I ain't dead yet. -Woody Guthrie
We express ourselves in our work, whether we want to our not. Our legacy of spirit is not something aimed at a history book but is something that arrows through each of us each day & enters the hearts of others.
History doesn't feel our love. People do.
We fill/spill our library of tears, shake our rattles full of laughter, tip our cups of anger, needle out our frustration, offer our gifts of compassion & it's all there in our work.
The surprise is, it turns out that everything matters...
& since everything matters then you matter & I matter & the nurse bringing you a styrofoam cup of cool water to still your thirst matters because you need & she is needed.
All the love in the world will meet some of the need, bathe this need in her soft eyes, salve it with finger strokes, cool pain's fire with the breeze of her breath.
You have loved & given love. You have suffered & carry scars.
Since everything matters, what will you do today to love away another's need? Will you leave work one night, on your last night, with your love unspent - circling unused in the jungle of your fear?
Will you leave work one day, at the end of your last day, knowing you have spread the cloak of your compassion to stanch the fire of another's agony?
What legacy will you celebrate at the end of this day? The one you are living now? The only one you will ever have.
