Chapter One
Created for Purpose
Many people have a wrong idea of what constitutes
true happiness. It is not attained through self-gratification,
but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.
Helen Keller
Before you were born, before you knew the world and the world knew
you, there was only One, the Creator, who knew you in your most
basic form. Even then, He had a relationship with you. Growing
within the quiet shadows of your mother's womb, blocked from even
her eyes, God watched you, marveling as your fingernails formed, and
your eyelashes fluttered, and the tiny corners of your mouth turned
up in pleasure as you discovered your miniature thumb for the very
first time. You were His design, His pattern, and you were beautiful
to Him.
From the moment each of us is created, God has a purpose for us. We
don't necessarily know what it looks like at first, but we can be
sure it's there, somewhere inside us. For a long time, I wondered
what my purpose was. I knew I loved being a mother, and I knew I
loved writing' but a writing career seemed to be something achievable
only in my dreams, certainly not in real life for a
twenty-nine-year-old housewife and mother of four.
When I think about what it means to be created by God for a purpose,
my thoughts turn to Psalm 139. It is one of my favorite passages of
the Bible because it combines two of my favorite things' knitting and
the understanding of God's call on my life. We were knit together in
our mothers' wombs (Psalm 139:13). We have been searched and known
by the greatest designer in the universe (Psalm 139:1). We were
designed for something special. I believe that something special is
reflected in the strong desires God puts in our hearts through our
dreams, through our passions, and through the things that bring us
joy. It's through those things that we can discover what our purpose
is, when we see for ourselves the pattern He's made for us and the
dreams He's knitted together for us to live out.
I hope you'll go on an amazing adventure with me as we examine Psalm
139 in depth and discover the pattern God has for each of us when it
comes to our purpose, our achievements, and so many other pieces
that make up this fitted and well-worn garment we call life.
Finding Purpose in Humble Beginnings
Twenty-five years ago, I could not have imagined myself writing a
book about realizing your dreams. I'm sure no one else could have
imagined my writing one, either! I come from humble beginnings. I'm
incredibly proud of my heritage and consider myself blessed in a
number of ways because of my family. All four of my grandparents
were German-speaking Russian immigrants. My father didn't graduate
from high school and while my mother did, she had to move off the
farm into town and work in order to obtain her education. Both of my
grandfathers pushed a plow. There's absolutely nothing in my
background that qualifies me to be a writer.
I got married out of high school to Wayne Macomber, and between 1970
and 1975 we had four children. I remember what my mother told me
shortly after Dale, our youngest, was born. I hadn't slept an entire
night in months; I was physically and mentally worn to a frazzle. A
look of such joy came over my mother as she watched me with our
newborn son. She smiled and said, 'Debbie, these will be the
happiest days of your life.' I stared back at her in utter horror.
'Mom, you mean to tell me it gets worse'. She laughed, promising me
that one day I would treasure these days with my little ones. And
she was right.
So I was the mom of four youngsters living on a limited income with
nothing more than a high school degree, and on top of that, I'm
dyslexic. School was always difficult for me, and I never managed to
achieve anything higher than average grades. A scholarship or the
possibility of college was never an option. At the time I didn't
know I was dyslexic. The teachers didn't have a word for it then. I
didn't know my troubles in school stemmed from a learning disability
until my own children were diagnosed with dyslexia many years later.
Dyslexia doesn't go away, so to this very day I'm a slow, thoughtful
reader and a creative speller.
As a child of the fifties growing up in Yakima, Washington, words
were both my passion and my torment. My mom said that from the time
I was four years old, I went to sleep every night with a book in my
hands. I loved visiting the local library where Beverly Bunn, the
children's librarian, would read to us for story hour. She later
married and went on to write novels, too. You may have read her
work. Her married name is Beverly Cleary. I didn't know it at the
time, but she had problems reading as a kid, too.
Despite my love for stories and for reading, I struggled in school.
I was the only girl in my first-grade class to be in the Robin
Reading Group, the lowest level there was. I can still remember
sitting with my mother for a parent-teacher conference with my
third-grade teacher. 'Debbie is such a nice little girl, but she'll
never do well in school,' my mother was told. Whether it was a
self-fulfilling prophecy, I don't know, but the teacher was right' I
never did achieve high grades and remained an average student, so
average, in fact, that academically I ranked fortieth in my
graduating class of eighty girls.
