A Wonderful Surprise

Not long after her mother passed, a Facebook friend from across the sea reached

out to me. She said that, if I was willing, she’d like me to have some treasures that 

she had first given to her mom.

I was touched by her kind offer, especially when she told me that Chartres, where the 

items were purchased when they were visiting there together, is a church dedicated 

to Our Lady (Mary). I was deeply grateful and delighted to accept her generous Gift.

As an aside (or is it?), her daughter has been very, very sick so I had no idea when 

her package of care might arrive.

Well guess what?

It came today!! I knew to expect the labyrinth book and beautiful blue sun catcher. 

I did not expect to find Love, Peace, and Faith all tucked in as well, or the words on 

her card “unnumbered blessings give my spirit voice.” I’m so struck by the timing of 

their arrival, right a group call for an online class that I'm taking that focused on 

Love and Faith. Smiling softly because my secret wish for our earth before Freedom 

emerged was Peace.

Hmmmmm... she says playfully. 

My guardian angel stopping in

to give me the big hug I longed for?  

Yes, I believe so. 

Blessed be.

.            *            .

Blessing of My Throat

A close up of Mary today

on this, the feast day of St. Blaise.

I made a point to attend mass

this morning

because it felt important 

to have my voice blessed.

Father may not have known

what he was doing.

But I did.

Blessed be.

.            *           .

April Love :: Day 16 :: Dear Legs

Dear Legs,

There've been a few times in my almost 54 years when there was talk of letting the left one 

of you go. 

The first time was when cancer was discovered in my 15-year old body and my "NO" was 

adamant. Smiling softly as my actual words to the orthopedist were "If I'm dying in 6 months, 

I'm taking my leg with me!" 

My new-to-me oncologist had said "the bone cancer you have is one that grows very fast and 

if we don't start you on chemo right away, you won't make it 6 months." While I know he 

never would have gone against my wishes, something I still deeply appreciate about him to 

this day, in hindsight, I don't believe he would've agreed to my NO "as easily" if he didn't 

think it wise.  Instead, I believe he knew that my fierce tenacity would be an important key 

in helping me to survive. ❤️

And the last time, 28 years ago, the raging infection was *so* bad, that third round of infection

since my cancer as a teen. I was 26, had been in the hospital for 3 months starting just 3 weeks 

after we got married, all a short 8 months after I had moved 21 hours away from my entire 

family and the only life I had known.  I was feeling so discouraged and depressed that I 

seriously considered letting go for a very short while. 

Hands down, the hardest time in my life. 

Thank God for the loving angels gathered around me, in particular my sweet husband and a few 

dear ministers. Their kind & willing presence, patient empathy, & wise words helped me know 

that, while things were certainly dire, they weren't life threatening and, at that point, it would 

have been a sacrifice I would deeply regret. . . forever. 

And sure enough, being home with my darlin' hubby and taking lots of soul soothing baths 

(I am a water baby for sure), in time the big, bad infection subsided. 

The only remnants are my left leg is about 8" shorter than my right and I have some pretty big 

battle scars on the outside of my left thigh. But then it was a pretty big battle. 

And between you and a little help from my crutch friends, Bert and Ernie? I get along just fine. 

I am so grateful to still have both of you, dear legs. 

So, *so* deeply grateful. 

Blessed be. 

❤️

#aprillove2016

Edited on 4/25/16 to add:

As I read back over my words this evening I wanted to clarify something that feels really important.

I was still on antibiotics when I went home and closely monitored because my infection was very, very serious. To give you an idea, my doctor at Emory (a big, well-known teaching hospital here in Atlanta), who traveled the world teaching doctors how to treat big time infections, said that mine was the second worst he'd ever seen.

So when they sent me home, I knew the deal was that if things took a turn for the worst, I would need to come right back into the hospital. I was just so deeply grateful and profoundly relieved for the doctors willingness to let me try to just be at *home* for a while.

