"I remember everything" - John Prine

I may not remember everything,

But, I still enjoy some good 'time travel' moments, especially on gray days:

Ah, memory, my elusive friend; where have you skipped off to—

Are you back in a tiny home,

By a riverfront, alive with life,

Where excitement tapped on your window,

And brought you an invitation

To a day filled with possibilities?

 

Are you visiting with dad,

On a sparkling Winter morning,

Watching him don his awesome speed skates,

Then heading out to fly!

Our own Hans Brinker,

Taking a break from

Supporting his family;

The sun greeting him,

The cold breeze bringing  tears to his eyes;

With fresh snow falling around him,

A sense of freedom warming his heart,

Across the ice he speeds,

Keeping  a rhythmic pace,

Left arm tucked behind his back,

A huge smile lighting up his face!

 

Watching as that feeling of peace overtakes him,

Are you too, flying along

Over the ice-covered river?

Have you noticed that you are not alone—

That a little child has been following you,

Trying to catch up,

Moving closer, with every magical stride,

Tapping you on the shoulder,

Inviting you to reach your arm back,

To take his hand—

Your inner child

Only waits for you to

drop your heavy shoes,

don your skates,

To join him, and to fly!

 

Fathers and mothers, and all of us are being tested these days as never before, to be a comfort and guide to our children and vulnerable ones, but sometimes, we are the ones who need comfort.   Whether we cry in frustration, fear, sorrow, or whether we are lucky enough to receive the gift of a wonderful tear-inducing belly laugh, It is ok for us to open our release valve and to cry;   It takes courage to admit our needs — and there is great healing strength in tears. 

A Father's Strength

I watched my mother cry at times,

And we hugged, and shared the pain,

But who can fathers turn to

When they're bent hard with life's strain?

 

To keep his tears from softening

The armour he maintained,

He bottled up his hurt and wrapped

His wounds in cellophane;

There they stayed, there they made

A load that grew in size,

Until he knew, just one more hurt

Would cause him to  capsize;

 

And now it came, another loss,

Another weight to bear;

A sigh at first,

The dam then burst,

No longer did he care;

No longer could he be a rock,

A  hero, strong and tough —

He felt the hammer hit the stone,

It broke to pebbles rough;

 

Unwrapped and laid bare by the flood,

His tears completely spent,

He gathered up his courage,

His armour, now all bent,

And began to build another wall,

To keep his courage safe —

A shelter for his weathered heart,

His washed and bandaged faith.

 

We tend to think that men can cope,

No emotional displays,

But, the weight of the world

Is too heavy a load

For any one person to carry alone,

And the wisest words you could ever say

Are in the tears that we share today.

 

Michelangelo's inspired sculpture of the Pieta, the beautiful, poignant depiction of Mary, holding Jesus' body after the crucifixion, has much to say to us all in these difficult days.  The world unleashed all of the worst that it was capable of against her Son; He took it all, and forgave it all; it had no power to defeat His spirit, the embodiment of love.  His mother endured every ounce of pain with Him and now holds her Son, alive forever.

 For all mothers and nurturers, struggling to be strong for their families, I offer the following:

 

I don't think I can handle this,

I feel as though I'll break;

I've thrown my hands up in despair,

How much can my heart can take!

 

I'm not a superhero,

I'm a mother, hanging on,

Drawing on my fragile faith,

And trying to stay strong;

 

In the midst of this heart's struggle,

The voice of hope pushed past,

Whispering encouragement,

'Hold on, this too shall pass.'

 

'I know what you are going through,

That fear, I've known it too;

I've watched my loved one hurting,

Felt helplessness, like you;

 

Take courage, joy will follow,  

And sorrow will pass by,

For love, once born,

Will be tested and torn,

But it can never die.'

A Mother's Blessing

My prayer is in

These mother's arms

That enfold my family 'round;

My prayer is in

These tears I cry

When problems get me down;

When they press

To hold me under,

I will lift my eyes

To Thine,

And pray, with all

That I possess,

That You will hear,

And You will bless

This family of mine.