The biggest complaint teachers had about me growing up was that I
daydreamed. It was true. As early as I can remember, I liked
creating stories, often when I was supposed to be paying attention
in class. Storytelling actually became my niche when I was twelve or
thirteen. I used to make up stories about the kids I babysat,
entertaining them with silly names like Snickelfritz and Stinkyfoot,
and they loved it' so much that their parents would pay me a dollar
an hour when the going rate was just a quarter. A friend of mine
likes to joke that even then, I was set on being successful! Maybe I
was, but I certainly didn't know it.
Though reading was difficult, I persisted with it, and by the time I
was in fifth grade, I had caught up with my classmates. I was ten
when I started thinking about what it would be like to be a writer,
and I wrote my first book the following year. I still remember the
characters' the story was about triplets named Faith, Hope, and
Charity, a precursor I'm sure to what have become my three
angels' Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy' favorite characters of several
Christmas books I've written over the years. I never told my
teachers or friends I wanted to write because I was afraid they
would tell me all the reasons it was impossible for me to be a
writer. I didn't get good grades in English (or anything else), and
my spelling was atrocious. I couldn't bear to have such a fragile
dream trampled upon.
Finding Your Purpose
I am absolutely convinced that each of us is created with a
God-given purpose. It's what I like to call the focus of our
lives' the 'what' that my life, and yours, is all about. Some people
seem to know what their purpose is early on; they get up every
morning with this innate passion for something; they walk around
with fire in their bellies' a desire that doesn't go away. They have
vision and determination, and they are ready to see all their dreams
come true! For others, though, their purpose, their life's focus,
seems much dimmer, harder to see. But that doesn't mean it isn't
there.
If you've picked up this book, chances are you're trying to figure
out what your purpose is or how to achieve that seemingly
unreachable dream. Maybe you thought you knew what you wanted to do,
but life's circumstances have left you wondering. Maybe you've never
known. Or perhaps you do know, but, as I was, you're afraid. You're
scared of what other people will think, or you fear that you'll
fail. So you stick your purpose up on a shelf, thinking that maybe
someday you'll get to it.
In the late seventies, my purpose, my focus to be a writer, was way,
way out of reach and coated with a thick layer of dusty childhood
doubts and the busyness of being a mother to four very active
children. But every once in a while, in my mind, I'd take my purpose
down and look at it, turn it around and wistfully think, Maybe after
the kids are grown. Then, back on the shelf it went. Out of sight,
out of mind. Almost. Until David got sick.
My cousin David Adler and I grew up together. We attended the same
schools, lived in the same neighborhood, and worshipped at the same
church. The only dates I got in high school were due to David. In
fact, it was David, another cousin, Doug, and my brother Terry who
made copies of my eighth-grade diary and sold them to the boys in my
class. At the time, I was mortified, but the years have a way of
changing one's perspective. These days, what I remember most is how
many copies were bought!
As a young adult, David was diagnosed with leukemia. When he was
admitted to Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle, my
husband, Wayne, and I were the closest family to the hospital,
living just a few miles south of town. Although I didn't venture
into the big city very often, I was determined to be with David, his
wife, Rachel, and their daughter. From the day he arrived in Seattle
from Yakima, I spent part of every day with my cousin. I was certain
God would perform a miracle. I was convinced that God would heal
him.
At the time, I hadn't been a Christian long. I was raised Catholic
and attended the local parochial school for all twelve grades. In my
parents' house there had always been a coffee-table Bible, but I
never saw it open. Every Sunday when I went to Mass, I heard the
four Gospels and the Epistles, but they never connected. Maybe I was
too young to really care back then. I knew about God, but the God I
grew up with was stern and vengeful. I didn't have a relationship
with Him. I didn't know Him. I didn't realize Christ was my personal
Savior; I knew only that my sins had nailed Him to the cross.
But at the age of twenty-two, after Wayne and I had married and I
was a mother twice over, we moved to Seahurst, near Seattle. With
two small babies born a year apart on my hips, I was invited to
Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) by my neighbor Marilyn Kimmel. Until
that point I'd never set foot inside a Protestant church, but I was
hungry for friendship and so I went. I had the most uncomfortable
feeling as soon as I got there. I was afraid if my parents ever
found out what I was doing, they'd be upset. Then the teaching
leader, Denise Adler, introduced herself. Adler is my maiden name,
and it was as if God was saying to me that it was fine for me to be
in these unfamiliar surroundings; I was home and this was family.
