I want to be tired at the end of the day.

To get my hands dirty.  For them to look like my little girl’s when she gets home from a day at school, with traces of paint and dirt under her fingernails, showing the remnants of work and fun that she has had.

To try something new.  To have to use my mind in a way I haven’t before, so that it takes energy to figure it out.

To work.  To produce something that wasn’t there when I woke up.   A planted bulb, a piece of jewelry, a dinner for my family.    A gift to the altar of the day.

To use my muscles so I feel them later.  To run and jump and throw.  To use this body in every way it was meant to be used –  and to take care of it so that it can continue to be used.

To play.  To laugh with my husband, my children, my mother, a friend.  To share a cup of coffee or glass of wine.  To celebrate this life.

To help someone.  To hold the door.  To give a hug.  To laugh and cry and remember with them.

To put my efforts, my passion, my soul into this world.  To give what I have to give. So at the end of the day, when I lay down in my warm bed, there is nothing left.

But, by God’s grace, the chance to do it all again tomorrow.