It doesn't interest me what you do for a living

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me where you are on the zodiac.

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.  I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
And I want to know if you can dance with joy, mine or your own.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy.  I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not a good day and if you can source your life from God’s presence.  I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief, and despair, weary, bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in your empty moments.

I hope you’re glad I didn’t have time to think this week!