Standing Takes Time

Fear not for I have not forgotten you. Sometimes everyone needs a hand of faith to reach down to pick us up. A smile of hope to reset our outlook. A kind heart to hear our song. And I also know quite intimately that there are those of us who do not have that hand, that smile, that ear to help us. And for us we must learn to stand without human aid. When we suddenly become weak and can’t see the Truth for a moment it can be hard. Harder than we like. 
Thats why I come here. I come to speak quietly in the darkness and to call bravely in the sun. I come to remind you that you are not alone. And in doing so I remind myself. 

Loss is hard. Letting go is harder. Life is larger than all of us and surviving it sometimes seems an insurmountable task. If you’re feeling this. Again you are not alone. 

But this is the time to forget all that. That’s right. Just take a breathe and let it go. Piece by piece. Inch by inch. And think of something lighter. Something beautiful. Something worth your laughter. A funny song. A slapstick comedy. A child’s laugh. Look at old pictures – not for the pain of what might be gone but for the joy of what was once something full in your life. 

Grow in yourself. And know still…you are not alone. 

It’s hard to do all that. It’s hard to live your life like there is no tomorrow. It’s hard to step back and remember that nothing you do here…nothing…will ever be so monumental that- in time- it won’t be forgotten. So why not live as if every day life could be forgotten and go seek it? 

There will be time for mourning when you lie down to sleep. If you have the strength left. And I recommend you don’t. Live. 

It’s late. I need sleep. But for those who know me I send you Hope. For those who love me I send you joy and for those who hate me I send you peace. 

And for that one-no names here-I wish you happiness with all my heart. 

Until next time…

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Life is an Occasion…

5a.m. comes early for the night owl, yet there’s a different kind of peace in the dawn. There are silent promises of new beginnings…where hope feels tangible. 

It’s not just me who sees this.  I can think of a dozen movies where the heroes emerge into the new morning, victorious. 

A new day. 

It gives opportunity for new adventure. For instance, tonight a 76 year old woman  goes to her very first concert. She has no clue who is playing, or even the venue (it’s an outdoor concert that might be moved indoors due to weather), but she’s excited. And I’m even more excited to be taking her- my own mother- to it. 

When people think of adventure, they usually think big. Rafting, mountain climbing, skydiving – all good adventures – but they sometimes forget the smaller ones: getting lost on back country roads (and not using your gps to find your way out), dancing (even by yourself) when good music plays – no matter where you are, taking a little one on their first amusement park ride, catching fireflies, haunted houses, a new church, meeting someone you love dearly for the first time, reliving someone’s memories-good or bad. 

Climb Kilimanjaro if you like, I’ll watch the face of a child-or woman-light up in wonder, in curiosity. Although I wouldn’t mind the dizzying heights of the mountainous view, some views beat it out easily. 

Like looking to the dawn and knowing your sky is the same sky those you love may be looking at, too. The song in your headphones could be what someone you love will hear as well-and think of you, as you do them. 

You know, we miss a lot. We get so wrapped up in the past, or tunnel-visioned to the daydreams of the future that we sidestep the now. And the now, folks…that’s all we are promised. 

If you’ve never seen Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, I highly recommend it. There are dozens of quotes I could use on a daily basis from it. Today, though, I’ll give just one. As I watch the sun send us promises of the adventure of now, I tell you: 

Your life is an occasion…rise to it. 

Have an adventure today. And when you look at that sky…know so am I. Your friendly, neighborhood daydreamer. case you have never seen it…enjoy…the best scene ever filmed, indeed!

Life is an Occasion

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Just Breathe. 

Life is a strange creation. Sure, there’s the giraffe beetle, the water strider, the plethora of other creatures. But I mean our Life. Not only do we have story after story of our beginnings, but,  as individuals, our journeys are both parallel and so different that we may never find another’s experiences without tears or joy. 

But still, it’s not this I find strange-it’s life- the moving, running, continuations of our very existence when our inner selves find us in pieces and no idea how we may be able to get back up again. No matter how much we don’t want to have it happen, the sun comes up, our eyes greet it, and we pull ourselves to standing…to moving…to breathing, and we face another day, another hour, another heartbeat. 

Our very characters are built on moments like these. Like the moment you can smile and meet the eyes of one you know you’ll lose, and still let the joy of that returning smile wash over you. The familiar sound of a message you send that you may never see answered, yet fill with the hope that it is. The apology you accept and return when you would rather not. The hand held out that you won’t withdraw, even when struck away. 

We each face moments like these – and more. Moments to break us. Moments to tear us apart. But then there’s life. And no matter where we have been, no matter how bad it hurts…well life has a habit of showing up. Not this insanity surrounding us….

