Tag: spirituality

A Knock From Heaven

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“Our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being, so that we will feel the rapture of being alive.” – Joseph Campbell

The knock from heaven came at 9:12am on Friday, November 7th, 2014. Having an exact time for it makes it seemingly clear when it was anything but. But it was odd enough at the time to be noticeable.

I was driving to meditation class on a crisp, fall morning in Seattle. Not in a hurry because I had plenty of time before the 9:30 start, even if I needed to circle the block a few times to find parking. Driving the route between my house and the studio where we practiced meditation was neither complicated nor congested as we congealed into a circular pattern around the neighborhood lake.

I was in a euphoric mood because I’d just signed off on everything I needed to start my cycle to try to have a baby via in-vitro fertilization (IVF) as a single parent.

It felt like everything was about to change and I was riding high on that excitement. But the anticipation came with an edge.

First, the fear about how my 45-year-old body would handle pregnancy. I’d never tried to get pregnant before so there was no history one way or another. All the tests and procedures boded well but I was well into the category of advanced maternal age.

Second, the vulnerability of doing this without a partner. I hadn’t wanted to have kids until after I got divorced. I told my ex-husband that I didn’t want to have kids. After the relationship ended I discovered that the whole truth was that I didn’t want to have kids with him.

While it seemed like the divorce was because of his infidelities, both of us sustained wounds. His announcement that it was time to have kids and my refusal to cooperate were telling markers of our relationship. He expected me to orbit around him and I was more like an asteroid on my own trajectory.

I felt healthier and happier on my own. So much so that taking the risk to start a family on my own felt manageable. Scary and exposed but within my window of tolerance.

The third element in my mix of emotions was the buoyed elation of my close friends. I had three dear women older than me that carried their own stories of desire without success when it came to having kids. All of them had made peace with how life had worked out but stood as a testament to the complexity of ambition, expectations, and relationships. They channeled pure enthusiasm for my pursuit of creating a family in a non-traditional way.

So when the knock from heaven came, it pulled me out of my effort to tease out the threads of all these emotions. That guy on the bike next to me must have rapped on the back of my car. But there was no near collision or obvious reason why. Did I get too close to the bike lane and the biker tapped a warning? I didn’t think so. Maybe they’d had wobbled and reached out a hand to steady themselves? Or maybe I was going too slow?

Those were my explanations in the moment.

A few hours later, I was working on a project in the garage when I missed a call from my mom. When I dialed her back, she haltingly told me through tears that my beloved 79-year-old dad died in a bike riding accident. A bike accident. He’d gone for a ride in a quiet neighborhood in Tucson and just happened to turn a corner and hit the frame of a passing car. What in most cases would be a broken collarbone had instead been instantly fatal because of the angle of the collision.

After I hung up, I sat there in a daze. Then I thought of the knock. Had it happened at the same moment my dad died? No, he’d died at noon. Even accounting for the time change between Tucson, where he was, and Seattle, it wasn’t even close. The knock had come two hours before he died.

My understanding of the knock has traveled its own path through the stages of grief. Denial – it didn’t mean anything. Anger – I knew life was about to change but not like that! Sadness – there was never enough time with my enthusiastic and supportive dad. Bargaining – it must mean that my dad left this world knowing my IVF plan even though I wasn’t going to tell my parents until it worked.

And finally, acceptance. Sometimes heaven knocks when you really need to pay attention. A little tap to make sure you are tuned in. So that when the invitation comes to sign up for a job, or unseal the envelope that might contain bad news, or pick up a phone call from someone you haven’t heard from in ages, you are primed to lean in.

Now that I’ve accepted this, I hear knocks from heaven differently. Eleven years after that first one, they show up as the most ordinary things. Like the sound of footfalls on the stairs first thing in the morning from my six-year-old son. The beat of my heart catches something a little extra and I come awake to the miracle of the moment. It’s a stutter that accounts for the ups and downs and twists and turns that all came together to make this life possible.

Or the pulse in my wrist when I hold hands with my 86-year-old mom as we say grace before a meal. It feels like a tap to remember that even though she seems so healthy, the comfort of her physical hand in mine will not last forever.

