I find myself always asking,
How can I best serve God?
(Right now. In this life. In the present.)
And the answer seems to always be given
softly in my mind,
boldly in my life.
By serving the people living at this house.
No, no, no.
Can't I do something glamorous?
Don't you need a writer for a really popular magazine?
Do you need me to work at a theatre like Flat Rock Playhouse?
Do you want me to sell all of my possessions and travel across the country with my family in an RV for you?
Do you want me to sequester myself away in some private hideaway and write the next great novel?
To wash these clothes?
To wipe so many sticky hands?
To kiss golden heads when they cry?
To stay up late holding inconsolable babies?
(or may not)
Are you sure?
I am supposed to be busy
about the business
you gently placed
But . . . .
No one notices.
The hours are really long.
The salary is sub-standard.