Simply Be

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And so it is that I find myself sitting across from her—me on a bar stool, her at the head of the table. Morning sun struggles to make its way through heavy cumulous clouds that intermittently spit rain. The air, still heavy with humidity despite this occasional leak of moisture. I hope it will be a sunny day, in light of the day’s scheduled events soon to transpire. We have some serious swimming to do. But we Two are not preoccupied with the day’s weather or activities in this moment; instead, finding ourselves discussing the book “Love, Anthony” (which I have recently finished but am still pondering) all while I down the last of a glass of orange juice at 10:30 in the morning. She drinks her coffee. And somehow book talk gets shifted over to life talk and it is without warning that tears fall. And there it is: that question of purpose.

Why are we here, anyway?

What is the purpose for the life we have been given?

While thoughtful discussion continues and we try to come to some conclusions that will comfort broken hearts and shattered dreams, my thoughts drift back again to that all-consuming question. Do we ever really know? What is our purpose, anyway?

Depending on what angle from which one might be seeking, there are so many thoughts contributing to answers for this one question. As true believers in an eternal God, our purpose and ‘reason for being’ is dedicated to living spiritually, with eternity’s values in view. What is lasting and permanent? Those are the treasures we must seek. What will remain? This is where to place one’s focus. But again, as true believers, our life must not be so separate from worldly concerns that we live with our heads in the clouds. We have been called to act justly, love mercifully and walk humbly while traversing life’s passageways. Our duty is to care for one another in grateful service, primarily preferring others’ interests over our own. To compassionately care for one another, supporting each others in both times of great need as well as in times of ease and pleasure. This is our calling and purpose.

Is this, then, all of it in its entirety?

She tells me about a friend who daily visits her husband at the manor. But not making time to care for him only. On her way to his room, she stops by many others’ stations and lounging areas first so as to cheer and comfort the vulnerable. So as to bolster those who need the encouragement. Her own dear one often unaware of her presence, but these others: they look for her. She has found a purpose in the messy complicated that life offers her. A purpose that transcends time and place, circumstance and sorrow.

What is the purpose in their suffering? In his (her Husband)? In hers (the wife)?

I believe the answer lies somewhere in acceptance first, followed by an act of embracing. When we accept, we resist fighting what we cannot conquer, choosing instead to acknowledge that our lives are always lived with limitations and boundaries. These bodies never created for permanence in this life. And yet the ways in which we choose to endure bodily limitations here will have a tremendous impact on the longevity of our soul’s endurance in the everafter. We can never fully understand why things happen as they do, but we can accept that there is a purpose for every event under the sun. We might never fully comprehend why a life must be lived a certain way, but this does not diminish the value of that life, does not diminish the purpose. Does not limit the living that life was meant for. Living cannot be measured. The breath we have been given is of value, and the life that lies therein deserving of the opportunity.

The intention of life inherent in the spark that feeds the soul. Life is precious. It is also purposeful.

If then the purpose of suffering is to accept and embrace, what is the purpose of joy?

When we accept that there are things within our lives we cannot change, choosing to embrace the life we have been given in spite of the obstacles, true joy is acquired in the process. Joy is not something easily obtained: it must be long sought after and yearned for. True joy surpasses sorrow in that it willingly chooses to embrace the ugly, the bitter, the vile, the downright disgusting— so as to savour the sweet aftertaste that follows the initial struggle to ingest. It is never easy to accept pain and sorrow, but we willingly and eagerly clamour for joy. Such sweet medicine to remedy our pain.

Both are part and parcel of the same. Joy is the flip side of the coin. It is the accompanying face of pain. There is always something brighter waiting for us just beyond the bend.

In the book “Love, Anthony”, the author allows us a glimpse into a child’s soul. There is much pain and sorrow in the story, but little of this is felt by the main protagonist, Anthony, despite his struggles that ultimately lead to an unexpected demise. Instead of focusing on the negative that surrounds his life, this child chooses to experience the joy that he knows is all around him. He chooses pure, unadulterated bliss.

He chooses to be. Be accepting. Be loved. Be happy. Be Anthony.

What then is our purpose—yours and mine?

We will find answers when we look beyond ourselves, past our innate fragility. Choosing rather to see the light that always shines brightest when it is just beyond our grasp.  Our purpose is defined by our living. And our lives are defined by the ways in which we embrace the little graces that light our path.

One simple moment at a time.

Tune My Heart to Sing Thy Grace

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;

streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.

O to grace how great a debtor

daily I’m constrained to be!

Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;

here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.

The wind rustles golden grain, swaying so it sounds like tinkling bells.  Tiny cymbals.  I roll down the window as I drive up the lane just to stop for a spell and listen in on nature’s symphony. The air laden with the smell of dust and a dry grassy scent. The clouds are piled high and fluffy.  Beauty surrounds every angle from which I gaze.

My heart is part wonder, part sorrow.  There is always beauty in sorrow.  And it takes every effort to tune into the grace we have been afforded when our minds so easily slip,  so quickly bend toward the stress.  Our hearts must be trained to see more than meets the eye.  We must look with discernment for what lies beyond.  What we see is not all there truly is.

