My Man Francis

Maybe I am a doormat. But I just can't hold a grudge. It slips through my fingers like sand. It's like trying to sculpt something out of a bucket of water. Even when I really, really focus, I just *can't*.

All of those people, if they called me up and said "I need you" could be sure that I would just ask where, what, how soon?

I'm ok with that. I'd rather be that person than the one clinging to grudges. Life's too short. We don't know how long we'll have each other. I just don't have the time or energy to play that way. Why waste that time?

Maybe I'm wrong. I don't think so though.

My grandmother was Catholic, I'm certainly not, but I've always loved this poem. Kind of sums up my entire philosophy on life, and love, and how to treat one another. As far as such summations go, I would venture to say one could do worse. The italicized part is my favorite.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.


O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life

G'night kittens