to function. Fail at turning all the wheels.  Therefore my clock isn't ticking.  Try again. 

Painful thoughts of pity creep in.  Everyone else seems to be ticking and tocking just fine.  In this new world of peoples lives and opinions at your fingertips it is sooo easy to slip into the false reality of comparing.

  

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I sometimes ponder on the idea that Charity, in it's truest form, is the reason man exists.  

The beauty of writing when life is hard is that eventually we have the ability to look back and see it from a different perspective.  As vulnerable as it feels, when you acknowledge the depth of your sorrow, the deeper Christ can heal the wound.  How can we find healing from something we didn't know needed healing?  You wouldn't just put a band aid on a wound that needed stitches. A wound that needs more time, care, and protection in order to heal properly.  That is what is offered to us. More then just a band-aid for our mortal imperfections and sorrows.  He can provide hands where I cannot to keep my clock ticking.   Hands that instill peace.  Because it's not about the checklist.  It's about learning to let go and become fully immersed in the highest form of love.  Charity.  A love that will remove all that is wrong and free our hearts and minds. So they can work together and align with the greatest joy there is to be had.