During this season of giving, I am uncomfortable. I am restless. It seems everything I am giving, is easy for me to give. I need to give something deeper - more - something that I would be parting with, a sacrifice of sorts. That volunteering notion is nagging me again, creeping from my subconscious to activate my generosity switch.
As we drove past a maximum security corrections facility for youth I thought aloud that maybe I would like to volunteer there ... maybe run a writing group or something. My accomplished teenager asked me (rhetorically) what I knew about running a writing group. A cauldron of emotions boiled over inside me and it confirmed what I already knew (apart from the fact that my daughter seems to know nothing about me personally); I have to be a living example of the change I want to see. I have to do it for her, for my community and most importantly for me.
As a teenager I volunteered at an organization for mentally and physically challenged people. I have never know such joy and fulfillment. I spread my time between the workshops, stores and my most favourite - the group home. I came home every night bubbling with stories of the affection and attachments I was forming with the special people I was supposedly helping. In actuality, we helped one another. They taught me about unconditional acceptance and love and most importantly, I learned about myself. I learned that I had alot of love to share as well as alot of care. I learned that when you volunteer, you always get back tenfold what you give. That's not the reason to give, but it is a reason to live - more abundantly, spiritually and authentically.
The right stream will present itself to me, and when it does, I am ready.