Life. The pure Light piercing our hearts- the warmth of a Love we can’t explain. Of a Peace we can’t fathom. He comes softly, relentlessly, and it may seem to be less than a breeze through our soul…unless we take it in when it comes – accept that we can keep going – in hope, in love, in joy, in a Grace we can never earn. A Peace we cannot make on our own. 

Giving up…nope. Not when Life is in the moment between broken and remade. Not when you can see the scars without and within. Because scars are the trails of Life once washed over you before. Scars prove that you’ve been here before, and you didn’t stop then-even if you had wanted to. 

Breathe. Again. Get up. Let it in. Meet the sun and let go of what is tearing you down. Just for now. Just for now. And there it is….Reset. 

You can see it now. That next step. I’m not saying you won’t hurt. I’m not saying to give up what is worth fighting for. I’m saying… I’m saying you’re not alone. Ever. And Life…He will come when you need Him. When you don’t think you do. And when you think you’re in too many pieces to be rebuilt, Life is already there. 

     Just breathe. 


You may never meet me. You may never know when you pass me on the street, but just like you, I know that broken point. And just like you, I wear scars that may never fade from my body-my heart-but will decorate me to remind me…we all will face this Life from ground level. 

So, if you need a hand up…don’t wait for dawn…look around…me-or someone like you-is there. We will meet Life, together, right now. 

If you don’t know Life…that Breath Taker, Scar Healer, Hand Up, Soul Keeper… I’ll introduce you. He’s been there all along. 

Just breathe. 

Hope you don’t mind Mr. Gokey…a share for all…

Danny Gokey: Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

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Can You See?

When I was a kid, the cumulus clouds with flat bottoms were exciting for me to see. I was convinced they were a part of Heaven. I believed that each cloud held beautiful cities and people would live there. I thought somehow these people had ways to travel or “cloud jump” so they could visit one another. I thought how wonderful it was to know those that we love…that we had lost…were so so close. I don’t know where I got the idea or when I stopped believing it, but I still look up at those clouds and smile. 

Sometimes it is nice to remember those things we, as children, thought we knew to be true. In some ways, when I think back, I feel young again, and anything is possible…even cities in the clouds. 

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Of Day and Night

It is amazing to watch and hear the world come back to wakefulness. What some might think a cacophony of sound is, in reality, the combination of Night Song and Day Symphony colliding- a morning revelry and a lullaby to the night. 

I think that’s why I love the night. I can understand it. I suppose that seems a strange thing to say as I sit in my camp chair with the world coming to life around me, and the Night Song slowly falling asleep. But it’s such a beautiful climax when the softness of night is embraced and loved softly into the strength and wisdom of the day. In one spot, you can find yourself drift slowly through three worlds: the Dark Mystery, the Secret Union, the Cry of Dawn. 

Dark Mystery, stars and moon, night birds give their lover’s cry. Frogs dedicate their song to Father, and the world, blanketed in darkness-muted-expands in the night. New mysteries float through shadow, through mind, through soul. The eyes are tricked, colors changed, depth is lost, so the unreliable eyes are left to wander in the shadow and we are led by Spirit, revalations as gifts to the lost. The Dark Mystery may stir our demons, may tempt our flesh, but firm in our knowledge that the Day will burn all fear away, the ability to become spectators of a deeper and profound level is reached. 

That climax comes, and with it a slow mix of the Secret Union. As body wrestles the ache of sleep, the mind reeling from mysterious revalations, the predawn slips through the air. Unnoticed by many, the World darkens more, the Night bows to Day- an invitation to dance. But there will be no theatrical number, no great ballet. Day, soft in its caress, holds a hardness- diamond strong of Truth and clarity- where Night’s dreams dare not tread. No. The two hold themselves still, a balance like ice near flame-not touching, yet melting into a oneness. The dance is slow. Small movements-slow circles. Mist and vapor swirling, colliding, and dew, like their love, erupts. Hands touching, caressing, slow and timid. Breeze floats- cheeks now touching. Space leaving, colors blooming out of shadow and lips-so gentle- meet. The dance complete, and slow, yet all at once, the Cry of Dawn escapes them. 

Day, relentless in its capturing, brings Night to her knees. Head bowed-not in resignation-but peace. Night, the comforter, the healer, wraps the cloak around her. She has fulfilled her purpose. A balm to the Day, she sooths tired eyes, eases burning need, heals fresh wounds, and old scars fade. Night presses Day into silence and speaks of things that the Day can embrace and burn into reality. For the Dark knows the Light, indeed is one and part of it. Knows it’s beauty. Weeps in it. There is beauty in the Night, yet only the light of Day can prove it. 

