Whether my occasional writing ever makes a difference in a stranger’s life, and thus draws some eternal reward, or somehow matures to the genre of the classics (humor), it certainly soothes my own soul. When my spirit has become sufficiently numbed from the day to day fury of my diverse routine (hectic), I enjoy early morning processing on the keyboard.
Maybe more than that keyboard moment is the leading up to it, like this morning. I was pondering the gnawing feeling that maybe my blogging initiative had finally ceased, given that I had not been moved to write for weeks, perhaps too busy? Then came the soul searching, for some possible word to inspire what few people read my musings, though now in over 36 countries (which I find amazing). Finally, my interest piqued while I was reading an 84 year old guest columnist in our local WSJournal, the former Elkin Tribune journalist Anne Adkins, her column entitled: “The Pastures Are Still Worth the Run.”
Here I am approaching 65 years of age, with a phenomenal series of life events, even an opportunity to serve as a three term mayor in our small community, but still not sure what my life impact has been thus far.
Don’t get me wrong, I know I have contributed moments of inspiration to the lives of individuals, if only on their death beds, such as occurred last week. I had stopped by Hospice, as I do often when friends are near passing. This friend was a true “prayer warrior” through whom I have witnessed not a few absolute miracles. Yet there she lay, unable to help her-self physically, the victim of this now too common demon named Dementia. I placed my hand on her forward and she immediately responded: “John Bost, when your hand touched my head it made the bottoms of my feet hurt!” She was aware of my presence. As we prayed, her somewhat dry wit seemed fully awakened and my affection soon turned to a joyous mixture of laughter and tears. I cried more than I prayed. She even cautioned me about using a handkerchief as I bent close to her face!
Mary Nell, my desire to write returned this morning, perhaps being deeply stirred by our visit (photo: my friend now deceased). As I read the words of this elder columnist, her prose lite, but sage, I sensed a subtle wisdom, by no means a religious experience, though certainly spiritual. Making a difference is not necessarily changing the course of mankind, though I certainly have felt that necessity embedded in my calling. Sometimes it’s just continuing to move through the “cow piles” of life, while making time for a few kind words or a prayer for solace over a dying friend.
“At night in my grandmother’s bed, I slept satisfied that I had not let any yucky cow pie interfere with the world at my feet. So to speak. My grandparents and the farm are memories now, but to this day whenever life gives me a pasture, you can bet it is full of cow pies old and new.” I agree with Anne Adkins, its still “worth the run!”