Tag: faith

Open Up, Buttercup

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“The opposite of faith isn’t doubt, it’s cynicism.” – Billy Bragg

I was telling my kids the other day that my mom used to say to me about my chores, “If you’re going to do a bad job, I might as well do it myself.”

My kids looked at me quizzically, an expression that I’m quite sure mirrored mine as a kid when my mom said it. As a parenting trope, that might be one of the worst.

Because I would immediately think, but not say (after all, this was parenting in the 1970’s), “Go ahead and do it yourself.”

Little did I know that a half century later, I’d come to see that it’s pattern I fight against. I tend to do things myself and not ask for help. It’s a tendency that isolates me – which I mean that I sometimes ignore the bridges others throw my direction.

I recognize that I have two different types of, “I’ll do it myself.” There’s the “It’s okay, I’m good – I’ve got this.” And there’s the “Argh, I’m disappointed with other humans. It’s enervating to just think about communicating my needs to someone else so I’m just going to hunker down and do it myself.”

It’s the second type, the one that’s a little cynical, that I need to watch for. I’m come to think of it as when I get a little heart-sore. It happens when I get tired, when someone is spinning out at work, have watched too much news, or when I’ve tried to say something that matters to someone dear to me and they miss the point.

I’ve come to recognize this state of cynicism because the dialogue in my head starts to run a roll call of my disappointments. When the litany starts to get long, involve old wounds, or last for more than a day, I know I’ve got more than a situation, I’m a little heart sore. It may be imperceptible from the outside but my willingness to be vulnerable goes down and my protective shield goes up.

It’s funny – just like with my mom’s phrase, the only person I hurt when I close in on myself is me. I work better in life when I’m open. It behooves me to recognize when I get cynical and do some movement (the modified side plank pose opens up that space so that I can breath elasticity into the heart space when it’s tight), have lunch with a friend, or write a post about it.

Ah, I feel better now…

Speaking of great conversations with friends, check out the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast this week. I talk with my dear friend and co-host, Vicki Atkinson about the Keys to Collaborative Success. Being open is just one of them.

Also, I’m so grateful to Edward Ortiz from the Thoughts about leadership, history, and more blog to writing a review of my book. I so appreciate his incredibly thoughtful and deep analysis about life in his writings. I couldn’t be more appreciative that he spent the time to read and review my book: Book Review: Finding My Father’s Faith

Faith in Foxholes

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“In faith, there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t.” – Blaise Pascal

We have a family story that has always fascinated me. When I was in my 20’s, my dad’s mom, Nana, told me the story of my dad’s first two years and how she prayed for his life.

Following his birth, my dad contracted dysentery at the hospital and was sickly for two years, eventually resulting in rickets.  All 13 bottle-fed babies born the same week as my father contracted dysentery because the machine for sterilizing the bottles was contaminated. My dad was the only baby to survive.

Finally, at the end of his second year, Nana was exhausted and worried. One day out in the back yard in the weak Seattle sun, trying to get my dad to soak up some Vitamin D, she made a bargain with God that if He would save him, my dad would be HIS for a life time.

My dad got better. And amazingly, he did go on to become a Presbyterian pastor. But not because of any overt influence from his parents who were not church-goers or in today’s parlance, even particularly spiritual. In fact, my grandmother didn’t tell my dad about her prayer until he was almost done with seminary.

I only heard the story because my grandmother told it to me. Whenever I brought it up with my dad, he’d always chuckle about it but he never seemed to give it much credence. Finally my mom added to my clarity about what she thought of the story when she said, “It was faith in a foxhole.”

She meant that my Nana only prayed because her back was up against the wall, not because she had any great faith. And for people who were incredibly dedicated to their faith as my dad was and my mom still is, I think my grandmother’s one-off belief seemed silly.

Mahatma Gandhi said about prayer, “Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is a daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better to have in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.” And as someone who meditates daily, I agree that having a practice keeps the channel open and the sense of possibility alive.

But I also think that the Divine shows up whenever we bother to look. And the fact that some people look more often than others doesn’t make it less real or miraculous. God is in the foxholes and then it’s up to us to connect the dots when we get out. As the 12th century Jewish philosopher Maimonides said, “We are like someone in a very dark night over whom lightning flashes again and again.”