Or the tap of my chin against my 10-year-old daughter’s head when she gives me a hug. The angle between our heights seems to change on a daily basis and our banter reflects the accelerating maturity. I squeeze a little tighter when I feel that knock so that she can feel in both her heart and her head that I’m near.

Sometimes heaven knocks to remind me that this life is more mystical than it seems. It doesn’t need to make perfectly logical sense in order to lean in to receive the courage and heart that comes with accepting that there is more here than meets the eye.  

(featured photo from Pexels)

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

Please check out the The Life of Try podcast Where trying becomes the spark for personal growth, discovery, and re-invention!

How to Share Inner Peace

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“Peace is not something you wish for; It’s something you make, Something you do , Something you are, And something you give away.” – John Lennon

There is a benediction that my dad used to say at the end of church services that has stuck with me for all these years.

“May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, be with you now and forever more.”

I can see him in my mind’s eye standing in front of the church with his arms raised over the audience in blessing. He says that line and then he drops his hands, bows his head and walks out of the service. It gives me great peace to recall.

Meditation has been my go-to for practicing finding that peace. When I have it, I write better, parent more thoughtfully, lead with a fuller heart, and find myself swimming in the deeper end of the grace pool for myself and others.

So in this week’s episode of the How To Share podcast, I share a guided meditation by my meditation teacher, Deirdre Wilcox. Here is a short clip of the preamble highlighting some of my favorite quotes about inner peace:

The episode features a backpack guided meditation that resonates with me as a hiker and climber but I think we’ve all carried heavy loads enough to appreciate it.

Takeaways

  • Meditation can help cultivate internal quiet and peace.
  • Spiritual pathways include meditation, community, and acts of service.
  • Inner peace is a valuable endpoint for personal growth.
  • Nature can provide a sense of awe and tranquility.
  • Creativity is a form of spiritual expression.
  • It’s important to identify and release emotional burdens.
  • Guided meditation can facilitate emotional unpacking.
  • Self-love is crucial for personal development.
  • Acknowledging what to let go of can lighten one’s load.
  • Regularly checking in with oneself can promote emotional wellness.

I understand meditation is not for everyone. But if it is your jam, or you just like talking about packing, please give it a listen. Here are some ways you can listen and watch to the full episode:

Please listen, watch, provide feedback and subscribe.

Reinvention, Resilience and The Courage to Try| Lindsey Goldstein on Gap Year – The Life of Try: Personal growth, one try at a time.

What do you do when life falls apart? In this episode, Wynne Leon sits down with Lindsey Goldstein, author of Gap Year, for a conversation about personal growth, self-improvement, and finding the courage to try—even when the path ahead feels uncertain. From writing and running to parenting, failure, and fresh starts, they explore how confidence is built one brave step at a time. If you’ve ever wondered whether it’s too late to try something new, this uplifting episode is a reminder that growth often begins the moment we say yes to the challenge.In this episode, you’ll learn: → When life falls apart, it can also become an opening → Courage often starts before confidence → Trying, failing, and learning are all part of growth. → Small steps lead to bigger transformations. → It is never too late to begin again → You do not always end up where you expected—but you still growLindsey Goldstein shares how writing in short windows of time highlight that progress often comes from regular effort, not waiting for the ideal moment. Check out Lindsey's book Gap Year and experience Jane's courage vicariously – but beware, it's contagious!If your kids are leaving for college, you want to try a new hobby, or a travel spot is calling you, this episode is for you. 📘 Order Gap Year on Amazon🌐 Visit Lindsey Goldstein's website🌐 Show notes and more inspiration: https://wynneleon.com🔔 Subscribe for more:Subscribe to The Life of Try for more conversations on:personal growth, creativity, reinvention, resilience, writing, and mindset.📌 Subscribe & Stay UpdatedABOUT MEHi, I’m Wynne Leon — host of The Life of Try, a personal growth and self-improvement podcast exploring resilience, reinvention, uncertainty, and the courage to keep trying.Through thoughtful interviews, reflective conversations, and real-life stories, I share insights to help you navigate change, get unstuck, and move forward with more intention.🌍 Website: https://wynneleon.com━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━🎥 Watch Next➡️ Letting Go Of Outcomes: The Mindset That Keeps You Moving➡️ 48: How to Get Unstuck: Michael Yang on Saying Yes, Resilience and Coming Alive➡️ How to Finally Write That Book You've Been Dreaming About | Writing Motivation 🔗 CONNECT WITH ME:• Website:→ https://wynneleon.com/• Instagram:→ https://www.instagram.com/wynneleon/• Facebook:→ https://www.facebook.com/wynne.leon/
  1. Reinvention, Resilience and The Courage to Try| Lindsey Goldstein on Gap Year
  2. 51: Letting Go of Outcomes: The Mindset That Keeps You Moving
  3. 50: How to Write the Book You've Been Meaning to Write | Dr. Victoria Atkinson (Slivers)
  4. 49: Personal Growth Pivot Points: Pause, Quit or Keep Going?
  5. 48-How to Get Unstuck: Michael Yang on Saying Yes, Resilience, and Coming Alive

