continue stirring.

Sunday mornings are usually spent with my family, at the breakfast table eating pancakes and straining to listen to one of the stories that I have already heard my grandpa tell a dozen times. Though I have likely already heard it, I strain to listen because of the look on his face when he is recounting how funny it is. It's that genuine smile, or laugh, that I don't see as often, now that his body is failing him, and his memory; Since purpose is something he strains to find, I can at least strain to listen.

It's harder, though, when my grandma is talking, and he isn't aware, as his hearing has almost completely failed him. That's when he starts talking over her, and when she huffs, and when I scramble to figure out which grandparent to give my attention.

I haven't been able to follow through with this weekly ritual the past few weeks, as the new job I have beckons me on Sunday mornings. I know my grandparents miss my presence at the table, but I have to be away, to serve the well to do, the families that go out to eat their french toast, eggs benedict, omelets, etc. After work this past Sunday, in lieu of breakfast conversation, my mom and I had phone conversation instead. The subject of work came up, and money, and she questioned my hesitancy to take a job that would suck the life out of me. She didn't say it like that, but more like, "You and your brother are so against doing something you don't want to do, but sometimes I think that it would be worth it if you didn't have to worry so much about money". I think that may be exactly what she said.

So here I sit this morning, with $7.50 left on my person, until tomorrow, when I get paid. I am switching jobs because I have this hunch that I can make more money doing almost the exact same thing that I have been, only a little less work at a nicer place. But it's still not what I want to be doing. The decision to work where I am is not ripe with integrity. It's ripe with necessity. The answer I have formulated for my mother is this: I don't ever expect to love fully anything that I do. There will always be days that I don't want to go in to work, regardless of the occupation. Teachers love being teachers but hate grading papers. Business owners love running a business but hate calculating payroll, etc. It's the idealist in me that isn't pursuing a job I LOVE, as I can find things to enjoy about whatever job I have, but rather, a job that I can believe in. I just look forward to the day that begins with me, smiling, because the work that awaits me is worthwhile, and full of more meaning that making sure someone's water glass never goes below the half-full mark.

In the meantime, I will be here serving, and scrambling to figure out what it could be.