 

Be Kind

I rose from sleep,

And there it came,

To stop my breath

To squelch my flame,

"You are unworthy,

Yours the blame,

You cannot hope

To win life's game"

But, deep inside,

I heard the words,

Encouraging,

"Be kind, Be kind"

 

How hard it is

To seek and find    

The path that leads

To peace of mind;

To heed the voice

That climbs the slope,

Carrying the seeds of hope,

To light our path,

 to conquer doubt,

The way is clear,

Its voice rings out,

"Be kind, be kind",

 

Pride will entice,

And ego take,

Crushing spirits

In their wake;

Their heavy shoes

Will weigh us down,

Direct our gaze

Inward and down;

Love stops cold

That toxic wheel; 

Walk together

And we'll heal,

Arm in arm,

In kindness, building hope;

 

Be humble in our giving,

Humble in receiving,

Take pride in our gratitude,

Take pride in each kindness,

Take pride in every act of respect,

Take pride in acknowledging

That we are all children of the same family,

Sharing the playground together.

 

A Humble, Silent Prayer, and a Sincere Smile -

The most powerful forms of communication

When we drop to our knees
And let it all go,
Open our hearts
And let the tears flow,
Deep in our souls,
Someone listens and knows;
 
Prayer is like a rescue ship,
A boat that's waiting, moored;
When fears are overwhelming,
 When those I love are threatened,
 In quiet desperation,
I take a step aboard;
 
My Companion bids me welcome
As He reaches out His hand;
He tells me He has heard my plea,
And that He understands;
There are miracles in progress,
Things we cannot know,
But when we call out from our hearts,
There's no way that He'd say, 'no';
 
When we make the choice to push off
From our comfortable, safe shore,
When we risk being surrounded
By fears we can't ignore,
By dark waters of rejection,
Of doubts that make us question,
He reminds us that we're gifted
With a life preserving smile;
 
That when tossed with firm resolve,
To lift another from despair,
Becomes the echo of His answer,
The hope that follows prayer;
For the giver and receiver,
Both are pulled into His craft,
To rest until the waters calm,
Until the storm is past;
 
No smile left behind.

 

 

 

                Hopefulness

Let me walk today in hopefulness,

And open my gifts with glee,

Let hearty laughter

Tickle my toes,

And wash off the hurt     

Of yesterday's woes.

Setting my spirit free;

 

Let me paint a picture of playfulness,

A visual song of joy;

Let my soul create

A work so bright,

From a hopeful palette

Filled with light,

That fear cannot destroy;

 

Let me greet each day with gratefulness,

For it offers a brand new start;

With my ears attuned

To the wonder of sound,

A smile on my lips

To prepare the ground,

For the words of a hopeful heart;

 

Like the little birds playing o'er fields of grain,

Falling, then touching, and rising again,

Let us offer glad thanks

For the golden expanse,

That beckons us all

To create our own dance,

Not sit on the sidelines of hopefulness.

 

You can't think of St. Patrick's Day without thinking of wonderful Irish music!   I want to pay tribute and thank all of the musicians, singers, and song-writers who have left us such a wonderful legacy of song and dance, and to all of those still writing and keeping those musical spirits alive and laughing for us.

Some of my favourite musical memories were the many times over the years we were entertained by  Mervin Kelly and his friends in the Celts group, and by my Uncle Jimmy and my father who would entertain us at family events, at the Metcalfe Farmers' Market,  and would occasionally sit in with Mervin's group.  For all of you musical Irish spirits out there:

Paddy Smiled

Old Paddy made a sorry sight,

His clothes had had their day,

But, he brought the fiddle to his chin,

And Oh, could Paddy play!

The bow, it jumped and danced along,

The notes freed from their staff,

And as others clapped and sang along,

Oh, did Paddy laugh!

His laughter took him back again,

To life in County Clare,

To friends around the table,

To family over there;

He turned those memories into song,

A tear plucked every string,

Then, all went quiet in that room,

For oh, could Paddy sing!

Then up he hopped

From where he sat,

And stepped out toe and heel,

Folks jumped up to join right in,         

As Paddy played a reel;

The room was filled with gaiety,

Hearts lifted for awhile,

Strangers now became his friends,

And oh, did Paddy smile!