Links for the Episode

Deirdre Wilcox’s website

(featured photo from Pexels)

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.

Pushing the Wrong Buttons

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“If what you believe in does not impact how you behave then what you believe in is not important.” – Shaykh Yassir Fazaga

My friend, Eric, told me that his 87-year-old mom has been leaving him really long voice mail messages. She records her message and then thinks she has hung up but the voice mail then records her going about her business.

So he was on the phone with her the other day and told her that she hasn’t been hanging up. “Well” she replied, “I hit the button.” After they finished talking, he stayed on the line and sure enough, heard her puttering around.

He got her attention by yelling her name into the phone and when she put it to her ear he asked, “WHAT button have you been pushing?” She replied something that made him realize she’d been pushing a volume button instead of the power button.

After we finished laughing about that, I mused about all the times I’ve pushed the wrong button. It reminded me of the old tech support joke when one tech asked another how he fixed the user’s problem, and the tech replied, “The On/Off selector was in the wrong position.”

I think of the time I was giving my friend, Jill, a compliment on her pants and said, “Those are so cute. My mom has a pair.” Turns out I offended her greatly because who wants to look like someone’s mom? Oops, wrong button.

But mostly it makes me think of all the times I’ve tried to do something without plugging into the Source and feeling the surge of power in my solar plexus. Like the tech joke, I have often tried things with the on/off selector in the wrong position, and without the power of belief, just relegated myself to futilely tapping at the keyboard with no results.

From rock climbs to bids for work in my professional field, there has been a huge difference between doing it with the power on or off, with my beliefs and values intact or lost somewhere in the dimness. Sometimes when I plug in to a Higher Power, I realize that I’m pursuing the wrong things but I find out the course correction is much easier with the power on.

Of course, like Eric’s mom, I continue to push the wrong buttons at times. Sooner or later, I find my way back to the small insistent God voice at my core asking, “WHAT button have you been pushing?”

(featured photo from Pexels)

Spiritual Leaders

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“Gaining knowledge is the first step to wisdom. Sharing it, is the first step to humanity.” – unknown

Several years ago I had a friend who was struggling to keep his marriage together after it was revealed that his wife was having a long-term affair. From time to time he’d recount some of the help and advice they were getting as they tried to heal – from therapists, friends and books. One of the most insightful pieces of advice he got was from his pastor who sagely counseled, “You are going to have to say ‘good-bye’ to that marriage. If you two are going to go forward, you will have to build a new marriage together.”

It takes a special role to be able to drop truth bombs and still be heard. Friends might be able to do it, but often have a vested interest in offering up advice. More often than not, they offer idiot compassion as therapist and author Lori Gottlieb calls it. “Idiot compassion is where you want to make somebody feel better, and so you don’t necessarily tell them the truth. And wise compassion is where you really hold up the mirror to them in a compassionate way, but you also deliver a very important truth bomb.”

Therapists can deliver truth bombs but I think we often forget that our spiritual leaders have that capacity too. Given that church affiliation in the US has dropped below 50% for the first time ever, I wonder if we are losing touch with a unique group of people who want to help and also celebrate with us.

Twelve years ago when I was in crisis going through a divorce, I was lucky enough to find my way to a meditation teacher that helped guide me into that practice that has changed my life in many ways. And often when I have a spiritual question or even a lapse in understanding, I will go to my meditation teacher.

