The Hawaiian islands speak to my spirit on many levels. I love the sweet-smelling air, the nature parks, and the commitment of the people to keep the land healthy. The word "aloha" can be translated many different ways, but it's more about the feeling it evokes—the pride in culture, health, and caring for the islands and others around you.
These baby Nene geese are an excellent example of aloha in action. When the Nene geese were on the verge of extinction, their numbers less than 100 in the wild, conservationists worked to save them. Years later, these birds roam free on all the islands, raising their young and building their numbers. Recently, they were moved from "endangered" status to "threatened."
And in northern Kauai, you can't go outside without seeing them flying overhead or foraging in nearby greenery. These little guys and their parents jumped right up onto our porch and stared through our window. Of course, no one should be feeding them, especially not processed food, but people obviously do. Instead of indulging their adorable little peeps with snacks, I sat down inside the doorway and snapped pictures. They didn't mind, even when I was no more than a mere foot away from them. What an experience!
If they had gone extinct, that special little encounter never would have happened.
Recently, our pastor challenged everyone to shift away from new year's resolutions (since most people make and break the same ones every year) and instead focus on this question: what breaks your heart? That answer is different for each one of us, but each answer has greater power to shift our habits than simply trying to eat healthier or drag ourselves to the gym twice a week. The answer can awaken a sense of purpose. Purpose has the power to shift our focus and change our habits.
One of my answers to the broken heart question is needless animal extinction—the kind that comes from negative human intervention, ignorance, or loss of habitat.
When in Hawaii, hubs and I have to do at least one snorkel excursion. Free diving in the reefs is like a treasure hunt. What creatures will we find? The ocean could never reveal all its secrets in one diverse reef, and the ocean life perpetually shifts. Rays and olive flounders hide themselves in the sand, and turtles can jet away before you get a decent look. Crabs and lobsters slink under rocks and coral at the first sign of larger creatures.
And among all the beauty, I tend to find plastic cups, lost hotel room keys, and random pieces of fishing gear. While the rest of the tourists bob on the surface, I'm carefully plucking a Styrofoam cup from vibrant coral. It also breaks my heart to see trash in the reefs—trash that can end up inside an aquatic creature, slowly killing it from the inside out. It's not just the pollution itself, it's the lack of "aloha" behind it. Not all litter is the direct result of an uncaring attitude, but it proves humans have work to do.
To clean our oceans, protect wildlife, and preserve the sea for future generations, mankind must do better.
My broken heart is a sign I should do something about it. What I do about it leads to purpose. Purpose shifts us away from the material, busy world that pushes for more. Without purpose, we give ourselves to empty, insatiable goals.
More wealth. More power. More stuff that people will sell or throw away after we die. "More" is not a fulfilling goal. It's an undefinable pit. The more we have, the more we are afraid to lose. What we should be afraid of is giving up true purpose for "more."
Lately, I've been redefining my personal goals. I don't want them to look like the world's view of prosperity—nicer car, better job, a bigger house, more stuff. At the end of my life, I want to look back and see how many people I blessed. What good I did. I don't want anyone to have to lie or make up something nice to say after I'm gone. I want the truth to be "that woman really cared, and it showed."
But I also know it's not up to me to define what this purpose looks like. As a Christian, I need God in the driver's seat. If I believe he blessed me with the talents, desires, and means to find his purpose for me, then my writing, art, capabilities, and resources belong to him. The best thing I can do is leverage all of them to do good in this world. Good for our planet. Good for other people.
Still, doubt creeps in. Problems appear too large for me to tackle. My "background dwelling" nature can get in the way of taking those steps in faith. "After all," doubt tells me, "if no one reads your books, this blog, or cares about your art, what difference can you make?"
I can donate money to organizations that are already making a difference.
I can pick up trash out of coral reefs.
I can write a short story or encouraging letter to uplift someone who's struggling.
I can walk with my lonely neighbor instead of keeping my face in my phone.
I can serve at a local charity.
I can make time for a friend when the rest of the world is too busy.
And I do—I just want to make "more" deposits toward a purpose outside of pleasing myself.
This is the healthy version of "more." This "more" leads to a life given away instead of smothered in the world's grip. This "more" is immune to the superficial "more" that tells me to spend all my income and resources solely on me. And until I find that greater purpose for my talents, I'll continue to focus on the smaller tasks I can accomplish now.
For anyone else who struggles with doubt, whether it's with writing, a career shift, or taking that first step toward greater purpose, remember to focus on the right version of "more." What breaks your heart? What tiny steps can you take to make a difference with that issue? Start out small and see where it leads. Greater purpose is out there for each of us, but it's up to us to chase it. Step one may be as simple as blocking out the world's expectations. Whatever it is for you, I wish you the best of luck.
Keep on smilin'!
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