You Didn't Wake Up For You.

.You know those periods of time you weave in and out of, you don't know what it is or why, but you just don't feel yourself?Well, whether we're on the same page or not, that's a short little peek into what I've been struggling with for the past few weeks. I'm not really sure how to piece this together on a page splattered with fragmented sentences and 500 heavy words, but by golly I'll try my best.I think most people know what it's like to undergo a finals week, the feeling of drowning in papers and powerpoint slides has an all too familiar taste in between my two cheeks. It's easy for me to get caught up in the mess and begin to highlight the amount of things I have to do, never missing a moment to off-load the stress onto someone else's crowded plate. Sure, it's easy to complain about things when you have so much going on, but walking that road is like riding a bicycle down a root-covered trail; you're guaranteed to fall at some point, and that's exactly what happened to me.Among all the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks, I found myself standing face to face with a towering giant, much too tall for me to reach--it was a lack of inspiration. I'd face moments of staring at an empty word document on my computer, every icon blink worse than the previous. I was filled with disappointment following a photography excursion. I was finding it very hard to feel content with a piece of art or calligraphy of my making. Things that typically become an outlet for me all swallowed up in a never-ending cycle of disappointment, providing nothing but a heavy sigh and a few salty tears streaming down the side of my cheek. It wasn't until one morning, as I was attempting to generate some words from nothing but an empty well, when God practically dumped an ice cold bucket of water on me while I was sleeping; a nice wake up call if you will, formed into this one simple phrase:"You didn't wake up for you."You see, I think I went down the road of thinking my creativity was given to me purely for my enjoyment, for my betterment, failing to realize that everything we're given serves a higher purpose, and yes, this includes the very breath in our lungs. I started to do things for myself. No wonder I wasn't content with my work, because it's not for me, and it was never meant to be. I think every single moment is a gift handed directly to us by our Father Himself, wrapped in a nice little red bow with a note that says, "My dear child, use this for your brothers and your sisters." It's incredible the kind of life change you can see happen from one moment to the next; my inspiration immediately returned, my writing took off, my photography skyrocketed. That wasn't because of anything I did or accomplished, but solely because I started using the things given to me in ways they were always supposed to be used: for others."I'm exhausted, maybe I'll just go home."You didn't wake up for you."Maybe I should quit, or not show up today, there's always tomorrow."You didn't wake up for you."I''m just not feeling inspired at all."You didn't wake up for you.I encourage you, sister, to lay down your struggles at the feet of the only One fit to carry all of them, and use what He gives you in return for the brother or sister standing on your right or your left. And when you think you've come to the end of yourself, take one more step, clenching your gifts in the hand hanging by your side. Because maybe you taking that step is an answered prayer for someone else. Maybe you taking that step is exactly what another drowning soul needed. Maybe you taking that step, writing that note, taking that photo, running that race, acing that test, is exactly what another's soul is desperately crying out for, and you get to be that.words and photo by Sarah MohanSaveSave