Guest Post by Molly Hudgens

People often talk about defining moments in their lives with phrases like "The Best Day Ever "or "A Moment I'll Never Forget."  We capture these moments in photos and frame them in memories to draw from when we need our cup to be replenished.  If you'd asked me what these moments were for me prior to September 28, 2016, I would have easily reeled off a list that included my wedding day, the births of my sons, and being named Teacher of the Year for our school system in 2004.  I thought my life was "normal" in most aspects and closer to "boring" in others.  It never registered that I failed to notice when the leaves changed color in autumn or how the sound of my grandmother's laughter filled a room.  In many ways there was a complacency that went unrecognized.

Then one Wednesday in late summer, everything I knew and believed was challenged and altered when a fourteen-year-old eighth grader, armed with a semi-automatic handgun, additional ammunition, and a plan to harm people on our campus, came to me in the counseling department of our middle school in rural Tennessee. No class in graduate school or life experience could have prepared me for that incident. I had lived thirty-nine years, three hundred and sixty four days when this young man's struggle landed on my doorstep.  As I sat at my desk listening to his plight, it dawned on me that tomorrow would be my fortieth birthday, and I might not be present to celebrate it.  What a strange thought in the midst of a crisis...but a thought, nonetheless.

It was then that I began to question what I had done with my life thus far.  Who had I helped?  What had truly been accomplished? Was there a legacy to leave behind?  If my purpose had been fulfilled and my time on earth was ending, had my life mattered?  Had I lived in such a way to support, encourage, inspire, and uplift others to the fullest of my ability? I didn't like the answer to my own question because it was "no."  That was a defining moment. The realization sunk in that I wasn't satisfied with dying at thirty-nine.  If I survived I was going to redefine what it meant to live.

Thankfully, my purpose was not complete; my mission remained unfinished.  The next day, I turned forty years old, and I began to live.  Colors were brighter, sounds clearer, and the small moments that had previously gone unnoticed, now began to take on greater significance. No longer would I be satisfied with "good enough." The next thirty-nine years, three hundred and sixty-four days would be spent with intentional LIVING.  Now my days are filled with loving deeper, laughing harder, noticing those who might have been previously overlooked or passed by, and making an effort to get lost in the moment.  I take fewer pictures and absorb more memories because they are really what last.  And every conversation with a student is more meaningful than it was prior to the events of 9/28/16.  I may have experienced a traumatic experience, but I refuse to allow it to define me.  I am defining it.

So the question begs to ask, "How satisfied are you with your life?"  For you see, it's not about the wealth you are acquiring, the power you're striving to achieve, or the things the world makes you believe you need to accomplish in order to be successful.  It is about truly serving and loving others.  It is what you do for someone else that will bring you joy.  Serving yourself is a hopeless and pointless task that will leave you feeling unfulfilled, but genuinely loving others and seeking ways to empower and better them, will lift you to previously unexperienced heights. Try it. The bread you cast on the water will come back to you on every wave - when you least expect it - if you do. Get busy living a life of significance. For the last 1,479 days I have been, and nothing has ever been more defining.

-Molly

Thank you, Molly!