The Meaning of it All

It's Easter weekend.
It's sunny today.
It's Saturday.
The weekend.
For some.

I'm happy I have the day off.
I'm pissed I don't have more clients keeping me busy.

I remember the sacrifice of Jesus.
I hunt relentlessly for my dreams.
For what I want.
For what I can achieve.

I am greedy.
Self focused.

I am determined.
A provider.

I am humbled by God's sacrifice.
His devotion.
His external focus, and compassion.

I've been given a life of comfort.
Luxury.
Ease.
I want more of it.

I forget his sacrifice.
I don't know how to live in his sacrifice.
Live out of his sacrifice.
How do I mirror the holiest of holies devotion?

I don't.
I meander.
I squandor.
I reap what I have not sown completely.
Barely.
Hardly.
So I give a little.
I pray a little.
I remember a little.
And I try not to be that bad.

But at the end of the day,
on every good day,
I will never stop asking myself,
what am I called to?
If I am not to be fully enveloped in my own interests.
I've always gotta ask that question.
Dream about that question.
And hold the answers above my head,
in a little more than a prayer,
and a little more than a hope,
and a little more than I could ever expect of myself.

Not that there's meaning in all of this.
Not that I don't write from sneaky shards of my own desires.
I acknowledge my weaknesses.
But more importantly, I acknowledge my place.
And my perspective.
From the confines of a comfy couch on a sunny Saturday where my debatable joy pauses long enough to know the meaning of it all.
The answer of it all- is simple.

How do you breathe, after you've asked yourself the question?