Still, she says with a soft smile. . . there's not a doubt in my mind that the love of my dear hubby, being home, and the baths in my own tub helped to soothe and heal my broken spirit for sure. I believe *in my bones* that this is what helped me (finally) to turn the corner.

❤️

.             *            .

A Daddy's Love

In the arms of my Daddy.

Saying good-bye at the airport, he's holding me as I cry

while patting me and speaking the soothing words

he knows to say.

While it sometimes feels like he's trying to stop me 

because I'm "too big" once again

(and there is probably a piece of that in there

as my emotions are much deeper than 

he knows how to care for and tend),

this morning I realize 

that it may just be 

that he's trying to help get me buttoned back up 

so that I can leave him

and head home.

(tears)

.            *            .

My Daddy flies in this afternoon for a visit with his girlfriend, Brenda.  While hubby and I usually fly back annually, this is his first trip over in 12 years.  He turns 75 in December, so part of me is very aware that this may be his last trip here.  

In preparation, I've been quite busy over the last few months physically getting ready by cleaning, tidying, and letting go of things and our house feels so good.  Last night in our writing group without fully realizing it, I was emotionally and spiritually preparing by writing the piece below.  Our prompt was:  "From memory or imagination, write about a fragment."  As I read it to our group, I was surprised by the tears that arose... well, perhaps not really.  Tweaking it just a bit, tears arise again this morning.

.            *             .

With a flourish she adds the final swirls of the billowy chocolate frosting on the rich, Devils food cake and steps back for a moment to admire her work.  She loves to bake and these last touches are her favorite part. 

Smoothing a stray strand out of her eyes, she thinks to herself, “maybe a fragment is enough.”  She’s made the last 20 of her father’s 75 birthday cakes and, deep down, she knows that he does love her.  Maybe it’s not to the depth she’d like and perhaps it isn’t to the extent that he loves her other siblings (or is it a simple matter of “able to show?”), but he’s always hugged her warmly when they greet after being apart.

Absent mindedly licking the sweet icing off of the side of her hand, she remembers the day in the airport many years ago, one of the few times she’s ever seen her father cry, and it was as he was saying, “I really want to get out to see you again, sis.”  Remembering that “sis” is his fond name for his girls, she smiles softly and, in the moment, she knows in her heart that, in his own, imperfect way, he does love her.

Can that fragment be enough?  Gathering the measuring cups and spoons into the now empty white, glass mixing bowl, she reminds herself that this might be the last time he ever comes this way.  Can she let what slice of love she has glimpsed over the years, be Enough?

She sure hopes so and she knows that only time shall tell.

.             *             .

Grateful for your witness.

Your warm thoughts, love and prayers 

over the next 5 days would be most welcome.

.            *             .

Gratitude for Bridges and Honoring Crossings

I drew this picture featuring a poem I wrote two years ago, not long after a painful (and very right) decision.  The imagery of a bridge had just come to me and was an especially powerful and so incredibly helpful metaphor (a lifeline, really) for me at the time.

As I thought about them and what they might mean, bridges spoke to me of Hope, which I was in desperate need of.  Right as I was leaving something behind that was no longer working for me, I deeply resonated with the idea of leaving where I had been to cross over a bridge into a new place in my life.  While circled in grief and fear, and feeling very alone, the other side was calling out to me with promises of refreshment and new growth.  Alls I had to do was to step onto the bridge.  At first my steps were heavy and awkward and slow.  But, with practice, patience, and persistence, they became more steady and sure.

With time, as happens in life, it felt right to turn the page in my art journal and continue on in other areas of my life, too.

A few days ago the timing felt right to take a moment to turn back to my picture and sit with it, basking in and honoring my journey of the past two years.  I took this photo including my feet and crutches on Friday morning as a way to acknowledge Grace and Peace, and the few kind angels (human and spirit) lighting the way ... my way .... across the bridge.

