I asked this morning if possible, I’d like some sunshine and a butterfly.
As I backed my car (Trudy’s car) out of the garage, this Monarch flew right into my passenger window, fluttered around then landed on the yellow and purple flowers nearby. I jumped out of the car, ran to take a picture… her dance then included running into my hand before she eventually went on her way.
A year ago today Les and I got to be with Sis as she began her journey. We miss her terribly, but with this sweet butterfly, sunshine, and all of our precious memories of her we know we are blessed. Thank you God. Thank you Trudy.
I renewed my morning time meditation list this year. I noticed that somewhere between July and December my meditation had casually strayed into the murkier wanderings of just reading. Just writing. Just praying – although what a disservice to the power of prayer it is to be preceded with “just”.
My practice of making a list each morning had become noticeably absent, and I am happy to find that in resuming this portion of my practice, benefits of a more balanced life are also reappearing.
My morning time meditation, or Morning Time, includes journaling, reading, prayers and quiet times of meditation and affirmations.
Journaling is incredibly important to my Morning Time. It helps to move me into the center of my life, placing my spiritual life as important enough to make a priority in my day. I usually begin with what I call my Morning Time List which follows a pattern of listing gratitudes, naming people and groups of people in prayer, and ending with writing promises to myself for the day. I move on to reading and listening to the messages that come, then return to my writing with as little judgement as possible about what shows up on the pages.
Morning Time List
Gratitudes, Prayers and Promises Continue reading
It concerns me to think that I may have to accept that I will never be the same again: bT vs aT (before and after Trudy). It conflicts with what I thought I was accepting – that if, and since, I am still here God must have a plan for me. Couple this with retirement, and getting it stuck in my head that I only have 10-15 years left – well, I’m closing down before the bell has rung. And that doesn’t seem right. Taking up space, and air, and resources – this place on earth without contribution? So maybe it’s as simple as purpose. Whatever it is, my heart’s not in it. And that doesn’t seem right either.
I miss my family. Maybe it’s that simple even as it remains that un-solvable. Please Lord, make me a channel of your love and caring and peace on earth today, and please help me to look for You today and feel You in my life today in ways that lift me to Your purpose. Help me be present to Your now and Your purpose for me.
It’s almost New Year’s Eve – that magical yet pesky night of regrets and renewals bridging past and future plots as fast and glittery as any Mad Man script.
I just finished making my first list of closing out 2012 and thoughts for 2013, and I find that I have two items needing attention before the last day of the year. I do not want to do either as they are along the lines of amends. But, I will, as a practical practice that helps make my life work better, prepares me to better love and serve, and unblocks the doorway to dream.
And dream I do. I have so many hopes, goals, creative projects and optimistic outlooks for the new year that I sit here in a bit of awe. What a life we get to live that we get to clean it up and dream it up – both, however, could be dangerous slopes for me if not step and Spirit-led.
So as we come to the close of this year, I hope you too can find a permissive pause to listen to your heart. And may the peace of God greet you in this moment between the years – this threshold of dreams.
Anniversaries melt our hearts – pooling at our Feet.
I’ve had a hard time with missing my sister today. It’s as if the annual anniversary has melted my heart and puddles at my feet. A dam I didn’t even know existed over these past months has broken – swoosh, swoosh and more tears.
I stand precariously close to the edge of the tempting river of self-pity, resisting immersion only by knowing that to enter would mean a dangerous and an un-foretold ride on whitewater rapids of grief; without surety of finding an exit point along the banks measured by calendar or emotions, or even spiritual rope thrown by friend or God.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t stare longingly at the mesmerizing water route downstream and away from where I stand, and dream about what it might feel like to let go, totally; to give into this lump in my throat, the pain in my tummy, and these intermittent flashes and feelings of Trudy’s fingers in mine while they were still warm with her life.
What I want to do is call Trudy. Continue reading
I didn’t feel like writing this morning. I have time so I will.
Seconds before pen hit page… well no, that’s not right. While writing the first sentence… no, that’s not right either. In writing the date at the top of my page, November 3, 2012, I felt the remembrance: not long before Trudy dies, or rather, I sense in this time the echo of her passing. A cavernous queasiness takes hold of my mind and my heart and my soul.
If I must remember an anniversary this morning I prefer to think of the spring tulips planted for Trudy by Grandpa Wyatt at the little house; beneath the small crabapple tree in the center of the drive, just east of the sidewalk that lead to the front door. Continue reading
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 12-13.
Truth always rises to the surface with Christ’s love.
In small things and in not so small situations and circumstances, I reach for this memory of what was given to me at the Abbey. First revealed in permission, space, time and resources to tap into the fun of creating with paper, watercolors and glue; then with bounty of red, green and golden leaves, twigs, rocks and rivers outside the warm walls of comfortableness; handed to my soul when distracted and bugged by a contentious and seemingly disastrous democratic process of electing our political leaders.
Truth always rises.
Not truth as I know it – as what I declare or want as truth – but as God’s truth. Even as it may be veiled from my eyes as I see in the glass darkly; as it may be withheld from my sight and understanding in this time or in my lifetime, it will rise. Continue reading