People ask me all the time how they can have a life of service when they have a job necessary to support their families. People tell me they work 45-50 hours a week and the commute time is 2-3 hours a day. Where is the time for service? Do they see the unhoused people on the streets? They haven’t chosen to be there. These are people that are also trying to find hope and purpose for their lives. When we forget them, we are forgetting God. Our hands are dirty! Our lives are dirty! Now is the right time to act. It doesn’t take a miracle to do something about our unhoused brothers and sisters. And it doesn’t take any extra time away from our jobs. A donation here, a phone call there. One of these would be the starting point to help our unhoused neighbors to finding their own way to fulfillment. We are not perfect. They are not perfect. We cannot solve the issue. But perhaps that one phone call can lift one person. To find the stairway out of nowhere. And lift him up to find his dream. Isn’t that all that God asks? And isn’t that one phone call a life of service?
I awoke this morning feeling old. I suppose that’s natural at 82. I felt so shamed to show my age to my son visiting with his family from Georgia. Then I thought. . . my life’s not over. There remains a reason why I’m still alive; why God is calling me to do something. Maybe my “Something Asked” is not finished. And at 82 sitting here at my desk I’m still an able fighter. So, I’m going to charge forward; who cares if I use a walker? My family doesn’t. God doesn’t. God Certainly Doesn’t. So why should I? So here I am. A not so young 82; no, a young 82., realizing that “something is still asked me.”
We feel our need for healing and the perils rising before us. The scent of a storm on the horizon Approaches with a destructive strength. Our stillness is not emptiness, our compassion. . . leaps, we pray for purity and compassion for the society we inhabit and our grandchildren inherit.
Ultimate reality blooms daily struggles sing the core of our deepest desires fails to invoke my name the heart of regular life perhaps too much for us to hope for shines through the cracks. . . and the lack of our generosity. . . to whom this sounds like so much like “I am here. I am here!”
God forever promises. . . letting new light shine upon us. As we wander in the desert of our lives, we lose the feel of God when we confront our daily sadness, anger, anxiety, or even joy! We repress the suffering over the world! Personal invitations stretch my concern for God’s all-inclusive Love!
Through deep meditation with God And dwelling within me as He does with all, I recover from my selfish covetousness, remembering that being on speaking terms with God is bragging, listening is learning! I believe He rewards all His children with eternity in His Kingdom of Heaven!
My weakness, God’s power I look; l search; I learn. God teaches me to listen. . . my inner voice speaks golden riches, for it is His forthcoming through my heart! Speaking Love to the world to the wellbeing of all.
We are bold to be together; God champions each of us; Together we are undefeated; Brothers, sisters, those fleeing inhuman living conditions where leaders stonewall God.
All are welcome in this house. . . the migrant escaping violence. . . the weary traveler seeking rest. . . the stranger who knocks on the door. We are all worthy in God’s eyes. Being on speaking terms is great practice –
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