Smiling softly because as I take the time to remember and honor my pilgrimage today, I am also intentionally and ever-so-gently reaching back to that battle-weary, grief-stricken, and fear-soaked woman I was.  As I do so, I am tenderly whispering in her ear, "yes, dear-heart, leaving was exactly the next right thing and I'm here to let you know that you will survive what felt so unfathomable and very brave (because it was) at the time.  Promise."  

(hmmmm.... tears)

Yes.

  

After taking a few pictures like this one, I wondered if it wouldn't speak to me more if I was standing on the other side of the bridge so I turned my art journal around and snapped a few more photos.  In the end, it just didn't feel right.

And now I know why.

With my photo framed the way it is here, I see (and feel!) very clearly the me of today standing firmly behind and supporting the struggling me of then.  This picture speaks to me on so many levels of my taking my place among the angels and wise souls that were there for me during An. Excruciatingly. Difficult. time.

(I love that about faith and mystery .... 

it isn't tied to chronological time at all!)

Smiling softly because it also reminds me of how, more and more, the little girl who still lives inside my heart is able to lean back on the me of today in complete trust.

Yes. 

This is exactly the way my photo is meant to be.

It's such a gift to take some time today to bask in gratitude 
for how far I've come and honor where I am now.  
 I am thankful for your witness. 
(and kind words are always welcome)

❤️

Before closing I'd like to add that, once again, I am so, So, *SO* very grateful for the encouragement and role modeling to practice seeing and loving myself thru selfies!!!  Gracious, who *knew* what a difference that could make!!

 .              *              .

Watering My Soul and Basking in Enough

I said what I needed to say 

and set a boundary 

with the intention of choosing Love 

this morning. 

It wasn't perfect by any means 

but I did it!! 

Basking in Enoughness, 

I took this photo afterwards. 

(And look! No more churning belly! )

Then, 

after running a couple of errands,

I took the scenic route on my way home 

just so I could pause by this small, nearby pond. 

Ahhhhh . . . rest (and water) for my soul. 

 ❤

Setting My Intention for May

I've always loved that my birthday is in May (I'll be 53 on the 18th). Alongside the joy, pockets of tenderness also tend to be tucked in this month. I know this is simply the sweet little girl who lives inside my heart longing for a little bit more of the reassurance, healing, and love that she didn't get enough of when she was small. I want to be present, as best I can in each moment, to both her and the adult me as we continue to find our special way of partnering in this dance of life together. ♥

I intend to gift myself with good self-care this month by staying close to the photo prompts. Not only do I enjoy how this exercise helps me to connect with myself and my world in a gently curious way, I *love* the focus of looking for beauty in the everyday! Plus shared photo "treasure hunts" are such a delightful way to connect with others, too. :)

I'll also continue to practice, she adds with a soft smile, being just fine if there are a lot of selfies sprinkled in. Perhaps I'll stretch a bit by nudging myself to find beauty in the aching grief that may arise. Over the years I've come to really appreciate how photographing myself is a powerful way for me to truly see myself *and!* a very nourishing way to water my soul. (Hmmm... noticing, joining, and participating in my own life feeds me, imagine that! ;) )

(A warm hug and a big thank you to Liz Lamoreux for her affirming example. She is one of my very favorite pioneers!)

.            *             .

Wordless Wednesday ~ A Quiet Reminder

.           *            .

My Superpower - April Love 2015

My superpower is using my Love Languages,

Words of Affirmation and Touch,

to write from my heart.

(one of my most very favorite things to do)

.          *          .

Thankful Tuesday

Today I'm thankful for:

1.  Two sweet cards from two dear friends arriving on the very same day.

2.  One from a kind friend with a big heart and is a very gifted snail mail fairy.

3.  The other from a lovely woman who took me into her home one summer, 37 years ago

     during my radiation treatments so far away from home, that I haven't heard from in years.  

