seeds to flowers

Walking in the rain is my favorite. Not the gushing downpours usually associated with my working outside in the summer, but the gentle, soft and cool rain that comes as a surprise because you couldn't hear it from inside the house. The kind that makes you say, "Oh! It's raining!" and you go out anyway.

At times, like today, the rain is especially welcome. Rain, clearly, has a cleansing quality--washing last night's humidity out of the air, and leaving instead that wonderful rain smell that sustains (many of) us until the next rain. Rain also has a cleansing quality for the soul, and as we walked today, we spoke of some of the more difficult aspects of our youngest days. Somehow, sharing the things that can hurt the most are easier in the rain, less drastic, and ever-so-less painful.

Why is that? Why does rain make me feel more open to hear, more open to tell? Perhaps it's the feeling that the heavens or the cosmos is involved somehow. Or that God has opened up a little, so we feel less alone. Maybe it's the tenebrosity, the lack of light, that makes us feel a little safer, a little more open. A little more loved. It may even be the wetness of the rain itself, enhancing a fluidity in our feelings and emotions. Water seeks its own level, and fluidity in one's soul would clearly move to a more level spot....

And yet, the things we talked about bubbled up from the depths. The overflowed through what felt like the smallest of cracks in a carefully constructed barrier. Things that should have sounded awful, but, with the help of the rain, were diluted enough to be tolerable; not likable, but bearable. Raindrops mixed with tears, and slid away; softly, easily, nearly without notice.

When my father died, it snowed. Like crazy. Like over three feet crazy. By the time we got home, everything had iced over, and we had a heck of a mess to clean up, just to get in our driveway. It was late, it was dark, and we were so very tired. Bone tired from sorrow, driving, and plain old exhaustion. I remember that moving that snow and ice was so symbolic for me. It wasn't rain; it wasn't soft, or gentle, cleansing or pure. It was hard and cold, with sharp edges and so much weight--just like my very core, my heart, my being. I screamed at the snow; threw great big boulders of icy whiteness into the yard with all my might. It helped, but not nearly as much as running water.

Today's rain is gentle and light--not a shower, but slightly more than a sprinkle. And, in the early morning hours of our walk, was just what we needed. Just what I needed. My pains and hurts are no greater than anyone else's, but they are my burden, and mine alone until I share them. The fact that others -- someone, somewhere -- is worse off than I am sometimes discourages me from sharing and lightening my load. Walking in the rain, with someone who wants to hear, equalizes the pressure, and only then can I grow.

Only then can I grow.

yes means yes

Dear Anonymous~
What you have to say, behind the mask of anonymity, means very little to me now. I do not know what I have done to you to make you want to hurt me with words. I realize your anger, pain and frustration must come from a place in you that needs release--I have been there, not once, but many times. And, no, they are not all related to your unnecessary comments--in fact, that particular dark place was not the darkest, only the most recent; and the one that brought about the most healing, growth, and, yes, lightness and joy. Your words, intended to slow or reverse our healing, will instead continue to motivate us to be better, closer, more united. Your words increase my strength and resolve. As I read them, they lacked the power to hurt me, or even to touch me. They were yours, and yours alone; that is how they will stay.

The greatest gift I have found is forgiveness. What you don't know, or seem to grasp, is that I have forgiven. The three best words ever: I forgive you. Love is easy, shoot, lust is even easier, but forgiveness requires looking deep into oneself and identifying the source of the pain, acknowledging it, being present in it, and l-e-t-t-i-n-g i-t g-o. I have done that, and more, both on my own and with assistance. I am free.

What I need to tell you is that I forgive you, too. Your pain, your anger, your darkness inside, is not actually related to me, as far as I know. Let it go. Find someone who can honestly help you find it and release it. Whoever you are, you can be at peace.

That is my response to you. I wish you peace. I hope you move forward. I have, and there's no longer any reason to dwell on looking back.

~Stephanie

a pretty day

This morning, my husband asked me to marry him. Down on one knee, looking into my eyes, and holding my hands in his.

To some, this may seem strange. In fact, to many, this may seem like an odd question for him to ask me. We've been through quite an upheaval lately, with so many roots and causes, but, bottom line we'd let our selves go a bit. Our true selves. Somewhere along the line, with four kids, two dogs, five jobs, the death of two parents, and countless volunteer obligations, we managed to lose sight of the simplest of tenets of a healthy relationship: we stopped talking with our hearts. Sure, we spoke to each other, shared some news, some hopes and dreams, some fears, but the time to open up and share the tough subjects kept slipping away.

We'd argue about that from time to time. And there were certainly times when we caught ourselves sharing the thoughts we most feared sharing. Over the past few weeks, we have rediscovered the intimacy that comes from heart talking. More than anything, what we have learned is that the more we talk, the more we want to talk. And the more we want to talk, the more in love we fall. In all honesty, it feels, for both of us, like the first time we've ever been in love. And it's such a wonderful, refreshing feeling.

