Having a passion for anything means you cannot get enough, correct? I think I have a passion for writing. I believe there is so much I have yet to say. Yet and still, there are days, when my head is over flooded with things I want to say, but I feel no drive to sit and write.
Is it then a passion? I dream of the day when I will be able to write full time. I envision myself sitting in my home in Florida, in Coral Springs, in my writing room with the scant white furniture; a sofa, a desk, a chair and a coffee table with yellow flowers in a vase; Tulips, Roses, Calla Lillies, Hydrangeas and yellow sheer curtains swaying freely in the wind. This room is peaceful, and I am inspired, when I enter. Just God and I dwell there.
I am hopeful that what I say is God approved, and not just me giving my opinion and feelings, as I try to lift my brothers and sisters up through words. Wanting, desiring, believing for single moms to go for gold, to run with the baton handed to them. Run because their lives, their children’s lives depend on it.
For teenagers to get it, that the world is theirs for the taking. To love their fellowmen, don’t get so angry that we forget to love, so despondent that we give up on life, so complacent that we accept what is dished out to us.
And it dawns on me that my passion is not writing, but my passion is my fellowman. That I too want world peace, to live in a world where we are all equal. A world where when we look out and see our neighbors, we are totally oblivious to the fact that they look just a bit different from us. That a hug is not too much to give and that we will understand, that sometimes, that is all they have to give, and it makes all the difference in the world. That when we help another, that is not a prison cell to hold them in for life. My passion is love, is this too much to ask?