Worth

Some days it's easy to slip into despair it seems. It's easy to doubt the love of those around you and whether or not your life serves a purpose. It's easy to think about the needs in your life that are not being fulfilled, and then immediately doubt whether your needs are real or whether you're just needy. It's easy to think that maybe you're going crazy, that you will make everyone you love miserable just by being alive. And you feel miserable because you don't know what to do, and you don't know how to do it or why. 

Today I had such a day. 

I was at work, pondering the worth of living. After a few months of working at a nursing home, death doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore. Some of the residents tell me they wish they were dead every morning when they wake up. Others lay incapacitated in their beds, tongues lolling out of their mouths, no control over their limbs and totally incapable of speech except to repeat a single word or phrase such as "cold" or "Lord help me." No amount of blankets or aid can silence their moans. They have the best of care, but it still doesn't seem to help. 

But some residents still have a gusto for life, and the more lively ones delight to come to bingo. It was during one of these bingo games that my depressed mind spiraled down into despair. Once the game ended I began to wheel the residents back to their rooms, and as the blood coursed through my veins my thoughts accelerated. There I was at the beginning of my life surrounded by people at the end of theirs, wondering if it was worth sojourning the years in between. Was anything I was doing worth anything? 

I had just returned a resident to his room when I heard a voice call behind me. I turned around to see another old man wheeling himself out of his room. 

"I thought it was you." He said. 

"Hi Stan," I replied. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing well, I just wanted to say hello. I'm nice and toasty now." He grinned, motioning to the thick winter coat he was wearing. 

"Well that's good, it's been awfully cold outside."

"Yes, yes. I'm very glad I've met you. You're a wonderful, kind, and friendly young woman and a delight to be with."

"Thank you Stan. The same to you."

"Well thank you. I just wanted to let you know."

"Thank you Stan, you have a good night."

"Thank you, you too."

I turned around as my eyes began tearing up. Right there, a little old man had told me my life was worth it, had told me I was wrong in thinking I was nothing but a misery to myself and those around me, had wheeled himself out of his room just to make sure I heard it. 

"Thank you God." I prayed silently as I went back to the activity room to take more residents back to their rooms. The services I performed were small, but they were not worthless. Stan's words were few, but they were not worthless. I had always known that every life is precious, but sometimes a lurking doubt overwhelms that knowledge. And sometimes a simple act of appreciation can reveal it again. I can do good, and I am not going to throw away that opportunity. I have a purpose here, and I am not going to abandon it. 

God does not make garbage, and he does not abandon His children without direction and the strength they need. Some days it's easy to slip into despair, but it does not mean the doubts that whisper into your ears are right, and it does not mean you are crazy for having such doubts. Do not confuse perfection and worth. We all are screwed up, but we all have worth too. Mistakes can never decrease your worth. You did not earn your worth, you cannot lose it either.  But you can keep living, and living with integrity even in small tasks. Who knows, even the simplest kindness to an old man can come back to bless you on a despairing day.