What about you – do you think faith in foxholes is real? Or is it only real if we consistently work at it?

(featured photo from Pexels)

My book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s faith, spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

The Longer I Live, The Less I Know

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“One filled with joy preaches without preaching.” – Mother Teresa

A few weeks ago, an author replied to a comment I’d made on their blog post about meditation. It was something along the lines that I practice more than I preach. It was a genial comment totally appropriate for the conversation.

But it set me back on my heels. Do I come across as if I’m preaching? Heck no, that was my dear father who had the credentials, platform, and audience who asked for it.

It sparked some introspection. I feel some sensitivity in claiming to be an expert in anything. Even in my career that I’ve done for 30 years and have achieved some external accolades, I tend to play down my credentials.

When I think about what works for me, specifically meditation, I know how personal it is to me. My conversations with my beloved dad about his faith were all about how my expression of faith and his differed. Those conversations taught me much – including that I’m more comfortable with working out what works for me, and less comfortable assuming I know what works for others.

Writing has provided me the opportunity to mine a deep well of stories about my children. I consider my children as the experts at being unapologetically human and naturally close to the Source, especially in these younger years. I write to capture what they teach me and the ever-present challenge it is to love well and keep growing.

If I had to name what I’m good at, I’d say it’s having a willingness to try. In the last ten years, and I credit both meditation and my children, I’ve been able to cultivate an openness to others and to life that has helped me learn.

So I reached the ironic point in my introspection, because I think the more I practice, the less I preach. The more that meditation helps to create space between me and my ego, the less I need to control. The longer I do it, the less I know, but the more I believe.

When I screw it up, like a dozen times a day, I get to practice returning. But when I’m in that flow, it improves my ability to listen to the Divine. It’s solidified my goals to love bigger, show up more vulnerably, and help more.

Is that preachy? I hope not.

My book about the conversations and my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith

(featured photo is of my dear dad at a speaking engagement)

Maniacs

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“Faith gives flight to the imagination.” – Lailah Gifty Akita

The other day Cooper (the dog) had a play date with a neighbor’s puppy, Ziggy. Four-year-old Mr D. heard me say to the pups, “What are you two maniacs up to?”

And Mr. D fell in love – with the word “maniac.“

We were at the store a short while later and he yelled from the other end of an aisle, “Mom, call me a maniac!”

And he sometimes greets me, “Hi Mom. You maniac!”

It’s a rule in our house that we don’t call each other names but maniac seems like a term of affection to me. At least, I was saying it affectionately when I used it on the dogs.

So I looked it up in the dictionary and found that the informal definition matched my liking: An obsessive enthusiast (from Oxford Languages).

As I mentioned in My Love Affair with Words post, the word enthusiastic or enthusiast always reminds me of my dad since it comes from the root, en-Theos or “with God.” I’m at my best when I leave my logical nature and go with the flow of God, life, and the Universe.

So, yes, call me a maniac. On fun days, I have a whole houseful of them!

Waiting for the Big Answers

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“Our anxiety does not come from thinking about the future, but from wanting to control it.” – Kahlil Gibran

This was originally published on 8/24/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

My 7-year-old daughter asked me the other day, “You know how I want to be a teenager?” After a pause for me to nod my head she asked, “Do teenagers want to be kids?” I explained that teenagers want to be adults.

This is just the latest of her big questions: Where will I go to college? Who should I marry? How many kids will I have? When we get a dog, will it be so excited to see me every day after school?

And I completely understand because I have big questions of my own: Will I fall in love again? Will I be around to see my kids answer their big questions? And every time I’ve stood at the base of a mountain ready to climb, I’ve always wanted to know, before I’ve even taken the first step, whether or not I’ll summit.

Like my daughter, I want to know how the story ends. Except that I don’t want it to be the end. In the worst moments when I get too attached to how I want it to work out, it makes me anxious and keeps me up at night as my brain tries to cycle through the permutations of how to control things.

In those moments, I’m not a very good Buddheo-Christian. That is to say, I know our spiritual traditions teach us that peace comes when we leave the outcome up to the Universe. As Buddha said, “Serenity comes when you trade expectations for acceptance.” Or in the Christian tradition, I think of “Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, Rejoice.” (Philippians 4:4). But I have a sports metaphor that helps me settle into the tension.