Every sharing touches a life,

A hard times smile shines the furthest!

From My Nothingness

Every moment of our lives has potential, whether we realize it or not; We each contain our own candle, our own given light.  Alone it may be very small, but added to the light from others' candles it becomes part of an exquisite prism; Without our candle, that prism loses wonderful points of colour.  All that is asked of us is to give, with love and sincerity each day, whatever is in us to give - our light will find its path. 

From My 'Nothingness'

I sat on the stoop beside Leonard Cohen,

And no words came;  I wrote, "I got nothing."

Leonard winked at me and said, "Excellent!"

"Now you are ready to write;

Give away the wisdom in your nothingness."

Wisdom in my nothingness?

Not feeling any wisdom right now,

Only a helplessness, a powerlessness,

And a lot of other 'lessnesses';

No brilliant, flashing inspirations,

Only a deep, silent desire breathing through me.

Where would my desire's breath go if I loosed it,

If I gave my hands into its hands,

If I let it do the writing?

Inspiration is a wonder-filled, out-of-body experience;

I have nothing - yet in that moment, I receive everything,

Everything that I truly need;

As my soul beckons it,

It picks up my hands,

Hands that simply hold the pen,

And it writes, without presumption;

Presumption comes from our human hearts' fears and desires;

The Spirit has no such presumptions,

But has faith in us,

Knows and Loves us for who we are,

Speaks encouragement to us from its larger heart.

When Jesus bent down and wrote on the ground,

What did He write?

He wrote not on paper,

But into the earth

He imprinted His heart's breath,

His inspiration,

And with His great love,

He fills our littleness, our nothingness.

"Hineni! Hineni!  Here I am Lord"

A Coat Of Many Colours  

               

The world's population is growing by immense proportions, and it is easy to fall into a negative frame of mind as we wonder how we can ever handle the  stewardship of this home of ours, called Earth.  We can either look at this growth  with fear, focusing on man's negative effect on the planet,  or we can look at it in hope as we recognize the unique beauty and potential in each life. 

The homeless person on the street may not live up to our perceived notion of what a contributing member of society should be; his language and appearance may offend, but as we all know, appearances can be deceiving;  We may never be able to see the many beautiful coloured threads that have come unravelled in that person's life, but the gift of a smile and a kind word may provide the first stitch that will start his or her coat to mending;

Though God's creation is vast, each of us is a priceless thread in His great tapestry, and though blue is my favourite colour, if God used only blue threads, what a boring canvass that would be.

 If we let fear of losing what we perceive to be ours by divine or earned  right take precedence, and try to block all others from our door, it is like trying to keep the sky from changing colour;  we would be the losers in the end;

Past The Blue

It's my blue sky,

So pure and blue,

There's nothing else

That shines so true,

I hope it lasts forever!

A bit of red

Is creeping in,

Changing blue

To violet  hue;

But never mind,

I like it fine,

It really looks quite clever;

Some yellow hues

Have joined the red,

And turned to

Brilliant gold instead;

I didn't think I'd like it but

It really is outstanding!

And when it touches

My blue sky,

A green so bright

Lights up the sky

And makes a scene enchanting;

That sky that I

Perceived as blue,

Was so much more

Than my small view,

Its beauty has a depth so vast,

A sea forever changing;

Every life contributes

A thread of priceless hue,

Unraveled lives we chance may meet,

Without them we are not complete;

Each time we add them to our blue,

God says, "Yes, that's brilliant!"

The Dream Train

'I was trying to daydream, but my mind kept wandering.'   - Steven Wright

A recent issue of 'Discovery' magazine had an interesting article in it about the overlooked importance of daydreaming - who knew?  Apparently, it is when our minds are given the freedom to explore and  travel to wherever the moment takes it, that revelations occur; when a completely unrelated dream can lead us to look at a problem in a whole new way.  For all of you fellow daydream travellers out there - all aboard!

            The Dream Train

There's a train that comes by often,

A muse who calls to me,

"Come hop aboard, forget your work,

Let's see what we can see!"

"No ticket will be needed,

No carry-on", says she;

”Only thoughts will be collected,

And dreams can travel free."

