Make a Difference

The only time I can sit down to write is at night. Once the kids are in bed and the chores are done (or mostly done), I find a comfortable spot and pound out my thoughts on my laptop to the comfortable whirr and hum of the dishwasher and the dryer. Sometimes the direction of my writing is as straight as an arrow - I know where I am headed and what it will look like when I get there. Other times, like tonight, I am wandering aimlessly. Writing is like going on a good run - usually you go with a purpose ("I'm going to run to the end of the block," or "I'm going to run to Krispy Kreme."), and other times you just put on your shoes and go with no predetermined coordinates. It's nice to do that sometimes. Not that I know from personal experience. Running is for people who don't have cars.

This evening my mind is flooded with cares, few of them my own. My thoughts are drawn toward a friend whose heart is breaking. A friend who needs a miracle for her baby. A friend whose cancer is back. A family member who's lost direction. The lady I saw at the Coffee Beanery. The face on the sex trafficking poster. The lonely look in the eyes of a friend who deserves better but doesn't know what that looks like anymore. I'd be foolish to make it sound as if I'm a saint, as if the cares of the world weigh on me every moment. They don't. There are a few treasured souls who occupy more of my thoughts than some, but most often what happens is I read the sad article --> I post it on Facebook --> I cry out in anger --> I say an earnest prayer --> Then I close that window and get back to Hulu - the commercial's over after all.

The troubles of the world seem overwhelming. How can we make a difference?

1 comment:

jalna said...

It's easy for me to be a good, helpful friend . . . when it doesn't inconvenience me. When it's out of the way, when I don't have time, when I'd rather be doing something else . . . I struggle. In the end I usually do my part, but I so wish that I could be the genuine type of person that no matter what, without the slightest hesitation, is there for you . . . always.