About a year ago, I read something about staying married being a daily choice. It resonated with me. I remember, too, that at the time, when I shared that thought with my husband, he balked. He said that being married just is, and we were already married, so there was no choice to be made. He thought it was silly. Still, to me, the idea that each morning I should make a choice in how I lived, that I could decide each morning, when I looked in the mirror, whether I would be a married woman, or someone else. Since that day, I have overwhelmingly chosen married woman. And the result has been overwhelming, too.

Not long ago, my husband asked how I got through those days when I have doubts--about being a mother, being myself, being in love. There are so many times when I have those doubts; those nagging feelings that I'm not doing my best, that what I'm doing is either not right or not appreciated, even the times when I wonder if I really love being a mom, being me, or even if I really love him. The simple answer is, "I do." I do love my role, my vocation, and my husband. I really do--I stood in front of a whole bunch of people 21 years ago and said so, after all! In response to his confused look, I responded,

"When I wonder, when I doubt, especially our love, and I have a hard time coming up with a reason that I fell in love, I ask myself, 'Do I love him?' And the answer is always, 'Yes, I do. I do.' And when I tell myself I do, I then begin to remember the little things--the special look, the conversations, the laughter, the tears--and I remember why I love him. The doubts fade away, as they should."

Since that day, I've managed to avoid most of the doubts entirely, but I know that is likely because of all the talking we've been doing. When school starts, and the secondary jobs pick up again, and the craziness of parenting pulls us in many directions at once, they may return once in a while. I'm fairly certain, as long as we make time for conversation--deep hearted, true sharing--the frequency will decrease. We've found what we've been missing, and, honestly, we can't bear to let it go. Ever again.

I said yes.

peace and a pool vac

Today I'll be going to work early to vacuum the pool. Although I'm irritated at the reason I can't just toss the robot in, I'm not minding that I will have the solitude and peaceful time. This means I won't have time to do yoga today, but I can practice yoga philosophies while working. There is a zen-like quality to vacuuming a pool; everything must be done purposefully and slowly, rhythmically and with a light touch. The only problem I ever have is that I tend to sunburn while vacuuming.

I love the water. I prefer nature to the pool, but still the water is peaceful. As I gaze into the water, I can think, open my mind, wander through my thoughts, meandering without having to connect one to another. When vacuuming the pool, I don't usually come to conclusions, as I do when watching currents or waves, or even when vacuuming the floors at home. Rather, the thoughts come and go of their own accord.

While thinking through is more often my goal, and necessary, I find the thoughtless thinking to be refreshing sometimes. Occasionally, I stumble across a thought that I would like to consider more thoroughly at a later time. Often, though, I can just let them go and be freed of their clutter. The only other time I am able to do so is in savasana, the resting posture: corpse pose. It's easier than it once was, but there are still thoughts I wish were not even there to begin with; memories I don't wish to have, heartaches, words said that cannot be erased, feelings that still strike a chord.....

Funny how the difficult thoughts float to the surface. The other day, I told my husband that the painful feelings we give voice to, those related to fear, anger and pain, seem to have less power when shared, while those related to love, joy and lightness become exponentially more powerful when spoken aloud.

Perhaps today, while I am alone with the pool, I will speak aloud the thoughts as they come to mind. Probably not, because I will feel silly......but I imagine if I can get past my own self, speaking them aloud will help them to grow or diminish as necessary.

wildflowers

Yesterday, I promised myself I would write today (which is not usually a hard promise to keep, except for the time factor), and this morning, I wondered just what I would write about. I poured coffee, took the dogs out, and sat on the porch step, where I found myself thinking about fences. Like the dogs, my thoughts began to wander around the green and somewhat weedy yard of my mind.

At first, my fence thoughts were absolutely related to the dogs. I've often pictured a fence around the yard, and I even know what style I'd like, complete with the gates (I have a few pictures of inspiration that I cut out and put in a binder, long before there was Pinterest!). Of course, because it was early morning, and I was alone, and I had coffee in my hand--and, quite honestly, because I am me, and I can't help it!--I began to wonder whether the fence would more likely keep things (people? animals? demons?) in or out. Which lead, inevitably, to the idea of the fences in my life, in my mind, in my heart.

Forever, it seems, I've had fences inside to keep myself safe. What I've found is that keeping myself safe doesn't always allow for growing. I've let people through the gates, and some have sowed weeds, which angered, irritated and frustrated me enough to close and lock the gate again. More have helped to tend my garden; helping to pull out and dispose of the weeds, helping me to select the right flowers, fruits, vegetables.....Still....

It's the fences that have kept me in.

I've opened the gates for a number of reasons, and I'm determined to keep them opened, cautiously, for a while, anyway. I've discovered that there is buried treasure, as well as weed roots with tendrils that have been missed, broken off, forgotten.

It's funny--the fence I picture around our yard is only tall enough and the spaces are only narrow enough to keep the dogs in, yet when I am looking at myself honestly, there's been a stockade fence in some of the areas of my psyche, and I, myself, have been kept out. It's time to rebuild.