It picks  me up at random,

While my mind is caught off guard,

Floating on a piece of  music,

Or wandering  through the yard.

It leaves at no particular time

And often takes detours,

There's food for thought in the dining car,

Where imagination stirs;

Travelling in my private car,

Alone, I ride along,

Oblivious to the outside world,

Lost in my own song,

         

So quiet is the engine,

You can miss time passing through,

Till you wake -  the ride is over,

And a dream steps off with you!

Life's Relay Race

I have attended two funerals this week, each for a beautiful lady who I'm sure wondered to the end if she had run her race well; whether the love pressed into the  baton that she carried would find the hands of her loved ones, and be passed on to the next runner, and the next.  As I stared into the candle that I held at this morning's service, my thoughts were suddenly hijacked by my sixteen year old self:

As a grade eleven student, very small in stature, and clutching a miniscule piece of self-confidence, I somehow found myself in the school's track and field relay race. As I stood there, waiting for the baton to be slipped into my hand, my mind suddenly went completely blank; all of my focus was in the present - preparing to run with all that was in me.  As I tore down the track, I looked up to see my mother's face watching from the sidelines, pride and worry battling for first place in her emotions.  I don't remember finishing the race, or anything of the outcome - I just remember someone saying, "Did you see what you did?"  To this day, I don't know whether I did well, or if I totally blew it, and rather than destroying the fragile hope that I held onto,  I have avoided finding out.

We all have traumatic events in our past that have had dramatic ripple effects on our lives and our accomplishments; We too are left questioning how we have lived our lives, where we could have done better.  Rather than running our race reliving or regretting the past, let's seize the present moment, grab that baton of hope, and give life's relay race all we've got.  I know that's the advice that these two ladies would want to pass on.

As Green As It Gets!

"That's as green as it's going to get!"   An exasperated cry from our Grandson made us laugh at the time - a good wake-me-up that jolted us out of the serious impatience that we felt one day while sitting behind a slow mover at the starting line of a downtown traffic light.  Why do we insist on treating life as a race, having to get to our goals at the expense of the beauty that passes us by along the way?

  'The goal is the journey'  is an expression that one of our dear friends  used to use at the conclusion of her e-mails;  It always made me stop and re-think the goals that I had planned for that particular day - to give my to-do list a thorough review, to make sure that I was going to be living the day rather than just getting through it.   That difference meant that I made sure to leave some precious time for a creative process of some sort - something that would add a smile, a drop of encouragement, some beauty to the world.  I didn't forget the value of a love-filled baking session as one of those processes either;  It seemed like the perfect work of art on days when sunshine and smiles were at a premium.

  Heading into another week sprinkled with lots of raindrops, and with the grass and garden waiting patiently,  I decided to entice some poetic sunshine to come forth - That's as green as it's going to get today!

After The Rain

After the rain,

There will be light,

And a breeze to lift

The robin's flight;

After the rain,

The sun will shout

 With welcome warmth,

"Come out!  Come out!"

"Shake out your smile,

Add yours to mine,

Let's have some fun -

It's gardening time!"

Nice Ta Meetcha!   - The Power Of A Biscuit!

That's it!  I've Had it!   Time to bake biscuits!

Enough of all of these doom and gloom forecasts, whether political or weather-related;  It's time to bake  some love into some biscuits. Whatever form your biscuits take, whatever your 'knead' may be - let's sit down with a nice cup of tea and take a healing time-out  - calories be darned!

Each time that I recreate my mother-in-law, Joan's wonderful shortbread biscuit recipe, I find myself adding something extra to the mix that might make it even more delicious.  So far the ingredients are coming from Toronto, B.C., Ontario, Quebec, Indonesia, and the U.S.   How exotic is that! 

As I lovingly work the ingredients into small crumbs, on their way to the final mix, I am aware of the dependence of each of them on the others in order to form. These ingredients had never met before today - stayed in their separate cupboards, but once introduced and the more I let them combine and work together, the finer they have become.  My trained ear is hearing them as they compliment each other at great length, with 'Nice ta meetchas' happening all around!

