Passion

Did a teacher or a mentor ever ask you to write your own epitaph? When your life is over, what do you want said about you? Mine did, in Jr. High School. I wrote, "She was passionate." Jr. High! I'm not even sure what I thought I should be passionate in Jr. High about, but I knew I didn't want to live my life to be passive. I wanted to care passionately about the things that mattered to me. If I invested my life in something, I wanted it to be said of me that I did so with passion.

I prefer my conversations with people to be one on one when possible, so that I can give as close to 100% as possible to listening, and as close to 100% as possible to a thoughtful response. (There are definitely some wonderful exceptions to this) I'm easily distracted and sometimes have too many thoughts at the same time, so it is hard for me to keep up with more than one train of thought at a time and at the same time, my own thoughts interrupt previous thoughts. So much to think about in life, so much to ponder and share.

I love to see passion flash across the eyes of friends and family in conversation. You know, the moment that a nerve is struck and fire shines in their eyes because they care deeply about whatever they are talking about. Something that they're willing to invest in and take a risk about. Something they don't mind if you disagree with because they care enough about it for both of you.

This week, so far, has already been full of such conversations. Rich, meaningful moments with precious, passionate people. This wall is located in a local restaurant named "Shark Bites". I'm thinking that lots of passionate conversations takes place across the tables of this delightful eating establishment. Even the walls reek with creativity.

Some of the most precious people in my life are going to read this blip and exclude themselves, thinking, "I'm definitely not one of her passionate friends...she's not talking about me". You're wrong. I am talking about you. I can think of no one in my life who doesn't have passion about something or someone. The fire burns in all of us. We each have been given passions that are just waiting to be kindled with some hope, some faith, some confidence. A tiny fanning and the flame ignites and burns. Some just smoulder, waiting. Others appear to all but go out, then whoosh! A breeze blows over the embers, and fire rises in the eyes, and life flows from renewed passion.

What is your passion? What do you want written on your headstone when you're gone? (I SO know my husband is going to hit me with about 5 humorous epitaphs he has thought of when he reads this...I'm ready)

After my first husband passed away, I found notes he had written one day. He wrote, "on my headstone I want them to write: 'The wood of the cross was made from the tree of knowledge' ". We planted a tree for him on the Mississippi river and a plaque is at it's base that says just that. It gives me pause to think.