And as the Cry of Dawn is released, Day takes her. He ravishes her tenderness, and gives her strength, builds in her a softness that cannot be broken- an enigma only love creates. He hides her from the harshness that can destroy her. He walks without fear now across the sky. For the Night has saved him, just as he has saved the Night. What was left of each to wander the sky and not given to His purposes now has found comfort until the walk is done. 

And in slow circles they move. Not like old stories shallow humans have created. Here Night does not flee. Day does not conquer. They dance. Soft shuffle. Slow tread. He walks. She follows. And as his time slows, his body burns, she comes in again to sooth him. 

We could learn something from the dance of dark and light, Day and Night: Woman, sooth your warrior. Warrior seek your pillow on her breast and know she is your warrior. Both banishing the pain, destroying fear. Man bring your enemies, and woman bring yours. Lay them at your lover’s feet. And dance. 

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The days are cold and I find myself still longing for the outdoors. I think it has something to do with my camera. Looking through the lense of a camera brings into sharp relief all of the things that I overlook or miss on a daily basis. It was the birth of my first child that made me realize how the smallest of things could be the most beautiful. Now, the smallest bug, the tiniest flower, most delicate web catches my eye.

I recall once, while walking with my friend down the sidewalk, she chastised me for having my head bent, staring at the concrete. It is true that at one time I used to keep my head down: less likely to be noticed, less likely to have to interact with the world, but it has been a while since I felt that way. I felt myself smile while I told her that I was attracted on that particular day to the little yellow flowers that had found their way through the concrete and brick world around them. There in the cracks grew the prettiest flowers and no one had noticed them. How courageous. We as humans could use to learn a lesson or two from them. They reminded me of adventurers in a strange land – we the giants, they the small curious boy following a beanstalk.

I find myself drawn more and more to the window, trapped within the folds of the warmth of my house. I wonder what I miss. Today, I take my daughter to therapy and plan on taking my camera. Although the town will surround us, there is no telling what will show itself.

You never know when a moment will come. A moment be it visual, emotional, or spiritual can come from even the most mundane triggers. Many of us tie our minds and hearts up with worry strings or nose-to-the-grind blinders that we may not realize that moment has come until it has gone and it is the wisps of the escaping experience we grab at, longing only that we had had our cameras -literal or metaphorical- poised at the ready, prepared for the beauty.

Although there are people who believe that we may be born again into this world, we all should be able to admit to the mortality of this life now. There is a finite time to fill ourselves with the moments that we should all be searching for.

We hold on to pain of the past, losses, offenses, disappointments. What does this do for us, to hold on? Many say that it is not holding on, but the memory that haunts. Except memories can be pushed aside. For each crack we see, there is the chance that within that crack a little yellow flower struggles to grow. If only we would stop, push aside the fact that there is a crack in an otherwise well built world around us…there is that crack, yet in it beauty can flourish making the crack all that much better for being there.

Cameras up!

Even the smallest of things can hold beauty to take the breath away.

Even the smallest of things can hold beauty to take the breath away.

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What Summer May Bring

As a child I believed these white puffy clouds were islands of Heaven

As a child I believed these white puffy clouds were islands of Heaven

Oh so sadly I have been away from my keyboard (but I have been writing with pen and page. so hopefully I will get a moment to entertain you soon)! Summer tends to bring many things that pulls me away from the dark recesses of my house and the worn keys of my keyboards.  There is yard work, softball with children, water, swings, camping, sunsets, and so many other wonderful (and sometimes painfully tedious) things to do.

I am very excited that my mother has (with only a little argument) allowed me to help her clean her house.  My mother, a spunky 73 year old has finally admitted that her ages is catching up to her a bit, and since she is not very tall (maybe 4’10”), things are much harder to accomplish to begin with.

We also come out once a week (or as close to that as possible), to mow. My parents don’t need to do the mowing, although we are in the process of getting a very good riding mower for them.  We deemed the one we got them (used, but reworked) ready for them, but alas, yesterday we noticed a problem with uneven cutting.  Good that we found it now.

Finally, there is the major task of moving our family of five to a larger house.  Finally, it will be much easier to keep it clean. We are having to do some repairs to the house while we move in. Floors are being repaired, sheet rock put up, and a few other things done.  Since nothing comes out of my pocket and I get a little pay for the work, I am happy to do it.  Still there is a great deal to do!

All of these are weak excuses to not visit with friends, not share my thoughts, and not say hello! So, hello!  I hope the summer sun is smiling down without it’s harsh burn.  Hot, humid and sticky here, but I love the sun, the heat, the smell of honeysuckle.

Enjoy your summer while it is here, and remember to share the beauty you find.

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