I'm at a new juncture. Well, it's new for this moment, but so very familiar in my life's living. It's another bend in the road that asks me to turn from the clear path towards what is unknown. I have it in my head that we're supposed to have a plan, a charted course for our lives, and that the better we follow that plan and stick to that map, the happier and more secure we will become. I've tried this approach over and over again, but I seem to always find myself at some new twist or turn that begs me to trust what is next even when it is not remotely on the map. I can be quite frustrated by this, especially when I witness so many others on a straight path that seems so well groomed and simple.
Today, I spent the morning honoring the old fashioned ritual of handwriting letters to those close to my heart. It's slow, this pen to paper experience. I opened the windows wide, sipped tea and listened to flute music as I remembered loved ones in this way. Slow is good for my soul. And tending others with care and thoughtful purpose brings me closer to my Maker and my joy. After I went to the post office, I decided to come home via the back roads. It takes longer, which again, is only good for me, and I stopped all along the way to pick wildflowers. There were honeysuckle and sweet peas, and purple clover. No other cars. No other noise... just gravel and corn fields and sky and wind. Outside of time and worry, the birds and flowers reminded me that this time and this place is all that it is meant to be. This moment leads to the next and how we cup each moment blesses the following one.
I don't want to be afraid of what is unknown. I want to follow every bend, every unexpected joy and disappointment with faith likened to that of each caterpillar that ever let go of solid ground... for sky. Oh, yes. It sounds dreamy. But learning to trust takes time and energy and determination. Maybe some folks come by this naturally, but for me, it is a practice I continue to refine. Some days, I work so hard at trusting, I sweat, scream, and cry. And other days, like today, I stand in the rain and do nothing but breathe deep sighs of relief that all will be well as ever it shall be well.
Rivers run without a care following the pull of some unknown source.
I, too, lovingly follow.
Today, I spent the morning honoring the old fashioned ritual of handwriting letters to those close to my heart. It's slow, this pen to paper experience. I opened the windows wide, sipped tea and listened to flute music as I remembered loved ones in this way. Slow is good for my soul. And tending others with care and thoughtful purpose brings me closer to my Maker and my joy. After I went to the post office, I decided to come home via the back roads. It takes longer, which again, is only good for me, and I stopped all along the way to pick wildflowers. There were honeysuckle and sweet peas, and purple clover. No other cars. No other noise... just gravel and corn fields and sky and wind. Outside of time and worry, the birds and flowers reminded me that this time and this place is all that it is meant to be. This moment leads to the next and how we cup each moment blesses the following one.
I don't want to be afraid of what is unknown. I want to follow every bend, every unexpected joy and disappointment with faith likened to that of each caterpillar that ever let go of solid ground... for sky. Oh, yes. It sounds dreamy. But learning to trust takes time and energy and determination. Maybe some folks come by this naturally, but for me, it is a practice I continue to refine. Some days, I work so hard at trusting, I sweat, scream, and cry. And other days, like today, I stand in the rain and do nothing but breathe deep sighs of relief that all will be well as ever it shall be well.
Rivers run without a care following the pull of some unknown source.
I, too, lovingly follow.
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