There is so very much more.

I walk into the barn and take in the musty smell of manure and hay and dust and years worth of sweat and hard labour.  I follow him as he paces the length of the barn and back again.  We lean into one another.  I wrap my arms around his chest and feel his beating heart.  What is our life work worth at the end of the day?  What legacy do we leave to those following in our footsteps?

How will we be remembered?

I step back, standing just upon the threshold of this doorway leading to another life and take in one last view before I turn away toward the sunlight and warmth of the day.

How is it that we are able to tune our hearts to sing grace even when the cords of those same hearts wring with pain?  Daily, we must train our minds to think on these eternal graces: love, joy peace.

Grace sustains in the midst of trouble.  Holding us, enabling us, propelling us forward.

There are streams of mercy, never ceasing at every vantage point. Our lives a song- only we can decide how that tune will be sung.

May our songs of praise be ever heard, our lives a melodious hymn of gratitude. For our blessings outnumber even our wildest dreams, our greatest aspirations.

Helping Kids Deal With Back-to-School Stress

image retrieved from kirkcrady.wordpress.com

I happened to come across the now-viral video clip of a little boy being asked if he would miss his mom on the first day of school. A question to which he promptly exhibits visibly with quick tears that ‘yes,’ indeed—he will. The shot shows him running into the safe arms of his mother, with an embarrassed reportor left to apologize.

My own children, different in every way, have varied responses to stress. Lately, I have seen tears and anxiety within one more so than the others. Tears coming quickly in a range of situations. The other night, I happened to mention that I had some spots due to infected bug bites. I said goodnights and went downstairs for the evening, only to hear feet behind me not soon after. What did I mean by spots? Was I going to be okay? With a little assurance and some hugs, the anxiety abated for the time. Enough for her to go back to bed, anyway.

But our little encounter left me to briefly wonder where the stress was coming from and why.

Of course, we are coming up to that time of the year again, a time that parents anticipate and some kids wait for, while others drag their feet. The start of school—just one of the many transitions times in life that we will encounter. While we often think about parental stress associated with the beginnings of new activities, I wonder how often we remember that kids get stress too.

The American Psychological Association, along with Mary Alvord, PhD., offer six tips for parents helping kids cope with back-to-school: practice routines (sleep, lunch, bedtimes) well before the first big day, get to the know the kids on the bus route and in your child’s class, talk about your child’s fears and anxieties openly with them (withholding judgments), show lots and lots of empathy and then find the supports in your child’s school and community that will make the adjustment that much easier.

As a kindergarten teacher (and soon to be Grade 1 teacher as well), I recognize that students will come to me with their hearts and minds full of wonder, questions, fears and excitement. But these students are not the only ones feeling these emotions. As teachers, we do well to sense within our students both the anxiety and the excitement that new school routines and schedules bring to these children’s lives.

Willow Dea, Change Management Consultant, offers the following suggestions for teachers—ways which we can help our students adjust to life back in the classroom, and these include watching for over-stimulation in the classroom which can overwhelm some children, learning your students “learning styles”, along with making sure your students feel emotionally safe. She includes ten tips for parents and teachers which I have summarized as follows:

1. Set clear boundaries and guidelines and offer fair rules for support. Be consistent.
2. Offer children unstructured playtime so that they can use their imaginations.
3. Exercise, rest, nutrition, healthy meals, downtime, and laughter are all precursors for good health.
4. Take time away from technology. Encourage quiet and calm for part of your day.
5. Be the example for your students of managed stress. Parker Palmer states: “We teach who we are.”
6. Show students you care in the ways you know how.
7. Breathe.  Structure your day to allow for silence once in a while.
8. Listen to calming music. Turn the lights off. Let kids put their heads down on their desks and tune-out for a minute or two.
9. Talk with kids about what stresses them. Help them deal with it.
10. And don’t forget to make humor a big part of your day. ;)

All these, super suggestions for teachers (and parents) in knowing how to deal with children’s stress within the home and classroom. Never forgetting that the ways in which we take time to show compassion for other people and their unique situations (from children to adults) will go a long way in helping others be the best that they can be in that moment in time.

Might we also remember that small acts of kindness, along with the presence of caring, kind people, can serve to make an important impact in a person’s day. Let us live our lives so that when others think of kindness and caring, they think of us (quote taken from H. Jackson brown, Jr.).

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When Teachers Tell Their Stories

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Teachers have powerful stories to share. There are stories of triumphs and stories of failures—stories of everyday authenticity lived out within the trenches. There are stories of heroism, stories of realism. Stories of hope and inspiration. Stories that have been shared with many and stories that have been shared with one. These stories might not be the same—they are as unique as the storytellers that create them, but they are there written on the hearts and embedded in the minds of teachers, many just waiting to be divulged for the very first time.

Narrative inquiry, within the field of qualitative research, is described by Bochner (2000) as being this:
“…stories that create the effect of reality, showing characters embedded in the complexities of lived moments of struggle, resisting the intrusions of chaos, disconnection, fragmentation, marginalization, and incoherence, trying to preserve or restore the continuity and coherence of life’s unity in the face of unexpected blows of fate that call one’s meanings and values into question (Ellis & Bochner in Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p.744).