I have now come full circle, contemplating world issues again, but through the lens of a biscuit baker.  We are all part of this wonderful recipe called mankind, and whether we admit it or not, we are all dependent on each other in order to get from crumb to delicious biscuit, to reach our full potential;

 We each have something to offer that no one else can give, but we can't find out what that something is until we start coming out of our cupboards and offering our 'nice ta meetcha's.

 Ah, the zen of the biscuit - may its force be with you!

The Colour Of Sunshine

The colour of sunshine!

 This was the title of one of the pieces of music that I was listening to as I did my Tai Chi routine this morning.  I find the slow meditative pace of this exercise to be a time of deep and creative thought, and of heartfelt prayer.

Though I can't see the colour of sunshine, or the substance of prayer, I know that both have the power to lift my heart and spirit.  As the sun draws warm colours from everything it touches, and gives back life-giving food to mankind and the earth, I believe that prayer, though invisible to the human eye, is viewed as a beautiful, powerful rainbow of hope by the soul which, as it is lifted, shares its own amazing colours, adding to the brightness and warmth in the world.

The colour of sunshine

Depends on its diet;

If it drinks from the ocean,

Or a lake laying quiet,

Then it puts on bright blue,

With a sparkle of green,

And its hair sometimes gleams

With a hint of marine.

While crossing a meadow,

It bounces off flowers,

It feeds on red clover,

And sends back rose showers;

It picks up blue tips

From the bluegrass, I'm told,

And to compliment dandelions

Dons its bright gold.

The colour of prayer

Depends on its diet;

If it drinks caring thoughts

From a soul that is quiet,

Then it puts on bright blue

As it soars high above,

And returns, dressed in gold,

As it echoes God's love.

Home For Remembrance Day

Home for Remembrance Day!

Sometimes our eyes speak louder than our mouths - the ultimate body language.  As I stared into two soft eyes in a picture frame, the voice of a young soldier spoke loud enough that I finally paid attention,  "Please, it is time - I want to go home."

 While visiting an antique shop, years ago, I had purchased a photograph of a very young WWII soldier, beautifully preserved in a handsome oval frame, protected by convex glass.  Not paying so much attention to the picture as to the frame, which I thought I might re-purpose to enhance one of my own oil paintings, I brought it home - and there it stood at the back of a shelf, with a growing assortment of other picture frames.

  It came with us as we moved from our farm in Osgoode to our new home in Prescott six years ago; still just another lovely potential picture border, until a couple of weeks ago.  That's when I decided to stop being so stubbornly selfish, and to start purging some of the 'treasures' that I had squirreled away in my art closet.  I was thinking of passing it along to a local charity sale with some of the other frames, until my husband thankfully intervened and pulled it out of my donation pile.   There I stood once again, staring into brave eyes that were patiently waiting;  I carefully removed the picture from the oval, and there on the back was the name of the soldier: Mr. Alf Root, Lansdowne, Ont. with what I assumed was his war tag number written at the top: 2310.

  With his picture now back in the frame, the hunt is on - I find myself offering to be the legs for this man: I'm walking about - on my computer, trying to find someone who can help identify his family.  So many times, I have gone on extended nostalgic journeys back in time whenever I pull out our own family pictures and albums and hear again our loved ones voices.  I believe that those who have touched our hearts and souls throughout our lives continue to communicate with us, that our spirits go on forever, fellow travellers on our homeward journey.
 Therefore, I will persevere with my walking fingers, and as those eyes keep entreating me, perhaps I can help return this one soldier home, to the arms of one of his own family members for Remembrance Day.   

Just Call Me Smiley!

I'm writing my story - the story of my life - moment by moment with each breath and with every action that I take. 

Day No. 24,646 (How scary is that!):

 I just finished doing a session of Tai Chi - it is a very calming exercise, meditative and thought inspiring.  A voice inside reminded me that one of our basic needs is that of creating something to pass along, of using the inspirations that we receive, to leave our mark, to build up this world in some way. 

"Edie, it said, (how cheeky, using my first name!) What inspired you growing up - a smile perhaps?"

 Well, now that you mention it - Yes, perhaps -  As I call to mind some of the many little moments and sparks that I gathered like treasures and stored in my heart, I realize that they have become a part of me.

