The other day I did a presentation with a woman who rocks. She tossed a powerpoint together in zero time. She pushed the agenda through, got copies of the worksheets done, even skipped the first day of her Master's course to be at the meeting.
Her eyes had deep rings, her face was badly scarred from a recent accident and she has work obligations up to her ears--no, probably over her head.
I was like that once. Never in over my head; I was too careful about keeping deadlines and such to take on too much. But I took on everything I could. I burned myself up, but I didn't burn out. What remained at the end was a tiny spark of life. Barely there, a precious flame. The source.
Now I take it easy; I'm careful about me. I would tell her where she's headed, except that kind of recognition must come from within. Some of us need to go to extremes, to taste the very edge of death (and I mean the far end) before we know what life means.
And that's fine. A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do. I'll hang out in the background and be her friend. Give a hand when she needs one (which she will very soon), and catch her, if I can, when she falls. But even if I don't do it, someone else will. Because she's precious. And God takes care of her own.
Hugs for Haiti!
Die enorme Energie meiner Kollegin war beeindruckend. Ich kenne sowas schon. So war ich auch in ihrem Alter. Ich habe ebenso Organisationen gefunden, denen ich meine Vision, Inspiration und Arbeit geschenkt habe. Und ich habe gewusst, wie alles besser gemacht werden konnte. Ich habe es ihnen gezeigt auf eigene Kosten. Und die Kosten waren enorm.
Dann starb ich. Dass ich doch am Leben bin ist nicht mein Verdienst. Und die Lebensflamme, die Hinterbliebene, ist just sehr klein, eine winzige Ahnung vom Dasein. Aber es reicht für alles, was ich noch zu erledigen habe. Hurra!
Ich bin dankbar, dass ich hier bin. Danke an alle, die mir geholfen haben und helfen werden.
