"life is lived to serve life"

This is pretty much how I've lived my life up until this last breakdown in 2002. It was a massive burnout, spiralling into depression and debilitating me to the point of not being able to do anything for months. The depression is gone (thanks to a few years of anti-depressants and a wonderful therapist), but I still haven't been able to achieve a sustainable level of reliable energy. IOW, the fuel tanks are still running on empty. It's still almost impossible for me to do anything that involves any undue level of physical exertion and/or emotional energy.

At this point in my recovery, I can walk a few blocks, do Tai Chi and Yoga stretching exercises, bake cookies (that's only in the past few months), and garden for an hour or so with numerous sit-down breaks (and not too many worms).

Five hours playing with my granddaughter on the weekend, while absolutely delightful and heart-lifting, still rendered me too exhausted (it feels like a deflated balloon, or one that's full of cement bricks) to do anything for the next two days. I still can't work, not even part-time; I can't do volunteer work yet, I can't even go shopping for more than an hour or two at the most. This is all so opposite to who and what I've been most of my life. It's the forced inactivity, the inability to reliably serve anyone at all that has made me question my purpose while in this state of being.

Somewhere inside of me, from within my wealth of experience of God's mercy and profound love, I know that I'm worthy merely because I exist. But for someone who has spent her entire life serving God and helping others in every possible moment and facet of that life (thus the massive burnout?), it helps to hear that my presence here might be adding a bit of light and love to the world. Especially since being here is one of the few things that I'm able to do these days.