In 2001 my brother and I gave my dad tickets for the US Open Tennis Tournament in Flushing Meadows, New York. We spent the week together in the great city of New York, eating fabulous meals and watching great tennis.

The pinnacle of our experience was a night match on September 5th between Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras. The three of us sat high in the stands watching this amazing quarter-final between two great players: Pete, one of the best servers in tennis, wearing white, Andre one of the best returners in the sport, wearing black. Both were playing their A-game so as the first set unfolded, they each held serve and the set was decided by a tie-breaker that Agassi won. The second set started and again each man held serve but this time, Sampras won the tie-breaker.

One set each, nobody had lost serve and the tension in the stadium was palpable. It felt like whatever allegiances we came in with, no one was sure any longer who to root for because they were both great. The third set continued, both held serve and Sampras won the tie-break.

So it went to the fourth set. Again, they both held serve and we reached the fourth set tie-break. Here’s how Andre Agassi recalls what happens next in his memoir:

“We’ve played three hours, and neither of us has yet broken the other’s serve. It’s after midnight. The fans – 23,000 plus – rise. They won’t let us start the fourth tiebreak. Stomping and clapping, they’re staging their own tiebreak. Before we press on they want to say thanks.”

Open by Andre Agassi

I can remember feeling the tension. I started the match as an Agassi fan but somehow witnessing this great effort, I dropped my expectations and no longer wanted the answer to the big question. And yet it came – Sampras won the 4th set tiebreaker and the match.

That matched happen 6 days before 9/11. Not only did we not know what would happen with the match, but we also had no idea that the biggest terrorist attack on American soil was about to occur and change NYC forever. Had we known, we wouldn’t have sat and watched tennis. The weight of foreknowledge would have crushed us and destroyed my ability to learn the lesson of how to drop expectations and just enjoy the tension.

When I get too impatient and want to know the answers to the big questions, I think of that match. Sometimes we need to stomp and clap to stay right in the moment, relieve the tension and stay open to whatever will happen.

I tell my daughter that any flower that tries to open before its ready will rip. Which is too abstract to mean much to her. So I try to participate in the present with her as much as possible so that it becomes like that match, so exciting that you don’t want it to move on. And I learn the same lesson for myself, again and again.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Cookie Cutter Faith

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“There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is a miracle.” – Albert Einstein

This was originally published on 7/6/2022. Heads up that you may have already read this.

My kids and I went to a wedding out-of-town this past weekend. At the wedding, they gave out fortune cookies. My 6-year-old daughter opened hers and read “You will find a treasure soon.”

The next morning we were driving around looking for an alternative to the planned hike because it was raining. I turned in at a sign that said, “Horseback riding.” It was a holiday weekend and we didn’t have reservations so I didn’t think we’d be able to ride but maybe we could see some horses, my daughter’s favorite animal even though she’d never actually touched one. Yet.

But they booked us for a ride. As my daughter sat atop a big quarter horse named Comanche, I could hear her tell the guide. “I got a fortune cookie and it said that I would find a treasure. It was right – THIS IS MY TREASURE.”

I chuckled but as the weekend went on she repeated the story a few more times adding at the end, “I need another fortune cookie.” I grew a little uneasy. Surely I needed to inject a little reality to this fortune cookie madness.

Wait a minute – one of my favorite quotes is from Albert Einstein’s “There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is a miracle.” And I’m clearly on Team Miracle. So why was I feeling the need to put the kibosh on her finding some magic in fortune cookies?

Because I’m a parent and I want her to believe in something more substantial that involves some responsibility and transcendence. Because I don’t want her to be disappointed.

It made me think of all the years that I didn’t discuss my faith with my beloved dad because I feared my spiritual beliefs weren’t religious enough. When I finally found the chutzpah to do it, we had deep and meaningful conversations about life, family and love. And it turned out that life and his 40 years as a pastor had instilled in him a bigger idea than the Presbyterian party line. In the end, he called himself a big tent guy. “In a way I have become less cocky or confident because I thought I had things all figured out early on, but now I know I have general things figured out, but the fact is that we differ in this huge tent of the family of faith on different things.”