I also have the added benefit of relationships with a number of pastors since my dad was in the profession. They teach me again and again that our spiritual leaders whether they be pastors, rabbis or yogis have deep wisdom and history to access whether or not you agree with every bullet point of their theology.

When I asked my dad about that job/role/life calling as a Presbyterian pastor in the years before he died he said,

“I never would have imagined, at 20 years old when I finally made the decision to go in to ministry, I never would have thought that this is what my life would be like. I am so grateful to God for what that has meant, the number of lives that I’ve been able to be a part of. One of the unique things about ministry is that you are able to be with people in some of the most precious, important, holy moments of their life . . . birth, death, baptism, marriage, funeral, crisis. A pastor steps in to the middle of someone’s life at those unique times and that is pretty rare.”

So on this day that is Good Friday for Christians and the start of Passover for Jews, I dedicate the post to all our spiritual leaders that are willing to help us through the important moments of our lives. May we all find ways to support and honor them.

(featured photo is one of my favorite pictures of my dad)

Learning Every Day

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“I am learning all the time. My tombstone will be my diploma.” – Eartha Kitt

I’d like to say that when I was growing up, it was a family tradition that we went around the table to say what we learned that day. I have a vague memory that we did in fact do that but as the third and youngest child, I think that maybe it fizzled out by the time it got to me.

Regardless, I’m happiest when I’m learning something every day. In fact I was happily driving alone in my car the other day to Costco, listening to a Brené Brown podcast and thinking in the back of my mind, my blog should be titled or subtitled “What I Learned Today.”

At possibly the very same moment, fellow blogger Rosaliene Bacchus of the Three Worlds, One Vision blog typed a comment, “Wynne, it’s a joy to witness, through your reflections, the way in which you learn from even the smallest experiences in your day-to-day life.”

My kids were 4 ½ years old and 7 months when this pandemic started. I find them fascinating to watch and interact with and I learn from them every day something about what it means to be human. But the isolation of this time and the slower pace of our schedule of activities meant I had to find sources of adult conversation, inspiration and meaning. What I’m listening to and reading has helped me not only learn how I can grow but also process the tidbits of what I see about how my kids grow.

Podcasts, which I can listen to in the car, when I’m cleaning or late at night when I’m getting exercise by repeatedly climbing the 47 stairs I have in my house, have brought so many experts and depth right to my doorstep: Krista Tippet’s quiet and spiritual On Being, Brené Brown’s insightful and research driven Unlocking Us, Dan Harris’ urbane and slightly sardonic mindfulness podcast Ten Percent Happier.

I read as much as I can – sometimes thrillers and spy novels that take me completely away from my life for an hour or two. But mostly I read as many blogs as I can and I’ve loved the books penned by fellow bloggers than I’ve read or am reading: The Twisted Circle by Rosaliene Bacchus, How to Heal Your Life by Tamara Kulish, Voices: Who’s In Charge of the Committee In My Head by Julia Preston and Be a Happier Parent or Laugh Trying by Betsy Kerekes.

It was on the Unlocking Us podcast (I think) that I heard neuroscientist David Eagleman talk about the research that we are powerfully influenced by the 5 people we spend the most time with. I’m delighted because I’ve been spending time with you all – you’ve inspired me, taught me, made me laugh and made me think. What a joy!

So, if you have a moment, please leave a comment about where you get your inspiration.

I’ll close with a quote from an On Being interview I heard with Thich Nhat Hang, “You have the right to make mistakes but you don’t have the right to continue making mistakes, you have to learn from your mistakes.”

Here’s to always learning!

(featured photo by Pexels)

Secrets

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“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.” – Anne Sexton

This week when we are returning from holiday breaks always reminds me of one of the wackiest stories from when I was in business with two partners and we had almost 20 employees. On the Monday after New Years Day in 2008, I was in the office when the office manager came in to say that we hadn’t heard from our program manager, JE, since the Christmas party two weeks prior.

