Melancholy Dreamin'

Another Friday flew by, with again, not enough time to do everything that I wanted to. Will my whole life be like that, flying by so fast that one day I'll wake up and I'll be 70 and I won't have accomplished the things I wished I could?

What would I like to do? I'd like to make a difference, but not the kind I'm inundated with in the environment I live and work in. I want to make a difference that is more still and quiet, but when realized, small children's eyes will light up, women's eyes will be filled with hope again, and hands will reach out to say a soft thank you. But where to start, and how?

My heart aches for the many women and children around the world who are suffering, but I am overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. Maybe I can give some money and help out people here and there, but there is no tangible touch associated with cash gifts. I read stories of young women who make an amazing impact by doing great things, like starting orphanages and working with abused women, and each time I am inspired to follow in their footsteps. Then I face reality.

I live in a country that is not my own. I have had to learn how to adapt to the culture, but I still don't understand the average person on the street. The past twelve years have been spent struggling to survive, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally, as I continue to live in limbo, waiting for the magic papers so I can have some sense of stability. I am not a person who networks or speaks glibly, able to direct with strong leadership. I grew up a sheltered homeschooled kid who wore knee-high socks and didn't own a laptop or cellphone till my late twenties.

My head is filled with ideas but I'm not sure I'm ready yet to commit to them. And yet, I wonder whether those ideas will ever become more than just dreams.