And then he went on to paint a picture of how my yoga/meditation/spiritual practice related to his beliefs in a unifying way:

“I’ve thought this often about you and your world with all the disciplines that are so wonderfully therapeutic. It seems to me that Christ is equally as present and could be equally named and known to you. The disciplines in a sense are more along the horizontal level than perhaps the vertical level (reaching up to God) and Christ honors anything that makes us more what God wants us to be.

I am thrilled with what is happening in you in this journey and one of the great benefits is that it brings us closer.  When kids follow in a trail similar to their parents, it creates one more way they can be close and can relate with each other … and in this case relate deeply and lastingly.”

Dick Leon

Thinking back to what I learned from talking with my dad, I think of all the time I didn’t talk about faith because of fear that it wouldn’t measure up. In the end, I realized that no two people see faith in exactly the same way, no matter how unified their theology is. Instead, there’s room in the tent for all of us.

I have faith that my daughter will grow up to experience God in her own nuanced way and I don’t need to fear it will be Fortune Cookie religion. So why not find some magic in it? After all, my fortune was “Your hard work will pay off soon.”

What about you? Do you talk about faith in your family? Do fortune cookies count as miracles?

As a related post to this one, I’ve published a post on the Wise & Shine Blog: Do You Believe In Magic? Do You Write About It?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Patiently Yours

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“Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.” – Eric Weiner

We were snuggled into my bed for bedtime stories the other night, under the covers to fend off the late summer night chill, when I started a story about an attempt to fish when I was a kid by saying that I’m not a very patient person.

I’d only gotten that one line out when Miss O stopped me and said, “You are a super patient person with us, Mom!”

Oh boy, I had a parental drop-the-mic moment. I thanked her for saying that and walked away from bedtime stories with a little glow of my own.

I want to interject here to tell you of the many moments that I’m not patient, just as a reflex of polite conversation. It’s true that I’m still not very patient about waiting for life to unfold; it drives me crazy to wait for the pot to boil, the light to change, and the paint to dry. But brushing it off would be disingenuous because I’ve also done a great deal of work to become more patient with people.

So, Miss O’s words sparked some reflection about how I’ve come so far for it to be noticeable by my kids. Because let’s admit, kids are a tough audience where patience is concerned because they require a lot and have very little.

All of our major wisdom traditions speak to how to love others. For me, it’s a mix of those traditions and the way they’ve helped me to accept myself as a basis.

In the language of my father, I’ve embraced my role as a sinner and the grace of God. From a Buddhist perspective, mediation has helped me to find peace and loving-kindness. Listening to podcasts with psychologists has given me the perspective of self-compassion. And becoming a writer has helped me tell my story again and again until I’ve come to love it, and be infinitely curious and more compassionate about the stories of others.

In short, I’ve been able to slow my roll with others because I’ve learned to be patient and compassionate with myself.

I’m keeping this post about patience short. Just saying. Anyway, I’ve got to go watch a pot boil.

So if you want more and aren’t too impatient, I’ve written more about letting things unfold in others in my Heart of the Matter post: When Will They Learn?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Writing a Good Ending

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“The discipline of creation, be it to paint, compose, write, is an effort towards wholeness.” – Madeleine L’Engle

At this point 30 years into my career as a computer consultant, I’m always surprised when I go through periods of not knowing. When I was younger, I thought that I’d surely know it all – if not by 30, then by 40, and for certain by 50!

But now here I am in my 50’s and I still face periods when what I’m doing is a little fuzzy, as has been the case the last few weeks. Of course, it rarely has to do with the technology even though the tech is always changing, but often has to do with the people. In this case, I’ve been working with a new client on a lot of projects and fitting into their team and especially their process has left me feeling tentative and kinda stupid.

Here’s the secret that I have to rediscover every time I face certainty like this. When feeling out of sorts, I just need to stay open. When I do, I’m able to ask more questions, and to listen better. My instinct, however, is to retreat. To say something like, “I’m not sure this is a good fit” and run for the safety of my familiar clients and projects.

