Friday night, and I am sitting here, pouring my soul onto paper yet again. Writing is such a release, a precious reprieve from the exigencies of life; the completely overwhelming waves of emotion wash over me every moment, wearing away at me as if I were a fragile sandcastle. Worry, joyfulness, despair, but always, always desperate desire, the kind that brings you to your knees and causes your soul to shatter. It's the feeling that you have to, MUST, do something now. You MUST help others, MUST save the world, MUST be extraordinary. Passion consumes me, electricity flowing through my veins, but there is no outlet. What am I supposed to do? God, must I always wait to let out this passion inside of me? Where do I go, what do I do? Give me a sign, one simple calling. Show me a way I can release the pressure building inside of me.

My thoughts and opinions swirl in my brain, a mass of jumbled yarn, impossible to untangle. I know that I am supposed to write, but about what? I know that I call Eagles Landing my home for a reason, but why? I know you are calling me to follow you, but where? So many unspoken questions, the lack of answers stagnating the air.

I scream silently. I look around and see people hurting, without the tools to heal them. Mouths need feeding and bodies need clothes, but my simple attempts never seem to make a dent in the needs of millions. God, please, show me where I go next, I'm begging you.