  I remember being called 'smiley' when I was a young girl, and of feeling unsure of whether that was a good or bad thing to be - a sign of weakness or of strength?  It seemed that I needed to have an important reason to smile, or it left me looking a little simple.

 As I matured, that smiling thing became more and more of an asset.  I realized that there are no invalid reasons for a true, warm smile, but many reasons to avoid a cruel sneer or a frown -  Those sad faces pull our hearts into a frown as well, and it's very hard to lift our hearts and put it into our efforts if there is a big sad foot stepping on it.  There is much bravery in a soul that finds the strength to lift that foot and smile forth from a heart that is struggling or in pain, yet in that small action, there is healing for the giver and receiver.

I know from my own life's experiences that there are no words that wield as much power to reach out to another, to convey understanding, as the gesture of a genuine smile, and a kind touch on the shoulder in a moment of sadness, difficulty or stress.  Then again, a smile and a hug is even better, and a smile, a hug and a helping hand is the triple crown winner! 

 I wrote a little poem that I want to include in my fourth 'puddle' book that will give tribute to these three gifts:  'A smile, a hug and a helping hand'.

The ability of those gifts to spread out and gain wisdom, love, and new friends as they grow is a positive tool that I hope every child who picks them up will benefit from and use to build up his or her own world, their own life's story.

Now it's time to pull on my work gloves;  This gardener's prayer:  That we all dig into this garden called life, planting seeds of loving thoughts, watering them with a gentle rain of warm hugs, and using our helping hands to pull out the weeds of hate and ignorance; May our garden of smiles grow into strong actions to help in the healing of this precious world so much in need of hope-filled smiles - a bounty for all to share for so many good reasons!

"I Don't Know How To Love Him."

 

"I don't know how to love Him."

For me, that line, sung by Mary Magdalene, and later by Judas,  in the rock opera, 'Jesus Christ Superstar' was a wake-up call.

 It is our tradition at this time of the year, just before the celebration of Easter, to take out our recording of that rock opera and spend some quiet time just listening.   Each time that we do,  My husband and I are transported back to the year 1973.  There, in the living room of our small home in Osgoode, we gathered with a group of good friends and shared an idea that was inspired by a project that my father-in-law's church in Montreal had very successfully taken on.  A group of young people there had put on a slide and light presentation using the music from the original recording.

 Why couldn't we?

 With the support of our Parish Priest and members of  St. Brigid's Church - which ranged from hesitant at first to completely enthusiastic by its completion, we shared, debated, and grew with the project.  Through the cold Winter months we met in a warm atmosphere of excitement and camaraderie as we delved into the Easter story and all of the deep meanings and ramifications of that 'story' as they were presented in the Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice musical.

 Our idea was to immerse the audience in a richer experience with lighting effects and slides, bringing a visual dimension to the music, to provoke deeper thought.  We gathered and perused hundreds of pictures of everyday objects and people, which, viewed in the light of the music,  became not ordinary, but extraordinary!  We even created some of our own with shadow pictures (I'm thinking Tommy Kelly with a makeshift crown of thorns and a robe).  We were challenged both intellectually and spiritually to confront the interpretation of the 'truths' as put forth in the original production.  On Good Friday, we were nervous but ready.  There was no need to worry - All of the controversial aspects of the production were forgotten in an atmosphere of surprisingly deep reflection.

After Jesus spoke his final words:  "It is finished.   Father, into your hands I commend my Spirit."

there was complete silence, and then a beautiful musical interlude. With a spectre ball casting starlight about the darkened church, no one wanted to move or speak - It was truly a powerful unspoken prayer - one in which we each asked of ourselves:  "How do I love Him?"

A Magnificent Obsession!

Magnificent Obsession!

I thought that working on puzzles was supposed to be good for your brain?  That was my intention (honest!) when I pushed the go button on the Jigsaw Puzzle site.  Now I feel like the fellow in my  'Computer Games' poem (from "How To Wash A Puddle").  'I've been sitting here at least an hour,'   Make that an hour and a half, then two hours!  Talk about an obsession taking hold!  You know you're in trouble when you start looking at beautiful scenery around you, and you start picturing it in puzzle pieces!   It's given my 3 a.m. wake-up sessions a whole other reason to worry - putting together a puzzle in my mind does not make for a good sleep potion.   I'd try counting sheep, but then, I'd be dismantling them into their various parts before they got over the proverbial fence.  Help!   

