When you find your purpose, you won’t need to search for motivation.
I suppose I saw it first hand. The walking out to field in summer’s dark. I thought the sun followed him, my grandfather. And didn’t he let it rest at the end of the day, with a wave to say goodnight and a promise of leading tomorrow’s way.
No one used words like inspiration at the time. And if they had, it would have been the day itself to read the book with a picture of Grandpa Reuben on the cover. He was a farmer. His purpose called from both sides of the screen door.
I am not motivated to write this blog every morning. Nor to race to the studio and begin a new canvas. I want to. I really want to. These are my fields. They aren’t calling me. I’m asking each day if I can join them. What a privilege to wake up before the light. To feel joy’s weary by end of day.
My grandfather’s portrait is one of the first things I see in the morning. The screen door swings, and I am on my way.