Each day, I am learning anew to appreciate those who make me happy, who allow me to be happy, who know happiness. I'm finding the roses and the wildflowers, and smelling each one.

"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom." ~Marcel Proust.

a blank page

This morning, I decided that even though I had no idea what I would write, I would log in and write. When I sign in, a rather dull page comes up that should probably interest me more--a page with stats and data. The only thing I ever look at is "pageviews today" and each time the number surprises me. I have no idea why. Today, this morning, at 8:14am, the number was 10, which blew me away. Silly, I know. I wonder who they could be; are they all people I know, or are they strangers who have stumbled upon my words? If they just stumbled by, will they look for me again? Do they feel like eavesdroppers, or do they want to get to know me? And really, does it matter? If nothing else, the number of pageviews gives me something to daydream about.

Today, though, when I glanced across that page, wondering what else I'm supposed to be getting out of this data, I saw that I had a draft saved. I wondered what on earth I could have written and not posted. When I opened and read it, I remembered writing it. I don't remember the circumstances, but the thoughts, the synthesis is so pertinent. Yesterday, I heard something that made me think about zebras and stripes, immediately decided that saying doesn't always apply, and put it in the back of my mind. Then I found this old post.

So today I'm thinking that zebras are just zebras, but character can be strengthened. The difference between yesterday's quick thought about stripes, and today's realization is one of superficiality. This old post is so related to my friendship post--true, honest-to-goodness friendship is not at all superficial; it's based on far more than just chatter, and is, above all else, a gift to be cherished, nurtured, admired. Yesterday, I thanked a friend for being herself. I told her I had never fully appreciated her, or her friendship. And she told me she just lives the way she believes she should. I want to be more like her. She, and so many other wonderful people I know, have so much true character.

Recently, due to some emotional events--both highs and lows--I've been finding myself thinking about character; what it means, where it comes from, who I've known who has it. I've discovered a common theme...the people I've learned the most from, with regard to character, have felt like a lifelong part of my life from the moment we met.


Not in the same way as those people who seem to be able to read my mind when I met them, and have a million things in common with me, and draw me in like a super-magnet--most of those friendships turn out to be fairly superficial, lose luster, and fizzle out in a cloud of "what the heck happened here?" This is a different kind of "I like him/her; I want to get to know him/her better." I had noticed this difference before, but had never really thought about it much, but with the recent events in our lives, I rather suddenly realized one evening what the difference is......


This kind of comfortable, easy meeting is based on being true to oneself. The reason these people are so easy to be around is that they are honest-to-goodness real deal people. But not in the way that they don't care about others, or are preoccupied in any way with themselves. In fact, it's the opposite: the people I'm talking about have a clear vision of their place in the world, realize that that space really is a tiny part of the whole, but believe wholeheartedly that every single piece of the whole is important, necessary, and  amazing in it's own way.


I admire those who are true to themselves. Particularly, those who are true to themselves now, but are perfectly willing to tell about when they weren't, and how it cost them--and yet don't sound as though their goal is to impress or preach. Rather, what I've observed is that they are willing to tell their stories in order to express their wonder and gratitude for the opportunity to grow.

with a little help

Sometimes, what we need most in life is to know who our friends are. And sometimes, the realization is surprising, to say the least. In the past few weeks, I have learned that real, true friends never judge the decisions we make, even if we are feeling judgemental of ourselves. I've learned that sometimes friendship and the love that comes with it can come from the least expected place. And I've learned that sometimes, someone we thought had surprised us with friendship, really is the chameleon we originally thought.

I've also learned that the truest friends will not necessarily ask or even need to know what's going on, but might just be there, heart and soul, as a distraction, if that's all you need. Distance, as I've always known, matters little in true friendship, but it sure makes shoulder-leaning tough.

Perhaps I shouldn't be too surprised. I have a litmus test right here inside me. A few years ago, I graduated from college as our son was Confirmed. In planning the party, I found myself so excited for my friends to meet my friends. I kept saying to myself, "Oh, she will really like her! They will be so much fun together!" Then I realized, my best friends, the ones I can share my ups and downs with, are pieces of me. Yes, they have wildly varied interests, occupations, lifestyles--but deep inside each of my friends lies a small piece of who I am, just as I lie inside them.

Recently, I've been going through a rough patch. Some people have noticed in my demeanor or my Facebook posts. Some have heard, one way or another. Some have reached out, and some have simply called to chat about nothing. I am truly blessed by the love and understanding with which I have been showered. For a time, I couldn't even breathe, and didn't know where to turn, but with each word I spoke to a friend, I was reassured, calmed, uplifted.

I'm not publishing these thoughts because I want or need to be inundated with inquiries. If I want or need to tell you, I will, in good time. Rather, I needed to share these thoughts because you need to know there is someone who will listen. Someone who will understand. Probably multiple someones--but unless the words are spoken aloud, the darkness could consume you. It almost did me, until I reached out, hard as it was, to someone I was afraid to lose.

Thank you to my friends, many of whom really do not know what I've been going through, but that I know are there, because I know I would be there for them. In a heartbeat.