When the busyness of life grabs us, or when we think we have no time, energy, creative juice or zest for life, perhaps it is time to ask ourselves “Where’s the balance?” Maybe we don’t allow ourselves to simply “be” and instead, we focus on ourselves as a “human do-ing” rather than a “human be-ing.”
Instead of doing things which drain us to the point that the passion-to-create or the desire to spend quality time with self/family/close friends is no longer paramount (or maybe even existent) in our daily activity, maybe it’s time to give ourselves the gift of Presence. A time when we nurture our Spirit … are gentle with ourselves … breathe in calm, peace and healing; breathe out anxiety, fear and pain.
Maybe it’s time to recognize that we don’t have to “do it all” … that saying “no” or “not at this time” is exercising wisdom … and that acknowledging our vulnerability isn’t weakness, but strength in self-awareness.
Giving the gift of Presence to ourselves can become the catalyst for the precious balance so necessary to a life where the spirit grows, personhood evolves and healing, health and wholeness can emerge. May we give ourselves the Gift of Presence this coming week.
Whether it’s listening to music, recommending a restaurant, listening to the opinion of another, politics, religion, looking at art, we all have our own perspective, our own viewpoint, our own experience of what we see / hear / taste / feel.
When I created this ZenDoodle long ago while waiting to see a doctor, it was as it is in the first photo – sideways. Sitting beside me was a fellow who, after watching me doodle, said “How about putting a hat on him?” “A hat?” “Yes, a hat” he replied.
Clearly, I didn’t “see” what the fellow was seeing. But when he leaned over, he took the corner of my little zendoodle and turned it around. I “saw” the image he was seeing. I doodled a little ‘tam’ hat.
Tonight, it seems, that whether I watch a U.S. channel or a Canadian channel or British channel, they’re all talking about the latest “breaking news” … the release of the Mueller report. And while the focus is on the Mueller report and “what could it possibly contain,” very little attention is being paid to the Mozambique cyclone which has devastated that country. If you do an internet search on ‘Mozambique cyclone March 22, 2019, you’ll see what is happening there. When the Mueller report is released, media will form opinions. Family, friends, co-works, neighbours will form opinions. Each of us will form an opinion.
Life’s Lessons are all around us and the little zendoodled fellow has become a gentle reminder that what is seen isn’t always what others see; what is heard isn’t always what others hear; what is experienced isn’t always what others are experiencing, even in the same situation.
It was a full moon. And as I took this photo, I found myself delighting in the wonder of the globe in the sky that shone so brightly – until hidden by clouds.
How often our light is hidden by the clouds we encounter in our lives – clouds of fear, isolation, loneliness, sadness, grief.
In those moments, our light hasn’t gone out. It’s just covered up and waiting for the time when whatever clouds we are experiencing will pass and our light will shine once again.
Thank you Madame Moon, for shining, for teaching, for existing, and for giving hope – in a new way.
For Kylene, Stuart and their children, the word ‘hope’ seemed like an empty phrase. But sometimes, a little hope in hearts; a little hope in prayers; a little hope whispered, spoken, cried, shouted becomes reality.
Quite a while ago, I read something on a local Facebook group that ‘Lewis,’ the family cat (a ginger cat) had gone missing. I whispered a wee prayer and hoped he would be found. He wasn’t. I had seen a ginger cat in the back yard recently but it was skittish and ran away within seconds. It kept showing up, terribly thin and clearly hungry. I put out some food and hoped it would come and eat. It did. The food was gone, but the cat was nowhere to be found.
Then I saw the “Missing Cat” notice and when it showed up again, it must have trusted me after several days of my feeding it and I was able to bring it indoors. I contacted the family and Stuart immediately came over. Oh how I hoped that Lewis was their family cat. Stuart did, too. Sadly, it wasn’t their Lewis, but it was very ill and Duncan Animal Hospital (one of our local vets) kindly cared for it. Then Cowichan Cat Rescue took over.
That was all before Christmas. Over Christmas, I prayed a wee prayer that Lewis would be found and the family would have a special gift this year but … it didn’t happen. And then this morning, I received an email … “Our ginger cat, was found in Arbutus Ridge!” Positive identification was made (thanks to Lewis’ tattoo he’d received from Cowichan Cat Rescue prior to his adoption by the family), and the rest, as they say, is history!
How ever Lewis made it from here (in Duncan) to there (14 km) is a story that will remain with Lewis, but oh how I’d love to still be teaching, tell the students about Lewis and have them write a short story of Lewis’ Adventures. Welcome home, Lewis! There is a special family who is soooooo excited to have you back. And I’m looking forward to meeting you in person!
At one time, the word ‘hope’ seemed like an empty phrase. But a little hope was in hearts; a little hope was in prayers; a little hope was whispered, spoken, cried, shouted and hope became reality! Lewis is home!
We are living in Shadow Times. It’s a difficult time for many. As I think of Shadow Times, I think of my mother – an oil painter – an artist. Under her creative touch, a blank canvas would become transformed with majestic mountains, resplendent flowers and inviting landscapes.
Mom was also a teacher of life. One day, she explained the importance of shadows … shadows in art and shadows in life. “Shadows are just as integral as are the highlights.” <Joy Mack>
When life has become difficult for me, I’ve often recalled her words and tried to remember that in the dark, shadowy times of life (when it seems as if the light of truth, of hope, of peace, of joy are hidden), the shadows can be just as instructive as can be the joy-filled times. Sometimes, even more so. When life’s mountains and valley moments arrive, I try to be patient and remember that plateaus *will* come, where I can breathe. Eventually.
When the frosty moments and hostile people descend, I try to be patient and remember that the sun *will* shine through. Eventually.
Some say that those whose lives have been negatively impacted by life have been sent these things by God as a *test.* I can’t believe in a deity such as that. What kind of god would … create babies born with medical complications … ‘spare’ some in accidents/disasters while killing others … arm terrorists who terrorize/maim/kill … pollute the atmosphere, water … cause climate change … choose ‘who’, ‘when’, ‘how’, ‘where’ people die … decide whose lives are devoured by disease, addiction, mental illness … profoundly affect lives by government shut-down, grief, financial set-back, health issues, divorce, violence, lack of freedom, addiction, abuse, poverty, mental illness. Not a loving one.
Some people think that Shadow Times are to be completely forgotten. I don’t. I believe that such moments serve a purpose, and that by disregarding the challenges of life, we lose opportunities for personal growth. May these Shadow-Times lead us into action, into involvement, into opportunities to be a “channel of peace” as St. Francis of Assisi wisely counselled, so that where there is hatred, we can feel and sow love. Where there is injury, we can offer receive and pardon. Where there is doubt, we can model faith. Where there is despair, we can be hope for others. Where there is darkness, we can bring a glimpse of light. And where there is sadness, we can experience and share joy … even in Shadow Times.
The saying “It’s always darkest before the dawn” originated with prolific English writer Thomas Fuller in 1650. Those were dark days then. There have been dark days since then. Many feel that there are dark days now.
Before closing the blinds recently, a wondrous silver beam of light shone brightly in the sky and through the patio door. It was magical, and oh, so welcome in an unexpected way. It seemed to bring hope. In spite of concern (of war possibilities, ongoing governmental shut-down, unspeakable horrors happening to human beings of all ages, racism, anti-semitism), that beam-of-light-through-the-blinds brought hope that there will be a tomorrow.
When the mind replays troubling words (from a world leader, other political leaders, medical specialists, financial advisors, unhealthy relationships, employers), the moon is shining. Somewhere. When clouds began to form, the moon seemingly becomes hidden, its light diminishes and seems lost (not too dissimilar to those times when it can feel as if our light has gone out and when clouds of fear, isolation, loneliness, sadness, grief, self-doubt, anger begin to form within us), but we are still here.
Scientists tell us that the moon has existed for more than four billion years, shining and giving hope to countless generations. Why then, would we think that the moon will stop shining now? Similarly, why would we think that the clouds of fear etc. being felt will never disappear? Like the moon, (simply covered up, waiting for the time when whatever cloud is being experienced will pass), the light once again will shine forth, the clouds in our lives *will* pass in some way and the light *will* shine forth once again. The wondrous silver beam of light shines brightly in the sky. Somewhere … bringing light, and bringing hope that there will be a tomorrow. Just “when” that tomorrow will come we don’t know. But it *will* come.
Tomorrow came ‘then.’ Tomorrow has come ‘since then’. There *will* be a tomorrow. The words of Alicia Morton in the musical “Annie” say it well: The sun’ll come out – tomorrowBet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun!” May we hold fast to the lesson from the past … there *will be* a tomorrow!
One little drop of water doesn’t seem like much … by itself. But when droplets of water are put together, great things can happen! Parched dry crops become nourished by life-giving rain. Flowing rivers abound with salmon. Glistening snowflakes can be a reminder of individual uniquenesses. Magnificent waterfalls bring forth powerful energy. New life emerges from the waters of baptism.
If these can result when tiny droplets of water come together, it is awe-inspiring to realize what can happen when tiny droplets of respectful and kind words, positive thoughts, peaceful actions, religious words/actions
(any of which can be interpreted as ‘prayer’) are offered by millions around the globe and transformed into cascading waterfalls of healing.
May parched and dry discussions be watered by the Living Word of compassion, kindness and mercy. May rivers of conversation flow freely, gently and lovingly. May social media stop dramatizing, falsifying, lying. May leaders in our world, act like leaders and truly care for the people they were elected to serve, rather than care for their own selfish greed
and need for personal power.
dreams went unfulfilled, a serious illness was diagnosed
a pain wouldn’t leave, finances were unsettled
the future was frighteningwhen Darkness overwhelmed, the voices of love, hope, joy and peace
spoke softly through others, deep within ourselves, in the beauty of Nature,
in the silence, in the wonder of a child’s laughter, in the solitude,
in the lovingkindness of a stranger for a brief moment, and the Light
that was to come was lit
just a small flame, but nonetheless a flame of hope that somewhere in the world at the most difficult of times, the moon still shimmers, the sun still shines, the stars still twinkle, someone is praying, someone is believing
there is hope
perhaps expressed differently than we first imagined, but there is hope,
even in the Darkness
I love stories of “new beginnings” and this is one such story … and a true story at that! It is a story about a clock, a very old clock that began its journey long, long ago, in the province of Friesland, the Netherlands (birthplace of my late husband Hans van der Werff) where tradition had it that when a couple married, an integral part of their home furnishings was a Friesland clock.
Hans’ grandparents (Pake and Beppe) bought such a clock at public auction and even though it “was terribly dirty and did not work,” Pake loved it. Determined to get it back to its original working order, he patiently and gently cleaned it, working countless hours on it and finally, the timepiece worked again and the clock became a focal point of pride in the family home for decades.
When Pake and Beppe died, the clock Pake had lovingly brought back to life, was given to Hans’ parents. Hans remembered it “always being in our home” when he was growing up and it was a lovely memory of his childhood. But when WW11 interrupted their lives and the Nazis began to realize that there could be value in Fryslan clocks, homes were raided and clocks were stolen unless they had been hidden. Not surprisingly, when it was learned that the van der Werff family clock was on the Nazi’s acquisition desirable list, the clock was quickly dismantled and hidden.
Gratefully, it was never discovered during WW11. But after the war, it was still considered to be a valuable commodity, so the family decided that it would be best to get it out of the country for safekeeping. The clock was taken out of hiding and stored until Hans was next in Holland … he had moved to Canada as a young man but often travelled back to Holland as part of his work in those days.
Together, the brothers made a solid wooden box into which they gently placed the clock. Shipping to Canada was arranged, the clock safely arrived and over the decades, Hans lovingly cared for the clock and proudly displayed it in every home in which he lived, cherishing the memories of his childhood, his parents, siblings and grandparents.
When Hans and I married, the clock came to live with us. I was delighted, for its presence was a wonderful connection both to Hans’ Dutch roots and now ‘our’ Dutch family. Hans and I often talked about the clock and he spoke of wanting it to stay with me in our home (should he die before I did), where it was loved and its history was respected. That was the plan.
Well, it was the plan until one morning, about six months after Hans died. During my Quiet Time one morning, an image of the clock being packed up and heading across the ocean back to Holland, filled my thoughts. I lived with that possibility for several weeks and each time I thought about it, peace filled my heart and mind. I wrote Hans’ brother and wife, their daughter and son in law, sharing what I was thinking of doing with the clock … send it back to his homeland – in the Netherlands – and was gratified by the response of them all.
As a result, I contacted a shipping company and the clock began its journey. And here is where a miracle/mystery enters the story. Soon after Hans died, the clock that his brother Peter and his wife had in their home, stopped working. No reason – it just stopped! Peter tried to fix it, but he wasn’t able to. One day, he found a clockmaker who was able to repair it, but the cost was too high to be considered, so Peter headed home knowing that the clock would not be repaired.
As it happened (nawww, not a coincidence <g>), the Friesland-Canada clock was being picked up that very day (!) at the Rotterdam dock, and the moment Peter got the phone call saying that the clock had arrived safely and had been picked up, his wife noticed that the clock in their home began to work! No one had touched it. It just started … miraculously/mysteriously. Each one of us, independently, agreed: “Hans fixed it and is telling us that he is so very happy that the clock has returned back to Holland.”
So the ending of this story is that the clock has returned from whence it came. Or is it really ‘the ending’? The clock is safely back in the Netherlands, proudly displayed in the home of Hans’ brother and his wife’s daughter, our niece, her husband and daughter, our great-niece. When the clock arrived in their home, she proudly remarked that she will pass the clock on to her children and their children with a copy of this story tucked into the clock for generations to know its history for she knows that in time, she will inherit the clock. I know that the future of the clock is secured … and that’s a happy ‘ending’ … a happy ‘beginning’ to this story.
(P.S. I took the photo of the clock, but it’s a very large clock and I couldn’t step back far enough to get all of it in the photo. The length of the chain is really long!)