4.  Making a point to bask in their love again and feeling so cared for by both.

5.  Beautiful, sunny morning and birdsong.

6.  Warm memories of time spent with favorite little ones.

7.  Work is easing and so am I.

8.  Wonderful anticipation of starting a new writing class next week.

9.  Some quiet time to just be this morning.

10.  Voicing a "not this, but maybe this" and asking for the time I need to be sure.

11.  Glorious spring blossoms everywhere.

12.  No pollen ill-effects (yet).

13.  Making time for writing that heals my heart.

14.  Finding wisdom in new book, Better Than Before by Gretchen Rubin

15.  Our dryer works again!

16.  Yesterday's butterfly is my new favorite:

.           *           .

Stained Glass Mandala

This one was a *very* happy accident!

I'm grinning because this is my 30th mandala since June 1! I have really been going to town and enjoying playing with this process even more than I expected I might. I've still only done the first four of our e-course lessons and continue to rest in the comfort that I will get to the others when I'm ready. I so appreciate knowing that the container of our class's private Facebook group will be there when that time comes.

What's also happening is I realize I'm finding my voice again (<-- tears are close when I write that). For all of my life I have *always* processed thru writing regularly, journaling in particular. For a variety of reasons, some I know, some I don't, I just haven't been writing much for a very long while now, probably close to a year.

It's my sense that my mandala practice is helping me to re-connect to and re"member" my heart in a new, meaningful, and very welcomed way. I am so grateful (and relieved) to be coming back home.

Ah, Hope (my word for the year), *there* you are!

.          *           .

An Early Visit from the Easter Bunny

Smiling because Hope is my word for this year 

and I've just loved this cheerful little mug 

ever since I first saw it.

Once I discovered it, it didn't take me long to realize that it had been discontinued and wasn't widely available for purchase.  With a little persistent searching tho, I was able to find it in one online store so I signed up for their newsletter and waited for a discount coupon code.  When one arrived a couple weeks ago I placed my order, considering the mug an early gift from the Easter Bunny.

As I sit with it, I do love the cheerful stripes, happy flowers, and the word "Hope" on it.  But, as I suspected I might, I'm struggling a little bit with the verse.  Partly because I've come to fondly call my Higher Power "Grace" and I cherish Her soft, gentle side.  The verse feels a bit off-putting (and arrogant) to me.

Perhaps in time things will shift for me.  Or perhaps they won't and I will choose not to drink from it any more...  we'll just have to see, won't we?  

I see this as an opportunity to practice....

~ Hope that, given time and space, I can (and will!) listen well

~ Enough by valuing what I sense, see, and know to be true for me  

~ Mercy by being gentle with myself as I work thru this  

~ Grace by embracing the process, myself, and maybe even my beautiful new mug.

Smiling softly because I so treasure how all of my words-for-the-year can and do still encircle me with their wisdom, continually guiding and blessing me.

.        *        .

Oh, If These Walls Could Talk - Art Journaling

I'm still working with my powerfully, poignant poem.

I've loved the picture since I first saw it several months back.  As I was flipping thru magazines on Saturday looking for images, it brought a smile to come across it again.  At first, I wasn't sure about pairing it with my poem.  But, as I thought about it, I knew it was perfect.

If I'm reframing an old story for myself in a kinder, more gently affirming way, which I am, this little room is actually just right.  When enclosing my heart as a way to take good care, sometimes in the only way I know how, I would hope I would take refuge in a place as pleasing and calming to me as this special little cubby.  

Smiling softly because I like that it has a door, too.  That way?  When I do need to come back and spend a little time here caring for my tender heart and re-grouping, I can.  The door is always open and the welcome mat is always out to my beautiful little sanctuary.

Yes.

.       *       .

Wordless Wednesday ~ Hope Lives Here

.           *           .

A New Dance, A New Hope

My word for this year is Hope and, as I've shared before, it was a real surprise to find "Her" snuggled up here next to me around Thanksgiving.  The truth is Hope has never been a word that I’ve really used or, quite frankly, trusted.