JE didn’t work for me but in a small company, I certainly knew him. I liked him too. He was smart, quiet and diligent about getting his work done. He’d left Microsoft six months before to come work for us and except for one scheduled break in late October, he’d always shown up. It wasn’t unusual for our folks to work from home, especially over the holidays but not answering emails and phone calls was definitely odd.

Since my two business partners to whom JE did report were in Mexico on a hang gliding trip, I jumped in to help. Thinking that maybe we could find his girlfriend’s name and call her to check in, I googled his name. The top result was a memo from the United Stated Department of Justice dated in October of the previous year (the same days of his scheduled absence) that read something like this:

“<JE’s full name>, 27, of <city>, WA was sentenced to six month in prison for his role as the leader of a software pirating group. He will be reporting to <low security prison> on January 1, 2008.”

Well, that explained why we couldn’t get ahold of him! When we finally talked with his girlfriend, she said that JE would be disappointed to know we’d found out because he didn’t want to let us down.

Of course, had he quit before he went to prison, we would have never looked for him!! Granted he had bigger things to worry about in the 8 weeks between sentencing and reporting to the facility but as a logical young man, it seemed obvious that if you don’t want people to look for you, you need to break up with them first.

I think of this often when someone is carrying a secret. It is an immense burden that sometimes precludes thinking and acting rationally. And often the secret itself prevents the carrier from finding the tools to heal – because developing any depth is dangerous, lest it unearth the core of what they are carrying. The secret has a life of its own that requires it to stay buried and drains a lot of energy to support itself.

At the time of my life when this happened, I had a secret too. I was unhappy in my marriage and way of life and I was diligently trying to keep that a secret, mostly from myself. I drank too much wine and then smoked cigarettes when I drank as a way to numb myself from feeling what was really going on.

Thinking back now, I realize that I was forcing myself daily to keep walking down a path that didn’t feel right. I was in a relationship that wasn’t supportive of me, I was in a business partnership with a charismatic that was making me crazy and I had developed no spiritual depth with which I could heal these wounds. All these secrets were a prison in their own way.

As it turned out, I kept my misery under wraps for another year after JE went to prison. Then the charismatic business partner told me of my husband’s infidelities and it all blew apart – the business and my marriage. Finally, no one had any secrets left and I could begin to heal. With nothing left buried, it was finally safe to develop some spiritual depth that carried me out of my prison. I can only hope that JE was able to heal once his secret was out as well.

(featured image from Pexels)

Deep Enough

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“When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt you head back and laugh at the sky.” – Buddha

My honorary aunt and uncle came to visit recently. They were my parent’s best friends since before I was born so every time I’m with them, it feels like old times. Talking with my 92-year-old “uncle,” he asked about my son going to daycare all day during the week. “He seems so little for that” he says. And I agreed and added, “True, he is little. But I need the help.”

My uncle looked off, squinted his eyes as if he was trying and failing to imagine choosing to be a single parent, taking care of children, working and balancing it all. Then he looked back and gently said, “I guess I could see that” in a tone that confirmed he couldn’t.

My uncle is a renowned Biblical scholar and retired professor of Theology. He once spent 17 years writing a book on the gospel of Matthew. But he has very little practical knowledge of the world. Years ago my uncle visited a college in Texas and was sitting next to a rancher at a meet-and-greet dinner. The rancher said he had 300 head of cattle and my uncle asked how many cows that was. The rancher famously replied, “I don’t know about where you come from but here in Texas, our cows only have one head each.”

In the moments when I struggle to find any sense of the spiritual plane in my hectic life, I sometimes envy people like my uncle who seem to have created calm and ordered lives in which to acquire deep knowledge of the Divine. I would love to be so deep in the study of life, Mystery and God. But life has called me to be broad instead.

When I sit to meditate in the morning, I usually find I already am participating in the mystery of life, just in a different way than the enlightenment I imagine I could reach if I had hours to go deep. In the quiet moments before I wake my two kids and go full on to get them out the door, I often get a glimpse of the Divine and Universal Flow find right here in my beautiful, messy life.

Sure, I have popcorn in my bra and am changing diapers in the back of my SUV between dropping my daughter and school and my son at daycare but I don’t need to be a scholar to know that God is right there, laughing at the gentle touch between us.

