Saturday Morning

It's Saturday and we're enjoying a rather rare, albeit seasonal morning for the west coast of central Florida. The sun is shining (as it usually is). A respectable breeze is blowing, not the wimpy kind that barely rustles the leaves. No. I sturdy breeze that shouts, "Come out and play, take a walk, or just face me head-on and breathe!" I love wind, so I'm eager to get outside where I can enjoy it. Meantime, the window in my room is open and the chill air feels delicious.

This is a new blog, so I'm still dipping my feet in the waters. About what shall I write? Book reviews to be sure. But what else? What is worth writing about? And more importantly what is worth reading about? Because of course, the point of a blog is to reflect and carry people along with me on my waves of reflection. So here's what's on my mind today . . .

I am like most Americans I think. We trudge through the work week in order to enjoy a two-day reprieve from the mundane, often frustrating hours we spend the other five days. By so many standards I have a good job. I work in a clean environment. My job is not physically taxing. The hours are enviable; I'm at work by 6:30 in the morning and leave at 2:30 in the afternoon. I generally do not have to work evenings nor weekends. And for the most part I work with decent, intelligent people. I realize how fortunate I am and I am daily thankful. But the older I get, the less satisfied I am living a passionless life. I ache to find fulfillment in what I spend my days doing. And I grow weary of saying to myself, "There must be more!"

To punctuate these musings, I am forced to say goodbye to a dear friend tonight. My husband and I will attend the wake for a woman who lived her life fully. LaVon bid farewell to her husband of sixty-eight years just five months ago. And now, after a sudden and tragic car accident, LaVon has joined her Paul in Heaven. This lovely couple spent fifteen years in Cuba as missionaries before they were forced to flee with their children when Castro's revolution tore through the island nation. They enjoyed wonderful, productive years as well as the harrowing experiences that precipitated their return to the United States. Their years of service were not an at end though. They continued to pastor churches and serve God for the remainder of their lives. Paul was the sweetest, gentlest man I ever knew. LaVon was effervescent. A genuine lady, still lovely at the age of 90.

When I reach that age, I want to be able to look back and remember how I was able to change my life in my early 50s and chart a new course. One that was rich with satisfaction and fulfillment, passion and purpose. I am on a quest to find out how to do that. I am asking God to show me the way.

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