And yet sooner or later, I find myself back on mostly solid footing. Yesterday, after weeks of feeling low-grade dread, I woke up, and I knew what my next step on two of my new projects with this client were. Yay! I suspect I wouldn’t have always surfed these waves in my past, preferring to feel like I know what I’m doing, and by being spoiled by usually knowing how.

Here’s the thing that I think has helped me, especially this time. Writing. Yes, because it’s self-care and therapy. But also because I’ve grown used to not knowing where I’m going when I sit down to write. I often start with an idea, but then have to type my way there. Sometimes, it’s getting two sentences on the page, erasing one, and inching forward in that fashion. Other times it flows more naturally. Either way, I’m often surprised at the progress I make just by dedicating myself to sitting down, and letting it flow.

As is the case with this new team and project. I found myself reluctant to sit down every day and engage with them, especially with one chap who admits to getting a “little cranky as he gets older.” [A little???] I felt as unsure as I did when I was just starting out 30 years ago. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad but still.

So I’d sit on my meditation cushion every morning with the image of breathing out the anxiety, dread, and self-doubt, and breathing in fresh inspiration and renewal from God, the Universe, my guides – any Power bigger than me. The image was all the dingy-gray clutter leaving via my feet on the out breath, and yellow, white, gold inspiration streaming into the top of my head with the in breath.

Now as I type this, I’m a little surprised at the ending – of this piece, of the period of uncertainty, of the week. I’m glad that I don’t know it all – the a-ha moments and surprise are always better than I could have imagined.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Healthspan

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“Aging is an extraordinary process where you become the person you should have always been.” – David Bowie

Listening to a recent Ten Percent Happier podcast, The Science of Longevity, with Dan Harris and his guest, Dr. Peter Attia introduced me to a new word: healthspan. Dr. Attia specializes in longevity and he was talking about his recently published book Outlive: The Science and the Art of Longevity

“There is this other component that if really I think push people will acknowledge is more important to them and that is healthspan. Which is harder to understand and define because it’s not binary but it’s an indication of quality of life. The medical definition of healthspan is the period of time from which you are free of disability and disease. I think some definition of healthspan needs to touch on physical robustness, cognitive robustness, and emotional resilience and health.”

Dr. Peter Attia, Ten Percent Happier Podcast

As I celebrate another birthday, this seems like a topic worth digging into. After all, when I grow up, I want to be just like our blogger friend, Julia Preston, who published a fantastic book at age 83, Voices: Who’s In Charge of the Committee in My Head?, and who regularly sprinkles this blogging community with delight, joy, and encouragement.

So how do we do it? Dr. Attia had five main areas: exercise, nutrition, sleep, pharmaceutical tools, and emotional health.

Exercise is the tool that turns out that it impacts lifespan (and healthspan) the most. The more exercise the better – he describes it as “the most potent longevity drug in our arsenal.” I found his breakdown on what we need to be very interesting – of the time we spend exercising, he gave the rough rule of thumb as half aerobic and half strength training. And of the aerobic half, 80% low intensity, 20% high intensity. For the strength half – 80% strength and 20% stability.

His comment on what we should do was more nebulous. It turns out that measuring our VO2 max is the best predictor of longevity, which matches what I remember when writing The Unified Theory of Breathing drawing from James Nestor’s book Breath. So the exercise we choose should ultimately improve our VO2 max because it is the best “predictor of length of life.”

Strength they measure by grip strength. Dr. Attia threw out this comparison: “If you compared the top 10% of grip strength to the bottom 10% – there is a 70% reduction in both incidence and mortality from dementia.” He followed that up with that it isn’t that they believe a strong grip protects the brain, but it works as an indicator.

The other bucket that really interested me was emotional health. Dr. Attia made the point that this one is different because it’s not age dependent but it affects the quality of life throughout. If we don’t have emotional health, we can make life more difficult for ourselves and those around us. Which makes me think of one of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes, “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.“

For me, my emotional health toolkit contains faith, meditation, writing, and love. When I start the day with meditation, faith, and writing, I have a better chance of facing the challenges of the day with openness and less worry. These tools help me put down the stuff I don’t need to carry and keep so that I can face the day, and my loved ones, with open arms.