My uncle has only been able to been so deep because he has my aunt who has handled almost all the details of their life, their kids and grandkids. At the end of their visit, she said to me with a smile and a wink on the way out, “I don’t know how you do it all.” And I felt the presence of God in that spark of knowing that passed between us.

(photo from Pexels)

Deep Knowing

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“The inner life of any great thing will be incomprehensible to me until I develop and deepen an inner life of my own.” – Parker J. Palmer

I was standing in the crowded reception hall after my father’s funeral service greeting people, feeling the comfort of the huge tide of love for my dear father carry me through the ache of missing him when one of his close friends came up and whispered in my ear. She said, “You were his favorite.” I wanted to turn and joke with her that she said that to all the kids but the truth of it choked off any chance of reply. It was something that I knew way down deep but never would have said, something that I wanted so badly to be true because I loved him so, and something I needed to hear to affirm that bond I felt with him.

On the morning of November 7th, 2014 my 79-year-old father spent an hour or two reading in the sunshine on the back patio of the home he and my mom owned in Tucson, Arizona. He had just accepted a position as president of the board of an organization serving people in the Middle East and was planning out the next meeting while my mom was out playing golf. He must have felt the need to get some exercise so he placed his open book face down on the chair, put on his helmet, hopped on his bike and started riding the route that they often took through their quiet community. He’d gone three blocks when he hit a car coming through an intersection, suffered blunt trauma to his neck and died within a minute.

A year-and-a-half before he died, I was out walking my dog on a bright Seattle spring morning and the song Circle of Life from the Lion King came into my head. My eyes filled with tears as I knew my beloved father was going to die. It wasn’t an urgent feeling but just a recognition of the eventuality and an insistence on talking with him and writing about his life and faith. It was absurd on the face of it. I was too new in my spiritual path to relate to his, I wasn’t a writer and I’d heard his stories all my life. But the voice was clear that I listen. So I did. Over the next 18 months, I sat down and recorded conversations with my father.

So when my dad died that Friday morning, I was in the best place possible, if that can be true about a death. I’d said “good-bye” to my parents the week before when we’d met for breakfast in Seattle before they drove down to Tucson. That morning, my dad looked at me and said, “You look great.” Which I’d understood had nothing to do with my outward appearance but everything to do with the twinkle that was back in my eye. I had survived divorce, found myself and God on a meditation mat and spent that precious time listening to him. We’d spent so much intentional time together that there was a special closeness we’d developed on top of our father-daughter bond. There wasn’t anything that was left unsaid between us. I loved him and he loved me and saying it 1,000 more times wouldn’t make losing him any easier, I’d always want more.

My dad’s death made me know, really know, that the insistent voice, the voice I think of as the God voice, is a trusted Guide. As a Presbyterian pastor for 40 years, I know my dad led many people in faith. But I’d like to think that my spiritual awakening was his most proud accomplishment. Actually, that’s false modesty because I know it was just as I know I was his favorite. He bore witness to a life well-lived because of the deep joy, rich meaning and complete reassurance of a strong faith. Faith that carries us through the tough moments, seasons and challenges. Faith that leads us to do what we need to do. And I heard him and that carries me through the tough moments of losing him which is exactly what he wanted for me, for all of us.

It makes me ache for my brother and sister that they didn’t get the chance to talk to him the way that I did. And it makes me wonder about how God could provide for me so well but not them. But I’ve come to understand that we all got exactly what we needed. My spiritual path led me to be able to have those substantive conversations about faith before he died. It didn’t matter that my dad saw God through the lens as a Presbyterian and I see God through my Buddhist-Christian-meditative lens, we talked about what was crucial to a meaningful life. My siblings have a different experience of faith, life and my father that I believe has left them with an open question that they have an opportunity to solve. Whether or not they do so is their path.

I haven’t told anyone the secret my dad’s friend shared with me at his funeral until this post. As the youngest child in the family, my siblings never listen to me so I think it’s safe to assume they won’t read this and the secret is still safe. Being my dad’s favorite means honoring him with my life and maybe one day my siblings or my children will come to me wanting to know what I learned. And I’ll pass it on.

So, dear reader, I ask you: Is there anything your voice is telling you that you haven’t listened to yet?