The Point
For as long as I can remember the old
man carried a picture of Sophia Loren in
his wallet. At the conclusion of our weekly
visits he’d always pull out his slim tri-fold
and give me a $20 for gas or dates, then he’d
remove the small magazine clipping and
cradle it in his calloused palm for my gaze.
The ritual was he’d get misty, then whisper:
A timeless moment in a world gone mad.
His wife of fifty years would always lean
over and pat his knee. She’d say What’s the
point of living if your soul isn’t stirred?
wow. truly simple and profound. i want to make sure my soul is stirred every day.
how do you stir your soul?
stir it up!……shalom en theos…jim