Because of some things that are happening in some of the lives of those I love, what I’m beginning to really understand and appreciate is that in order to truly practice Hope, I have to begin by first letting go of *false* hopes.

It is dawning on me (I'm having a spiritual awakening) that there are some things that I didn’t necessarily realize I've been pinning my "hopes" on that I am beginning to see, given the circumstances and the people involved, really aren’t possible.

(Well, no wonder Hope never felt real for me … because it wasn’t.)

I am ready and willing to let go of false hopes.  Smiling softly because they've been with me for a really long time so it may very well take some time and patience.  With Grace's help, I will simply do the best I can in any given moment, Mercy-fully trusting that this is Enough.

My intention is to practice gently and calmly turning my eyes and my heart towards living into a true and trustworthy Hope.  Smiling softly because this feels very right and powerful, like a refreshing invitation into a new, beautiful and much more honest dance with Hope.

Hmmm... in light of all of this, the picture above has an even deeper meaning for me.  It's now a very real and poignant visual reminder that I want to remember to keep turning my face, my heart, and my body towards the light of true Hope.

Please help me in my journey, Mama Grace and Auntie Mercy?

Yes, dear girl.  We are both right here beside you (still).  We remain your loving, faithful, trusted (and trustworthy!) guardians, lighting the way.

And, yes!  You can Hope in -- and dance with -- us.

I am deeply grateful.

.     *      .

This Girl, She . . .

This girl, she ragged daisy

     not always well-tended.

This girl, she story of faith

     birthed from battle scars

     mirror of sacrament.

This girl, she hoarse heart, 

     begs deep alchemy.

This girl, she longs for sheltering nest

     warm feathered bed

     lush leafy canopy

     soothing mama song

     refreshing breeze

     nourishing rest.

.     *     .

Note:  the prompt, "This girl, she …" is from our December Water Your Soul e-course by the lovely Liz Lamoreux

December Art Journaling - Honoring My Journey

It's been a really hard few months at work for me and between that and trying to get ready for Christmas, I'm very weary. Sunday morning, I woke up so tired (physically and emotionally) I wanted to cry.

This tends to be my busy time of year anyway but this year we are also implementing a (lo-o-o-ng-overdue) new software operating system which is taking a lot of my time and energy. Usually this work rush and intensity is over by now (or at least starting to subside) but now that most of the billing is over, I realize that we may have a long way to go still as we work out the bugs and kinks in the new system. I remain grateful I am part of a good team and especially that I am not at the head of it.

My two oldest, deepest, and hardest anniversaries arrive in December - on December 6, 1977 my parents' divorce was final and a short 8 days later on December 14, the bone cancer in my left hip was diagnosed. My world literally fell apart in one short week. As a trusted and very dear therapist who walked with me, spiritually companioning and mothering me, for 6 years once wisely said to me, "Debbie, it's like your anniversaries are burned in your soul." I knew the truth of her words as soon as she spoke them.

.     *     .

I still had a few vacation days left so I took one of them on Friday. I wanted to take some intentional time so I could be with myself, love, honor, cry, and remember . . .

That morning, it occurred to me that rather than write-journal which, sadly, is kinda feeling overwhelming right now (and so in some ways it feels like I've lost my voice), I could art-journal. Smiling because I first started dipping my toe in doing this with selfies when I took Liz Lamoreux's "Water Your Soul" class in April and played with it some more as I did a read along of her book, Inner Excavation, with Effy Wild this summer. So after quiet stop at a place that feeds me spiritually and a trip to Michaels to get a larger watercolor book (15"x18") , I did just that.

Wanted to share both of my pieces here . . .