Growing up with two parents who made emotional health look easy, I didn’t develop my toolkit until life tossed me around a bit. I thought enthusiasm and optimism could cover everything over. Maybe we all have maladaptive ways of doing things we have to relearn but don’t have the opportunity until life gives us something to practice. It makes me think of all the tools I carried when climbing to help in the case of falling into a crevasse or needing to rescue someone else. Thank goodness I never had to use them – because all I knew was the theory of what I should do, not the adrenaline packed reality of facing the tough situations.

But now that I’ve had plenty of opportunities to find out just how important emotional health is in the quality of life, I’ve found that doing my work, just like exercise, truly makes such a difference. There might not be the statistics to compare what happens when we do or do not do our work as it relates to emotional health, but I know for me, it is the key to enjoying each day that I’m lucky enough to walk on this green earth. And for each of these days I have in my life span, I’m so grateful. So thank you all for being part of my tool kit!

Speaking of someone who has done her work, I was lucky enough to have a wonderful podcast conversation with Vicki Atkinson about her book, Surviving Sue. As we talked through the themes in the book, she told me about doing the work to turn her well-deserved anger at her mother into compassion and positive regard. Episode 22: Themes in Surviving Sue with Vicki Atkinson

It’s a great episode, please give it a listen and subscribe! Search for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, Spotify, or PocketCasts or click on the link above.

Having Lunch with God

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“Everyone’s life is a fairy tale, written by God’s fingers.” – Hans Christian Anderson

The other day I read the suggestion in a meditation book that we could talk to God, whatever our idea of a Higher Power might be, as if God was our friend. I’ve been pondering it ever since because chattering away to the Universe about the latest cute thing my kids have said, relating the story about spilling water on my pizza, or who I have a crush on doesn’t match with my idea of prayer.

But it has me thinking about faith, prayer, and God in a slightly new way. That is, the one phrase that I hear said to me by my friends, the one that is consistent whether they be new or old friends, male or female, is “you don’t ask for help.”

As is often the case with new angles, it’s led to an a-ha moment — that would likely be the same thing that God would say to me. I’ve long known that I tend towards doing instead of being and am impatient. The result is that I’d prefer to take things into my own hands instead of waiting for the Universe to work its magic.

If there’s a consistent trend that I notice looking back at my life so far, it’s that it’s only after I’ve mucked around trying to make things happen my way, only then do I sit back on my heels and try vulnerability, faith and patience.

This makes me think of Brené Brown’s recap of Joseph Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey. The protagonist tries everything they can to complete their quest, ruling everything else out, until they finally concede the only way through is to be vulnerable.

If God were a friend, I imagine I’d show up for our lunch date a little harried by life and then after a warm hug, sit down to change gears, and breathe deeply. I’d pick up the menu, only to put it down immediately so I could focus on the presence before me, and remember how good it is to sit in the company of my friend.

Ah yes, God and I would have a good laugh about my proclivity to engineer life and to try work above my pay grade. But then I’d thank God for all the wonderful ways God has delivered amazing miracles and results in my life, even when I couldn’t see it at the time. And then maybe we could work out a signal of when I’m supposed to stand down and ask for help.

If God were a friend, I’d ask questions about climate change and gun violence because I imagine God could provide a bigger picture view that would help inspire and motivate my efforts in the right direction. I would have the opportunity to ask, “How can I help?”

I’d unload the things the things that feel burdensome and heavy, share my recent mistakes that I haven’t quite forgiven myself for, and I’d glean a little insight about myself from how my friend responds.

I’d tell stories about Miss O answering why she got dressed on a weekend morning before she had to, “I want to be ready for the future.” I’d tell about the other night when Mr. D was fitful because he didn’t want to be back from our mini vacation, and in the middle of the night he sat up in my bed and said, “Mama?” And when I tiredly answered “yes”, he sighed and laid back and said, “Nothing.”

I’d remember to turn and ask, “I don’t have a map. Can you help me get to wherever I’m supposed to be going?” And I’d walk away a little bit lighter because of the time spent in the company who lets me know I’m loved, understood, and supported.

Maybe God has been a friend this whole time.

I also publish posts on the Heart of the Matter blog on Mondays. The Journey to Wholeness talks about writing about life from the understanding that comes from the second half of life.

(featured photo from Pexels)