Time is so precious - I should be putting it into one of the many really worthwhile obsessions.  I don't know how many of you have read the book called, 'The Magnificent Obsession';  It was written many years ago, in 1929 actually,  by Lloyd C. Douglas (Douglas was also the author of 'The Robe' among many other books that were made into inspiring movies).   The theme of the book is the 'pay it forward' concept.  The main character has a life-altering experience:  He is saved from drowning  at the expense of the life of a much-loved doctor:  He leaves his life of frivolity, and is inspired to become a physician, saving the lives of many others, to pay back the sacrifice that was made for him.

How does this relate to my 'puzzle' dilemma?  The world holds many tempting distractions that keep us from having the  time or interest to accomplish things that will pay forward and make a positive difference in the lives of others.  When the time comes for the big picture to finally be revealed to us, may I have turned my puzzle pieces into small acts of kindness in appreciation for all of the pieces, big and small that others have given to me, that have helped me to make sense of  this amazing puzzle called life. 

Living life fully, by giving, is truly a Magnificent Obsession -  Onwards!

Welcome Christmas!

Christmas has spread its wings and is soaring towards us - How wonderful!  It is wearing its finest garments - feathers of magnificent colours and textures; in its voice, a multitude of songs - of every note and nationality.  Love adorns its eyes as it sings in flight to meet us.   Hope fills its heart and bursts forth in hymns of peace on earth.  Let us welcome this beautiful, fragile guest with care; prepare our homes generously - put aside our dingy garbs of doubt and skepticism and dress ourselves in the beautiful love that is within us. 

 We all know the wonderful feeling of watching others opening gifts that we have given them, chosen with love; of seeing them benefiting from and using those gifts with joy and excitement!    Let us take a close look at how we have used our own gifts - those that the spirit of Christmas has given us and waits expectantly for us to open, time and again.  Have we recognized the great love that went into choosing them, or will Christmas arrive and find its gifts unopened and unappreciated, when the world is so much in need of our sharing? 

As Christmas draws close to us, it is a confidant to all of our hearts' true desires.  Let us open our hearts and trust that the unique gifts that Christmas brings to each of us are the most fantastic gifts that we have ever been given.  Let us take great joy in opening them and recognizing those riches: building blocks for hope, love and peace.   Then let us open our arms and truly welcome Christmas.

Drop That Rock!

Drop That Rock!

Why are you hanging on to that hard old rock? 

Why not jump into my beautiful canoe!

To be fear-bound is like being stranded on a hard, unforgiving, cold and dismal rock, in the middle of a beautiful sea.  Fish and birds are dipping and diving and singing all around, but you cannot join their voices or play because you are afraid to fall off of the rock.   Your fingers are cracked and bleeding from hanging on so tightly, your eyes are closed shut against the light, and your voice is non-existent - it has been crying out for help for so long that it no longer has any sound. 

So why not loosen your grip, one finger at a time, and let those fingers feel the water - The water is healing and warm, and hope begins to dawn.   There is a beautiful canoe a few feet from the rock - complete with paddles!  Hope grows a little stronger; the wind calms, and a light current pushes the canoe closer and closer - You step into the water and feel its energy surround you; the canoe is at your side - hope wins - as you step in.

In my little meditation, the rock and canoe represent our spirit's struggle to stay locked up or to go, to give up or to flow.
I love the following quote from one of my little 'Friendship' books (a very helpful paddle),   "It is true that there is an ebb and flow, but the sea remains the sea."(Vincent Van Gogh) 'You might have good days and bad but, just like the sea, you will always be you.  And that is wonderful.'

'Be brave, Humphrey!'  It's time to let go of that stress-o-matic clump of woe!  Grab your paddle, whether it's in the form of a good friend, a pen, dancing shoes, guitar, something that represents hope to you, and watch your ripples start to flow - step away from the rock and find your song!