That week the class was studying the first four chapters of
Nehemiah. I remember Marilyn telling me somewhat apologetically that
this was the year BSF was studying the Minor Prophets. I told myself
that was okay since I didn't know what a major one was. Surrounded
by those dear ladies, as I got into the Word, it latched onto my
heart. It wasn't long before I felt God tugging at me. I wanted the
same relationship with Christ that my friends had. As I studied His
Word, I surrendered my life to Jesus Christ and have never regretted
that decision.
Knit Together for Purpose
'Whether I am knitting for myself or someone else, my passion for
knitting enables me to express my creativity and produces a feeling
of accomplishment.'
'Rita E. Greenfeder, Editor, Knit 'N Style
If you've ever read any of my books, you probably already know that
I'm a big knitter. I started knitting as a twelve-year-old girl. My
mother wasn't a knitter, and in fact, I didn't know a single person
who knew how to knit. I pestered her until she took me to the local
yarn store. The wonderful ladies there took me under their wing and
taught me, and I've never been the same since. I knitted all through
my school years until Wayne and I married, and then again
periodically while the kids were growing up. But it was when I
became a grandmother for the first time that the bug really took
hold. I love to knit! I also love collecting yarn. In fact, I need
an entire room to hold my yarn stash. It's difficult for me to
resist stopping in a yarn store, no matter how many projects are
already waiting for me at home. But knitting can often be a slow
process. From start to finish, it takes time to complete. Knitting
certainly requires patience and persistence. I find it's the same
with finding your purpose.
That's why, seven years later, because of that wonderful
relationship I had with Jesus, I was absolutely convinced that God
would heal my cousin David. After all, I knew my life had changed
for the better, and I knew God could make a difference in David's
life. And this was no mustard-seed faith; the faith I carried around
was the size of avocados! I told David, 'God is going to heal you.
Through the love of Jesus Christ, you're going to be healed.'
But despite all my prayers and absolute certainty, David passed away
on September 23, 1978. And suddenly, I didn't know what to believe.
I was in a crisis of faith. I couldn't sleep; I couldn't pray. I
couldn't read my Bible. I felt that God had let me down.
My questions ended one morning, though, when I tried to have
devotions with the children. My son Ted was particularly antsy that
day, and, exasperated, I tried again to get him to pay attention.
'Ted,' I asked, for the twentieth time, 'what do you have to do to
get to heaven.'
He looked at me as if I had just asked what he'd had for breakfast.
'Die,' he said.
His answer took a moment to sink in. But I realized he was right.
David had died, but before his death he had come to know the same
Jesus I did. Because he had accepted Christ, I had the assurance
that David was in heaven. Furthermore, by the grace of God, David
really had been healed.
That revelation was quickly followed by another: I could no longer
afford to dream of being a writer someday. I could no longer stuff
my dreams into the future with a long list of justifications. Life
holds no guarantees. I realized then that it was time for me to move
my life purpose forward. It was time to go after my dream.
Since we didn't have the money to buy a typewriter, we rented one. I
placed that typewriter on the kitchen table and moved it at
mealtimes. Every morning when the kids left for school, I moved the
typewriter back to the table and wrote until they came home. I
didn't have a lot of life experience at that point, but I knew I
could write something with a happy ending. And after four kids, I
needed one.
The Passion in Your Purpose
I imagine that you're asking how I knew my purpose was to be a
writer. Well, I didn't at first, not completely. But as I said
earlier, I believe that God puts desires in our hearts through our
dreams, through our passions, and through what brings us joy. When
we can look through all of those things, we can find our purpose as
we discover the customized blueprint, the pattern, God's made for
each of us.
So, let's take a look at the passion in our purpose. Ask yourself
these questions: What is it that gets me excited' What do I love to
do'
I believe that what you enjoyed as a child often provides hints of
what you should be doing as an adult. When I was young, I loved to
read and tell stories. Maybe you loved to dress up your dolls,
creating elaborate new fashions. Maybe you liked drawing. Or maybe
you thrived on helping other people, or taking care of the
neighbor's dog. Perhaps you enjoyed playing school or house, or
caring for sick stuffed animals. Whatever you enjoyed most can give
you clues to the purpose God has for you. As Rick Warren puts it so
directly on the first page of The Purpose-Driven Life, 'It's not
about you.'
God has a plan for your life and a purpose that fits into His master
plan. But He doesn't want you to float through life waiting for a
giant bolt of lightning to fall from heaven and point out what
you're supposed to be doing. He gave each of us a brain as well as a
heart. We have to listen to both to truly discover the pattern God
has for our lives.
(Continues.)
