I spend a long day writing in the corner of the living room, held in a bubble where the outside world with its triple-digit heat index doesn't touch me. I triumph over the tangle of words I sorted out to create this story.
In this, I have privilege, a virtual room of my own and the space to be creative, an air conditioner in the heat, time enough for timelessness.
What can I give in return? Gratitude for this moment, this place, this space in the universe. Time and heart to help those who struggle. My words, that they may comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, as Mother Theresa once said*.
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*To those who object to my quoting Mother Theresa, I agree that Mother Theresa was a disturbing figure who had the means to lift her afflicted charges rather than comfort them, yet did not because she believed that suffering glorified God. As such, she has much to answer to. On the other hand, her statement makes a great mission statement even though she failed to live up to it.
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