I am forever grateful for my so far fifty-two-week journey of healing. I am only here today because someone followed their calling to become a guide for others, others like me.
I don’t know what I expected — or perhaps it’s just that I had no real expectations besides what we see on television. And my first visit was on video due to Covid — well, she was on video while all I could agree to at that time was to type into a chat box. Small steps I guess — but this felt like a giant one.
The religious connotation of Easter Sunday is not quite what it used to be for me, now in my fifties with a bit different view on life. I see my grandkids this morning celebrating with such joy and amazement over the candy, the stuffed animals, and gifts. Part of me feels universally obligated to throw in the story of Jesus’ resurrection, but most of me doesn’t — and we won’t.
It’s enough for right now that they celebrate. We celebrate the dawn of a new year, the budding of flowers, the rebirth that is spring. Here in the Midwest, it’s…
Does the caterpillar mourn
its transition and transformation
Does he fear and tremble
Does he hold it off as long as he can
Does he work so hard in his short life to avoid it
expending so much energy somehow in hopes it will evade him
We call it a miracle
the beauty of nature and life
We praise God for the exciting new cycle
and marvel at the new beginning, inspiring color, and freedom to fly
Yet in our own lives
as the river heads to the sea
We fear the sea as unknown we fear the transformation as…
Not a branch sways,
Not a single leaf flutters
Outside my window there is stillness…
Where have you gone, God of the Wind
At a time of desperation and tears
When we reach out and plead
And need You the most
How am I to believe that you see me
How am I to know that you hear me
How are the birds to soar
I look for a sign and all I see
is a God withdrawn — a creation completely stalled…
Where have you gone, God of the Wind
I step outside to get some air Regroup from…
One for the road…
The road that leads to nowhere,
Or is it to everywhere?
As spring gently glides into summer.
As the river politely dances into the sea… May I? …
Is it the end or the beginning?
Well, what is every door? Every curtain? Every step?
For in every single morning, you’ve left a day behind
a thousand, ten thousand.
In everything new, there is also an ending…
a one-time favorite that has now lost its glimmer.
But we give our heart to the new, not to the loss —
that’s how we push on.
A new haircut…
“And what are songs but dreams, at the end of the day? “ — Bruce Springsteen
I stumbled across an interview with Bruce this week, and that was one of his reflections. He talked about his process of collecting ideas from life, and his process of writing songs. There was so much meaningful insight worth sharing.
“…you take something out the air that isn’t there. There is no existence of it whatsoever, and you make it physical — literally…You have your antenna out…you’re just walking through the world and you’re picking up these signals of emotions and spirit and history…
On the way back home from that sunrise, I stopped at Kroger…to get some donuts for my wife and grandson as a special treat. Walking through the aisles there are definitely whispers of “good morning”… some directed to me…others an offering from me to others…strangers.
I am reminded of the beauty of our human connectedness. It is like the air we breathe, but into the soul. In the past, pre-therapy, it was just too easy to sit at home and fuel popular sentiments like “I just don’t like people”. For many years of walking through anxiety and sadness, I suppose…
I’ve had roses for many years, but this honestly, embarrassingly, didn’t really sink in until very recently. Roses don’t get healthy by watering the plants, the leaves, and the blooms — they get and stay healthy by watering the roots.
I would go out early in the morning, get the hose ready, and turn it to the correct dial. I would get some level of pride or satisfaction in then misting the hose water onto the plants… making sure I got the leaves and blooms covered with a safe blanket of freshwater to start their day. …
new writer… old soul… memoirs and reflections from the journey to find my true heart and purpose and to live a life of significance