The first one honors me and my health (and heart and spiritual) journey. The first picture is a selfie I took a few months ago that I love … it feels like Grace (my fond name for my higher power) is shining down on and blessing me, her daughter. The last picture is me at age 15 (or so), when, clearly the cancer was still heavy on my heart (and in my body). I can tell by the wig on my head, sparser-than-usual eyebrows, and the heavy seriousness of my face. Truly, I was a child thrown into an adult world and the reality was that I didn't have a whole heck of a lot of the gentle support that I so desperately needed during that time. (I believe this is why the anniversaries still burn in my soul and ache for tending) I love the idea of the picture in the middle reminding me that both parts of me can meet in the middle, hold hands, look lovingly at one another, care for one another in a way that I need, and I can be and feel supported (both then and now). The adult-me of today *can* go all the way back, 36 years ago, to the child-me.

And I especially love the tender reminder to wrap myself in Hope (<- my word for 2014) forever. 

The second piece honors my Moma and I's journey. She and I were very close and then she divorced my Daddy in a very armored-up, angry way and left me behind. In looking back I think it was the only way she could do what she knew she needed to do in order to survive so I have found some blessed mercy (my word for 2012) for her. Still. That doesn't change the fact that it was still a heart-breaking sever in our relationship and, because I felt so abandoned by her, I cut off contact with her several times in the following decades (I armored up in anger, too). It wasn't what I wanted but being near her in this armored up, angry way was too painful (and hurtful) for me.

I always hoped, wanted, and wished for reconciliation between us and today I have no doubts that she wanted the same. How it all unfolded is a long story but the bottom-line is that we were blessed with the gift of one on her deathbed when she was dying from liver cancer almost 17 years ago.

While I miss her, terribly at times, I know in my heart that all that we could possibly do together, each in our own humanity, before she left this earth was done. Each picture of her and I is a different snapshot in our lives together - a moment of coming together (but not necessarily lasting). The upper left-hand photo is our last one together, taken on Christmas Eve 1996 a couple weeks before she passed on January 6. The tears and deep gratitude, palpable on my face, that we were able to make peace still moves me to tears (especially when I'm feeling especially tender like today). The one of me by myself reminds me to take a moment and bask in the very real gratitude I feel. The candle quietly reminds me of all of the candles I've lit and stood by, holding vigil for this biggest-thing-ever-on-my-heart wish. It came true . . . and, while I still so miss what we could've had more of, I am deeply grateful for what we did have.

Thank you for your kind witness.

.     *     .

Blessed Assurance

As I was playing with a new-to-me iphone app, "Tales of Us," it occurred to me to put these two pictures together.

I *love* how this new photo tells the story *of* me *to* me.

The picture of me leaning against and looking out of the big wall of windows was taken last year by my hubby at my request. We were celebrating my 50th birthday by spending a week in this beautiful, quiet house in the mountains, which is what I most wanted to do.

Being a 35-year bone cancer survivor, truth is, I'm not sure I ever really thought I would make it to 50 so this big milestone brought with it a lot of tender vulnerability, mixed emotions, and uncertainty. I wanted this picture of me to remind and reassure me that rather than 50 being at the end, I was simply at a beginning of a new and exciting leg in my journey.

As an added bonus, it was my sense that whenever I looked back at this picture, having it set in this beautiful, quiet haven would also serve as a reminder that I am finally learning how to take good care of me by listening to myself and what I most want and need.

The picture of me looking back is one I took last week.

It really touches my heart to see the me of today taking a moment to turn back and gently, lovingly, and joyfully reassure the me of last year that it will all be just fine.

More than that, all is beautifully well.

     .     *     .

Mirror Selfie ~ Finding a New Voice

It's been interesting for me to notice, especially as I've only recently started snap-chatting with my sister, that it is *Not!!* ok for me to put a band of words over my mouth.  For me, for now, it's feeling too much like being silenced and/or having words put in my mouth.  (Even tho I know the words I've typed are my own.)

It was surprising for me to note in this picture that, while it wasn't intentional, I kinda like how the camera lens is *almost* where my mouth is. (The "almost," as well as not having it appear as if my entire face is "gagged," is probably what makes the crucial difference for me.)  

It sorta feels like an affirmation of my new language of photography.  

.  *  .