So many of the wonderful blogs I follow are designed for a specific purpose. One of the reasons I started reading any blogs at all was when a friend was diagnosed with infertility. In my total inability to help her, coupled with my woeful lack of knowledge on the subject, I began researching it. I stumbled on a whole new world.
I found inspirational women who are are on journeys taking them to places I pray I never have to go. Through them I learned how to be a better friend, and in some small way, they helped me to acknowledge the scars and bruises on my own heart following the death of my baby brother so many years ago.
Purpose can be a such a random finding, can't it? At a Mother's Day Mass, I sat near a family for whom it would be a final time they would celebrate it as a family. They sat weeping silently together, and there and then I vowed to get as fit and healthy as I could, and to maintain that vigilance, to be here for my family as long as I could. I know it's not possible to cover all my bases, though believe me, if I could, I would. However, I am sure, as they sat pondering, what the purpose of taking a much loved family member from them, I was filled with a clear sense of my own.
Here is the conundrum.
I have no real sense of the purpose of this blog. I only know I am now ready to write one. Years of teaching have left me with a longing to use language of my own, instead of correcting its use in others.
But maybe, my purpose doesn't have to be clear, at least, not yet.
