My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Why We Serve
Is there in the inclination to provide service, and always to the least able or most needy, a drive to affirm our own value, to continually earn -- but never really acquire -- a sense of worth? Whatever is given, it is to meet our need and fill our emptiness. Perhaps, were we to focus instead on the need and worth of this other person, seeing his dignity and celebrating his significance, there might be greater satisfaction for both of us.
Labels:
awareness,
dignity,
purpose,
selfishness,
service
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment