A new work of art and a poem. Blessings on your day.
On This Late Summer Morn
On this late summer morn,
She sits where mind rests, prayers flow.
Wonder at the world of blame
Brings her head to bow.
On this late summer morn,
The sky dark from falling ash,
Our lungs fill, the sun remains
Hidden. Even he fears the heat.
On this late summer morn,
Thousands fleeing a war-torn country,
Our hearts fill, the moon remains
Hidden. Even she cries with the knowledge.
On this late summer morn,
Delta dead are piled into trucks,
Our minds fill, the stars remain
Hidden. Even they wonder at the folly of it all.
On this late summer morn,
She recognizes all that is sacred,
Sees the beauty in all creatures, all life,
Her heart opens with the embracing of it all.
@Janis Dehler
Over the years, I have developed a nurturing healing habit of creating, somewhere in my home, a shrine or an altar for a deceased loved one. I allow instinct, intuition, and the flow of life in that moment to guide me and the objects I choose.
The first shrine I created was in the summer of 1981. It was a spontaneous outgrowth of love for our baby Beth who died a week after her birth. It began with the yellow roses from her burial day and the little hat with a red ribbon the NICU nurses made for her. Then I added the sympathy cards, a candle, the program from her funeral, a photo of her in the arms of her dad and me. The little pink and white rubber teddy bear our Brian and Laura had chosen for her. A small yellow and white flowered blanket that held the smell of her. Pictures our children and the neighbor kids colored. All the items that reminded us of her short life and the comfort and love of family and friends. It stayed on our dining room buffet for months or a year until the day came when I realized I could remove it slowly.
In 2003, I made a small shrine for my dad. Again, a photo, a candle, the program from the funeral Mass, the eulogy I had offered, his three books written about his life including his army years and Soo Line Railroad life and work. Little mementos like a miniature Soo Line train, a cross, his childhood French Canadian prayer books, cribbage board, and a pipe and matches.
In 2006, the shrine was for my mother. The red etched glass candle holder that was in constant flame for the week of her dying, a photo of her hand cupped with my hand and my granddaughter’s hand. The CD of chants we played on loop. Her rosary, the program of her funeral, my written eulogy. The red blanket we wrapped her in after washing her body following her death, and flower petals. I can still smell her shrine as it left a lasting scent of roses within me.
Last September 2020, my shrine was for my youngest sister, Mary Beth. Living her life with Down Syndrome and then adding Alzheimer’s to the mix made for an array of objects for this 57-year-old woman. A stuffed animal, a beaded necklace, her photo with her boyfriend, the eulogy I wrote, flowers, one of her paintings, her ashes, sympathy cards, a photo of our parents, and a photo of all of us siblings. Surrounding it all in the dining room was everything she owned. All her bits of papers she folded and saved, all the jewelry that she would adorn herself with but became lost to her memory as Alzheimer’s settled in. All her stuffed animals, her guitar, paintings, clothes, and trinkets. All expressing both the simplicity of her life as well as the challenges she lived with, in her day to day.
Now in 2021, the shrine is for my mother-in-law, Winnie, my bonus mother. All the objects that have come to symbolize her life for me and her son, Leo. A pair of scissors, a purple yoyo, a bounty of flowers, a memorial candle, her Benedictine Oblate book, a photo of her, a wooden Benedictine cross, butterfly cards, bells, and butterfly towels, always butterflies. This altar started on the kitchen peninsula where we eat breakfast and it keeps growing to be the full peninsula, as we add a necklace, a pair of earrings, a butterfly pin, more cards, her favorite quilt. This one is still fresh and new and will be with us for some time. We will know the day it is right to begin the dismantle.
There have been other altars over the years, for a friend, an aunt, an uncle, and always an ongoing altar in my meditation space. Other shrines or altars might be for a beloved pet, a job loss, a physical shift with a move or in health. And there are altars for joy, new life, new relationships, all the little ones that spontaneously form from the bits we collect on a dresser top or bedside table. In many ways, in our humanness, we are natural collectors and many objects that are chosen are from nature. Each of my altars/shrines for these loved ones display the small objects of physical existance that help me ground in the reality of this particular life. They are the tactile bits of a personality, a spirit, a soul, that help me to connect for some time to the loved one’s energy, smell, and feel, anchoring me in my body and into the earth.
The secret sauce to any altar/shrine space that we create is in the intention, the choosing of the objects, and the awareness of what meaning they have within us. The symbols we imbue with the loved one’s memory help us to understand and value the life they have lived. As can be seen from these five shrines above, the items are random, some fun and frivolous with others more heart centered in faith, but they all speak of a love story that was lived out with the one who is missing from this physical world. I see myself in what I have chosen, as the items speak to our relationship and are reflections of my own inner life. They represent the story of one who has impacted my walk on this earth, be they in loving or in challenging ways, and brought meaning and enhanced the world within which I live. I stand before each altar gazing at what is displayed, feeling sadness in my loss, allowing my tears when they come forth, and trusting the inner smile that might arise at the memory. This space also offers me a place to feel my anger, resentment or any other troubling emotion that needs and asks for expression. It becomes the sacred container for all of it.
When it comes to the day when all the items are put away, there might be an inner sigh, a smile, a recognition that this life has meaning, has consequence, has touched my heart and soul in ways that are now integrated into my being. My soul is larger for the effort. My being expands in the awareness and compassion for the life lived. The relationship expands as the symbols create a narrative that is imbued with meaning.
Conversely, I might find that when I remove the shrine, I feel deep within me that there is more to come. The objects go away, or narrow down, but I still have more understanding that needs time to be realized. I draw comfort in knowing that I have a lifetime to be in relationship with the memory of the loved one and healing may come in a totally different way, on a totally different day. There is no timeline in grief only a spiral that moves and flows and allows, as I journey forth. As long as I lean into the grief as it arises, I can trust that it will work with me; it will have its way with me until that story, my story, feels complete.
My bonus mother, Winnie, left her mortal body on February 19, 2021, after two days of being unresponsive. At age 97, she left behind 71 descendants and countless others who dearly loved her and felt joy in her presence.
I first met Winnie when I was 18 and she was 45. She had birthed 9 children and grieved 4 miscarriages. When I met her, she and husband Herb were in the midst of raising these 9 and life was a whirlwind of activity. What most impressed me and intimidated me were her life disciplines and her spiritual disciplines, but mainly her life disciplines. Those I witnessed as a particular way to do laundry, dishes, set a table, iron clothes, grow plants, chop vegetables. She did it all with care, intention, and dedication. It all mattered. She was a hard worker from very young. She never shied away from any job no matter how hard, whether it was plowing a field with a horse and plow, washing clothes for 7 by hand with no running water, or baking ten or more loaves of bread each week. I was a young woman who did not much enjoy housework so had not given it much thought or attention, I just did what had to be done. Winnie raised and taught her gang of 9 with these disciplines including the admonition to carry a hanky, wear clean underwear, say the Memorare, and show gratitude, always gratitude.
Winnie’s spiritual disciplines at that time included attending Mass, praying the rosary, morning and nighttime prayers, mealtime prayers, and countless other ways of prayer in the yearly cycle. Her spiritual disciplines included treating everyone they met or who came to the door, relative or stranger, as if they were important, as if they mattered, and were expected. This was a large and growing family who lived for a number of years on meager income, got their Christmas tree free late Christmas Eve when all the stock would be gotten rid of, received the undesirable cuts of meat from the butcher for free or at low cost. My husband Leo remembers Karo syrup sandwiches for lunch. The family grew almost all their food and when someone would show up at the door and it was mealtime another place or 10 places were set, and jars of canned food would be brought up from the cellar to supplement the meal and no one would be the wiser that this was not planned ahead of time.
In later years, Winnie’s spirituality and hospitality would bend with the changing times; children did not stay in the Catholic fold, divorces happened, and disappointments were felt. She never bent in her personal disciplines of prayer but allowed for another’s choices in their own path of life; we were never out of her love, her gaze never faltered. As life slowed for Winnie, living a path of love deepened within her; she exuded love. When Leo and I would bring her to Mass or any other event in the community, it was an occasion for all who knew her, each individual approaching her wheelchair or walker with delight and receiving her hug, the holding of a hand, and a ray of love. Even if she could not remember your name, you were her one and only for your time with her.
Each of her 71 descendants and their spouses received the same. When you were with her you received her blessing through her touch, hugs, radiance of love and you felt like you were loved the most. Every summer the whole family has a three-day campout. One year we were all sitting around the campfire and it was time for Winnie to be brought back to her apartment. Without a word or a plan, all 50+ who were there at the time stood and formed a column to the waiting car, a path she walked down, turning to each one individually and giving her love, her final touch, her gaze of love, her giggles. I have only witnessed this with my guru, Amma, who people flock to for her gaze and her touch.
When I first met Leo and the family and we decided to marry, I knew then that I was not only marrying Leo; I was marrying this family. They were also my choice. He did not come without them. We have made our own life, our own unique way, but, and also, the family, particularly, Winnie, are never far from our mind and heart. Winnie was the bonus I did not always see fully or appreciate for her teachings. Later, I was 22 and full of my own life and drama and Leo was mine sweeping in Hai Phung Harbor during the Vietnam War. I was back here in Minnesota, worried, fearful for his safety and as mail was sometimes slow, I had not heard from him in some time. I went to Winnie with my pain and fears wanting some comfort from this mother, a cry on the shoulder, a pat on the head, “oh, so sad dear”. She looked at me with an attempt at patience with the words akin to, “Why do you worry about something you have no control over, that is beyond your scope of view, and has not happened. Life is right here before you, that is what you need to focus your attention on.” This woman who was still raising 5 teens in the house, working at St. Ben’s, and involved in countless community projects, then put me to work peeling potatoes or some other much needed task. Well, I was not too pleased with this response. I wanted her to massage my pain, wallow with me in this story created in my mind. It was only later that I could see her wisdom. This moment is what matters. It is the only one we have. Why create suffering when there is work that needs to be done and laughter to be felt – now.
I have many profound teachers who have brought me along in my spiritual life. I consider Winnie one of those teachers. Winnie was very human. She could make my head swirl with her hundreds of clippings, all that caught her eye and spoke both to her spirit and to her inner historian. She wanted us to read each and every one. These were how she shared her inner life with us as she did not have the words. She could also get lost in old pain, places that were hard for her to let go of and could still bring her to tears. But mostly I see her spiritual life. She was an oblate of the Benedictine Sisters in St. Joseph and I feel privileged to have her Benedictine prayer book that is full of her notes and highlights, marking what is most important to her. The name of the book is Work of God. It is a fitting title for this woman who embraced her life, always, as work of God. Who countless times offered up her day to God. I define God not as an out there being but as love, an all embracing, penetrating energy that imbues and connects all life into One. Winnie’s life was a work of love. Winnie became a vessel of love. It is hard to find all the words of gratitude for this dear woman, the ‘Queen Mum’ of our family. I hear her giggle and say, “It’s all good. It’s all gratitudes, gratitudes, gratitudes.”
“One has to be in the same place every day, watch the dawn from the same house, hear the same birds awake each morning, to realize how inexhaustibly rich and different is sameness.” Taoist Philosopher Chuang TZU
A sage reminder and words of hope in the midst of a global pandemic. As I contemplate these verses, I reflect on my morning routine of waking and climbing the ladder to our cupola for a few yoga stretches, journal writing and meditation. The ladder is called a monk’s ladder as it is created in the style of each step, left and right, being at a different level. The cupola sits at the top of our geodesic dome home and in this way, I am sitting on the roof of our house in an enclosed space with windows in all directions. This daily journey to the top brings me comfort in its sameness and grounds me in this new day.
Through this circle of windows, I look east across the ravine out our front door to the rising sun. I look south to the stately elder birch tree and to the road winding out to eventually meet Hwy 65. I look west to the last remaining oak tree clumps holding a squirrel nest, then let my gaze move beyond our neighbors’ home and back yard to the bank of trees on the other side of the Rum River and to where the setting sun will appear later in the day. Finally, I move to the north with a meandering look following the banks of the river while watching for the eagles who like to fly down to our house and either circle our home or continue on down the river.
The windows, the sunrise, the sunset, and the river are present every day when I arrive with each day totally new in its sameness; the sunrise and then sunset show themselves in their daily dependability but different in their reds, yellows, oranges and maybe a hint of lavender or a simple greyness; the air is moving or calm or whipping and whistling; the earth is green or brown or white with snow or covered in deer tracks or filled with dandelions, lilacs, and hydrangeas; the river is full and flowing fast or shallow and slow with the contours shifting just a bit with the level of the water. My pen moves on paper and new words arise each day with varying emotions, thoughts, reflections and gratitude’s. In meditation the breath I rely on might feel slow or rapid as I settle in and my thoughts might act like monkeys flying from limb to limb or resting like a floating lily pad.
I look out of the same window and can tell the time of year by the slant of the sun and how it reflects on the trees beyond the river. I can see how the wind will alter this day and what it might do to the temperature. I can see what damage the deer have wreaked in the garden and reflect on the changes this brings to all the work we have put forth. I observe the cardinal pairs with ever surprising awe as they show in their jaunty coats, striking against the new snow on the hardy spruce.
We did not realize a year ago that sameness is what that year and this new year would bring to us, day after day, and that this experience of sameness could bring us such riches. The day to day ordinary is not always what we want to live in as some days bring forth so much struggle within us to stay grounded and aware that we would rather be able to jump in the car and make a run for it. It is a comfort to know that this experience of my world is available to me if I make myself available to it. If I pause and look. If I breathe and open my eyes.
Challenging doesn’t come close to describing the pain of these times for so many in our communities and in our world, testing us to the depths of our resilience. I and many have the luxury of staying home and waiting in place but that has its own struggles as well as it challenges our emotions, our psychological reserves, our social needs. Rather than being bored by the smallness of our lives while sheltering in our homes far longer than ever imagined, we can begin to explore our environment like reading a favorite book for the second or third time, different with each reading, finding something I had not understood or felt in the same way, allowing it to surprise me, challenge me, and open me to what I need to see or to learn. We might then, within our own story, find a new way of seeing something as if for the first time. A new perception, awareness, or insight into this one life I am living. This is my life. It looks different and it feels different and it has taken quiet and slow living to see it, but I am alive and breathing and filled with the richness of this moment. All so familiar, abundant and alive.
We sit at the dining room table eating our breakfast on a Sunday morning. The geese are flying in, following the river from the north to our house then they turn and head back up the river. Is it spring or is it not? That is the burning question these days. The goldfinches are in their full yellow splendor. The eagle makes a swoop down the river to our house and then she also heads back to the small island and to her nest. The deer across the river are more visible as they dine on the promise of new grasses with hopes for a heartier fresher meal.
We believe it is fully spring despite the heavy layer of snow. Each day we can do more outside, today leaving the storm door open to take full advantage of the warming slant of the sun into the doorway.
Those who are grieving are telling me they are needing a break from the long winter, wanting to move their grief into the soil of the garden, planting something that offers color and promise of harvest, digging with their own hands, heart, and soul. This last storm left Dan with a stroke of which he is making some recovery with a long journey ahead. This last storm also dropped a barn roof on a barn of 100 milk cows. A devastating loss for a farmer. Dan is working hard to regain use of his body. The farmer is assessing his loss and with help restoring his barn and herd. This is our human resilience, our movement toward light, health, spring. Restorative spring.
Could we be like the geese and simply move toward the rays of spring light and warmth, simply because? Or the warbler who makes her nest ready for her new young, as it is time to do so? Could we merely stand in gratitude for this new day of snow, sun, puddles, and returning geese because it is a new day of life?
In the words of poet Mary Oliver, let us..
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
As we allow the day to enter us fully we feel the day in every cell of our being. How can we not sing it out, draw it out, share the joy of the story of our life even if it is in the quiet of our own heart. Even if it is the warbler who alone understands our song.
We are in a new month. I am noticing closely as we are not going anywhere for the winter months and it is interesting to watch the movement of weather while noticing how I feel about the weather. For the most part, being here in the cold and snow is fine. It just is. What I am missing is being outside walking as I just don’t go out when it is so cold. I mainly notice the weather when I see a photo on facebook of someone in a warm climate. Oh my, to walk outside again would be delightful!
We are in full moon time, the stars are bright and crisp in these below zero nights. I pray with gratitude for the warm home we live in and pray that all might have a warm safe place to lay their head for the night. My studio/office faces south and the warm rays of the sun surround me as I sit at my desk. I try to sit facing the sun streaming in through the window to soak in some vitamin D.
It is an introverted time of the year as we are still wrapped in darkness for a good part of our 24 hour day. We enjoy small intimate dinner gatherings and head to bed early or sit quietly reading. We can be more patient with our lives when we are buried in snow as travel in extreme weather and darkness isn’t fun anyway. It is as if we live through months of energy conservation saved up for the high days and nights of summer. We also notice we spend less money in winter as we go less and shop less. We add 5 lbs of extra weight to our bodies just to keep ourselves warm.
Winter requires creative endurance while creating ways to stay active, engaged, and healthy in the unforgiving cold. One of my bereaved, 83 year old gentleman, is as giddy as a teenager with the delight of meeting a woman who he finds interesting and good company. His daughter is stunned with the transformation and pleased that he has come out of himself and found a reason to get up in the morning. Winter gives us a reason to reach out to find friends who understand our need for connection in these days that otherwise draw us into seclusion.
Finding warm love in the midst of a bitter winter is good for the soul. It brings a smile to the heart and we all grow larger for knowing it.
As a follow up to my last post, I am now going to be in the community art show. I had let go of the struggle, stepped back and let go of the feelings of chaos around it all, and then on Monday was gifted by a dear friend and her husband with the loan of what I needed to frame my work for the show and their time and support needed to frame both pieces.
Part of the confusion in it all is that I had verbal confirmation of the show but by the weekend had not received written confirmation. On Monday, I was made aware that there had indeed been confirmation sent out but my name had been mistakenly missed. As I sat and pondered this shift and could name that I was fine with it all and at the same time feeling a bit disappointed in not participating with my friends and also feeling their disappointment, I allowed myself to again step out of the way and just name what I needed in the way of help if this was to happen. This naming allowed my friend to offer her support and by the end of the day, I had two framed pieces, the gift of time with good friends while learning the intricacies of the wooden frame, nails, etc. And most of all the reminder of shared endeavors and the riches in that experience rather than going it alone.
American Buddhist nun, Pema Chodron, writes about three ways to deal with chaos: “no struggle, poison as medicine, and regarding everything that arises as the manifestation of wisdom.” It is more than I can do here to clarify the three but in this type of situation, in letting the story lines go, we can stop struggling and make a choice, allowing ourselves to be present to what is in the moment. In naming without judgment we can relax. The river keeps flowing without my pushing it along. In fact on Monday afternoon it flowed me to a friend.
Pema states, part of our training in life and in our sitting meditation practice is “to lighten up, to have a sense of humor, to relax. As one student said, Lower your standards and relax as it is.”
As I get out of my own way by dropping my story line of how something is “suppose” to happen, something else arises, and, the joy in living greatly increases.
The highlight and largest breath of this week was a reminder, I don’t have to follow through on someone else’s wish for me if it does not fit or feel right in the moment. A no brainer, right? But one we easily forget to implement.
A week ago, in the first night at the college drawing class I am auditing, the instructor handed me a notice of an upcoming juried art show with the statement, “I really would like you to strongly consider entering.” And, to also be in the community art show the same weekend. So a seed was planted and I overlooked the word consider and went straight to I need to, or should, or must. I considered what I have in stock, my unfinished pieces, unframed or matted, one with need of a bit of repair, considered each one and brought them to Marko for his input. I came home after this weeks class on Wednesday night with a tight gut and a list in my head of what needs to happen in a weeks time. I did not sleep well. In the morning I put out a call to my framer and set an appointment and held an inner intention, if this does not flow well, I am not going to push myself. Good step number 1. Late that morning a call came in from the framer saying she could not meet at our proposed time but could meet later in the day at 4 p m.. Okay, I will be down in St. Paul anyway. At 3:45, I left the St. Paul office after a meeting ended early and was going to head a bit north, deal with the art, then head back down to St. Paul for a dinner gathering for a co-worker’s retirement.
Step number 2. I sat a moment in the parking lot envisioning the traffic heading north at this time of day and the drive back down to the restaurant. As the seconds ticked away a resounding NO entered and a lovely breath of air. No, I don’t need to add this to my life right now. Yes, I could pull this off if I rush but, I don’t feel like rushing.
Step number 3. Head down to the restaurant an hour early. Sit in the car and rest my body and brain, close my eyes for a moment. Finish the emails of the work day. Enter the restaurant and enjoy a delightful evening with people I very much care about.
In all of this, it was the gut that tipped me off. I realized since the Camino experience I have been in a wonderful state of calm and movement through life. I had earlier last year ended a relationship with a challenging volunteer position for a non profit. My month of travel swept away the tight gut of that experience and I have not felt that tightness since, until this past Wednesday night. My whole being said, I do not want to be rushing trying to fulfill expectations, no matter how well intended they are for me.
This morning’s reflective reading held a piece by Rolf Gates in Meditations from the Mat. He was talking about staying in a yoga posture but what he said connected for me in the broader aspects of life. We need to make rest a part of our practice, and we need to take that rest long before we feel exhausted or frustrated. In yoga we would rest in child’s pose to catch our breath. As in yoga, we can take a break and restand take a few calming breaths before moving on and beginning again into a different pose. Like stepping out of something, getting your bearings and then entering back in to a different project or a different way. Or we can rest in the posture itself by just backing off a little within the pose, rest for a breath or two, and then see if you can deepen the pose. The key is to do it long before we want to bolt. So we are in a meeting, we feel frustrated, rather than bolt for the door or shut down, we can begin to take a moment to be mindful of our breath, our surroundings, then re engage. Or, we are in the midst of creating a painting and start to feel our own expectations about the piece and work ourselves to exhaustion.When I am feeling the pressure of expectations, I can breathe with the awareness of what I am feeling and then go deeper into the awareness as it guides me to right action.
Gates ends with the statement, As a young man I would look in awe at older people around me who could sustain their effort at a job or a project over many years. I didn’t realize that these men and women had learned to rest in the posture.
In the grief realm, I remind people that they can take a break from grief. In fact our grieving, as we get stronger, is a flow between inward and outward. Engaging inward and engaging outward with family, friends, and community in a constant healthy flow. In a long term marriage we rest in mindfulness as we assess where we are and where we are going and adjust in the flow of it. The best advice a long time hospice social worker gave me 15 years ago when I entered the hospice work life was, “You will survive this work life in hospice if when your attention gets pulled into the stress and chaos of the management life of constant change and turmoil, you bring your attention back to the work you are here to do, patients, families, grief. ”
We learn to stay focused, rest in our breath, deepen our awareness and keep moving in to the next posture.
It has been a busy week. My daughter’s kitchen was flooded, my mother in law fell, my sister Mary with Down Syndrome and Alzheimers is having moments of acting out, my uncle was placed in memory care and we will visit tomorrow. Client X is raw with grief and planning a trip to “just get out of here.” Client Y feels that she is loosing her faith and belief in God. Client Z needed placing in a mental health unit for protection in his grief. Some days, some weeks are more painful than others.
It is a good day to seek comfort. People, even clients, will ask, “How can you do this day after day?” “How do you take care of yourself?” In my department we ask each other the same question. It is the same question I ask my clients. Tonight I turned to spaghetti, Modern Family, a bath and music. Going for a walk is always good. Some days it is a bigger hunk of chocolate than the usual small square.
I always ask my clients early on in our sessions, “What gives you comfort?’ “What do you seek for support when you are hurting?” Many times I receive a blank stare. Who would know the answer to that question in such rawness? That is a fair response. Who would know when all we want is the one we love? But I let the question sink in. Maybe in a week or a month the body, the mind, or the spirit might offer up the answer. I need to start reading novels to quiet my mind. I need to have some quiet reflection time every morning. I turn on the tv to get to sleep. I like to turn on music really loud and cry. I buy myself flowers as he would have done. I might hear, I have been drinking every day. I just want to go to a bar and meet someone. I turn on the tv and sleep with it on all night. I don’t turn out the lights. It is the only thing that gets me through.
There are as many unique answers to this question as there are people and losses. Maybe comfort is that which makes us feel at home with ourselves. Or maybe it is simply something to help ground us. Or maybe to help us be somewhere away from the pain or to be in a state of numbing ourselves from the pain. In our pain and loss we ache for the familiar to take a break from the new world that is opening before us. To be someplace where we can feel at home and be ourselves. Maya Angelou in All Gods Children Need Traveling Shoes states that “The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” Away from any judgement and attempts at smoothing things over, both from others and ourselves. The spiral is a good symbol of this journey of comfort as we empty ourselves on the journey in, find our center, sit in peace, allow ourselves to be filled and then bring that which we find back out into the world, into our own soul.
So, it is a good day to remind myself that every home in my community has a story of loss. No one is immune. We can’t compare. Whose pain is worse, more? We each are called to live out our story as it appears. It is a good day to remember that simply looking someone in the eyes and smiling can change the world of that individual for a bit of time. Someone smiling at me gives me a lift into peace and joy. It is how we care for each other, even the strangers that we might be, not knowing what effect we make in the world but always believing we are all of consequence. We all matter. We all make a difference.
At David’s on the way to Astorga on the Camino Frances
