I stared blankly at the stacks of papers that filled my elderly neighbor\u2019s living room that summer day. What had I gotten myself into?<\/p>\n
\u201cI need you to be my eyes,\u201d Ruth said. \u201cI\u2019m looking for a notebook with a picture of this teapot.\u201d She pointed at a cabinet filled with beautiful porcelain teapots. \u201cIt\u2019s here somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled nervously. \u201cDo you remember where you last saw it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGoodness, no,\u201d she said. \u201cBut you\u2019ll know it when you see it.\u201d<\/p>\n
This was what my life had come to. Even an 89-year-old woman with bad vision could see I had nothing better to do than hunt for a dusty old notebook.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d moved back home when I was 28, feeling like a failure at work, at love, at everything. I was constantly tired and achy\u2014depressed. Nothing interested me. I\u2019d always enjoyed crafting, but now I never seemed to have the energy. I couldn\u2019t remember the last time I\u2019d felt God in my life. Mom kept at me to get involved, to help others. But what could I offer? Tips on how to be a loser?<\/p>\n
So when Ruth Thornton called, asking if I could \u201cpop over for a minute,\u201d Mom had practically pushed me out the door. \u201cIt\u2019ll do you good,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Now I searched through a sea of paperwork. Ruth had moved on to a different topic, how she\u2019d gotten started collecting crosses.<\/p>\n
My head was spinning.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think I can find it,\u201d I said after an hour.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s all right. It\u2019ll turn up,\u201d she said. \u201cThey always do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her optimism baffled me. Maybe upstairs?<\/em> I thought. There, wedged in a corner of a spare bedroom, I found it.<\/p>\n \u201cWonderful,\u201d Ruth exclaimed. \u201cI\u2019ll use that in the talk I\u2019m giving next week.\u201d I looked at her in astonishment. Almost 90 and her life was busier than mine.<\/p>\n I found myself visiting Ruth several times a week. At first, I\u2019ll admit, it was just to keep Mom off my back. But there was always something that intrigued me, a book she suggested I borrow, a pretty pattern in a teacup, one of the crosses in her collection on the wall.<\/p>\n One day I arrived to find Ruth sitting in her living room squinting at a piece of stationery. \u201cI need your eyes again,\u201d she said. \u201cCan you read this letter to me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d I said. I moved a chair next to hers.<\/p>\n \u201cDear Ruth,\u201d I began reading, \u201cI was thinking about the dig we went on\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at her in surprise. \u201cWere you an archaeologist?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d she said, smiling at the memory. \u201cIt was just a hobby. But we\u2019ve stayed in touch.\u201d<\/p>\n I finished reading the letter. Ruth said, \u201cThanks. Now I better write her back.\u201d<\/p>\n I busied myself organizing some of her books, but I kept glancing at Ruth, carefully writing. She was amazing, a puzzle. How had this woman, living in a tiny Iowa town, managed to live such a full life? She just never seemed to stop. Surely the letter writer didn\u2019t expect an immediate reply. But there was Ruth, hard at work.<\/p>\n Soon, I realized that Ruth wasn\u2019t writing just an occasional letter. Nearly every day there was a note for me to read and a letter for her to write. She had collected friends like she had teapots, and had stories to go with each one, stories of travel and adventure, but also of raising her three children and selling clothes in her and her husband\u2019s store in Storm Lake. She had lived a life I could only dream of living.<\/p>\n Summer faded into fall. More and more Ruth needed me to be her eyes and even her hands. I noticed that she was falling behind in her cleaning and offered to do her dishes. Ruth asked me to do more tidying up, more odd jobs. Finally she offered to hire me as a part-time housekeeper. I hesitated. A housekeeper?<\/em> Then I thought, What else have I got going on?<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a deal, Ruth,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n That winter, Ruth fell and shattered her hip. A son called. Would I spend evenings with Ruth in a nursing home while she recovered? They\u2019d be willing to pay. I thought of Ruth lying there alone. How could I refuse?<\/p>\n One cold winter night, when I was wondering for the millionth time where my life was going, I trudged down the hall to Ruth\u2019s room. She seemed so small, so helpless in her bed. When she saw me, she managed a thin smile.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been hoping you\u2019d come,\u201d she said. \u201cA letter came today. Could you read it?\u201d<\/p>\n I sat by her bed and quickly read the letter. \u201cAnything else?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n She looked at me hesitantly. \u201cWould you mind helping me write a letter back?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n It was such a simple, obvious request, but for a moment it left me speechless. Ruth needed me. This woman, who had lived such a full, rich life, truly needed me. I had found my purpose. It had been in plain sight all along.<\/p>\n Connecting with others. That\u2019s what kept Ruth going. And here she was, her body broken, still wanting to reach out. She needed me to help her touch her world. But more than that, I finally understood that there was something I needed from her.<\/p>\n \u201cWho should we write?\u201d I asked, collecting paper and pen. Her face lit up with excitement.<\/p>\n When we finished, I looked over at Ruth. There was color in her cheeks. I knew how she felt, like a new person.<\/p>\n Ruth left the nursing home, and my services were no longer needed. And yet I no longer thought of visiting Ruth as a job. Several times a week I found myself thinking of things I could do for her, baking some banana muffins or finding a poem I knew she would like, any excuse to drop by. But now Ruth was only a part of my life. I had started making crafts again, reconnecting with friends.<\/p>\n One day I found myself making Ruth a gift, stitching together a rainbow of yarns to create a large cross. With each stitch I felt my heartbeat quicken, my hand moving faster at a still familiar task. I couldn\u2019t wait to show Ruth.<\/p>\n She held it up admiringly, her eyes twinkling. \u201cThank you,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. This will get a treasured spot in my collection.\u201d<\/p>\n She paused, and then looked at me. \u201cI so look forward to your visits,\u201d she said. \u201cYou make me feel young again. You have so much energy and life. I wish I had your energy.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at her in surprise. Was there someone else in the room?<\/p>\n But as my eyes met hers I realized that Ruth saw someone I was only just now recognizing. My aches? They seemed to have vanished. My spirit? It felt lighter than it had in years. I had learned that every day is an opportunity to learn, to meet someone, to try something new. Frankly, I couldn\u2019t wait to start the next lesson.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I stared blankly at the stacks of papers that filled my elderly neighbor\u2019s living room that summer day. What had I gotten myself into? \u201cI need you to be my eyes,\u201d Ruth said. \u201cI\u2019m looking for a notebook with a picture of this teapot.\u201d She pointed at a cabinet filled with beautiful porcelain teapots. \u201cIt\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":29398,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[252],"tags":[],"ppma_author":[1104],"class_list":["post-21487","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-finding-life-purpose"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n