Bochner (2000), while admittedly speaking directly about research practice, compels the reader (who may or may not be reading for the purpose of research) to consider the benefits of personal life writing: a genre that “activates subjectivity and compels emotional response” (Ellis & Bochner in Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p.744). Bochner (2000) asserts that personal stories are those that exist for offering lessons for further conversation, longing “to be used rather than analyzed; to be told and retold rather than theorized and settled…”(Ellis & Bochner in Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p.744). He makes the case for amplifying personal voices within the social sciences, but I believe that we must take this one step further, expanding the call for evocative personal narratives to be shared by teachers compelled to tell the stories that must be told.

Too often, the busyness of life and the hectic pace in which we as teachers live and carry out our calling, can serve to strip from us the energy it takes to sit down for half an hour and write introspectively, composing reflections and stories about our daily teaching practice. It might be an easy choice to make, at times, when the options are between taking a mental break or applying your mind and attention to further cerebral activity in the form of written composition. We all need ‘down-time’, especially in a profession that requires our bodies and minds, as well as our hearts. But the benefit of taking time to write at the end of a busy day (or in the early hours of the morning) is something we might do well to consider. It might even have the surprising benefit of rejuvenation and refreshment for weary minds. When teachers write reflectively for themselves, it helps to solidify in their own minds what they think and believe.

Enhancing this benefit, when teachers choose to share their views and thinking, opening their inner selves up by extending their ruminations to others, there are further advantages for those involved in reading as well. The community formed around shared interests, common goals, friendly banter, engaged discussion, illuminating thought and insightful opinion spurs others on professionally to be the best they are able to be in the moment in which they are living. Sharing written thoughts with others also serves to encourage and inspire, as documents and written accounts can be re-read again and again when needed most urgently.

In November 2011, I determined that writing as a practice was important for me as a useful exercise in examining my life— so much so, that I committed to writing almost every day. At the time, I was experiencing a fair amount of stress, experiencing a general lack of joy in my life. Suffice it to say: I was feeling rather discontented in both my personal and professional life. I found the writing I was doing in the carved out time slots I made for such throughout the days and evenings gave me pause for reflection regarding those circumstance and events that brought me angst. As I wrote, I felt a weight being lifted, and I would aver that I experienced healing— emotional, if not physical. Writing in this way was therapeutic, beneficial as a process of helping restore my body, mind and soul to a healthy constitution. It was beneficial for me in restoring my joy. As such, writing has been one of the most significant ways I maintain and provide self-care for my weary soul.

Due to a sense of renewed joy, I found the desire from within so as to continue the writing and introspective reflection. As I wrote, I began to share the stories and prose I was creating with those closest to me, my husband, children and immediate family members. Bouyed to carry on, by way of their response to my writing, I decided to start a an on-line journal in the form of a blog in the fall of 2011, where I have been found writing ever since, sharing this writing with a community of readers over 4600 strong. The name “Pursuit of a Joyful Life” was decided based on my desire for more joy in my life—something I felt others might also identify with in their own lives. Having made a decision to daily commitment to writing, along with finding an inner resolve and purpose to continue this endeavor, I embarked on a journey. A blog was now mine to foster and develop.

Unlike university course work or in-school professional development assignments, where the task is ‘reflection-on-demand’, I never feel externally coerced to write my personal blogs. This driving urge to record my thoughts has always been internally situated. I blog purely because I am compelled to write. I write for pleasure and for joy, thus the name for my blog— a title based on my own personal pursuit of a joyful life. Writing has been for me a cathartic process. It is an escape and a diversion— a means of healing and an opportunity. I did not always know I would be a teacher, but I always knew I would be a writer— it just took me time to discover the writer that was waiting within. Thirty-seven years of waiting to discover the words and stories that I held close to my heart, to be precise.

Even with a full-time teaching contract, this act of blogging has been an almost nightly routine I have been keeping to the past four years, writing both when I was feeling inspired as well as when I was not. It is not so much the message as the act that I believe has infused my teaching with hope and purpose. Writing about the funny, the frustrating, the disappointing and the inspiring parts of my profession has served to enable me in understanding the reason for my calling. I am a teacher because I care, and writing about my practice is just one more way to show that care for the educational community of which I am part. While some might say that I am a writer because I love to put words to paper, I know that I am a teacher because I care about people. Writing has been a means of exhibiting this heart-full care, and it is my preferred language of expression within my chosen profession. Writing is not something I do just for myself now, it is something I do for my students, my students’ parents, my colleagues, my professional partners as well as for the general public, sharing with them all what it means for me to be a teacher and carry out my life’s work. As such, writing is one of the most important aspects of my teaching.

To date, I have 510 posts published on my personal blog, with one blog piece receiving notable public acclamation. In December of 2013, I wrote that particular blog post as an encouraging letter to an anonymous teacher, a letter which I later published to my personal blog. Shortly after that, I decided to publish the blog article on the Huffington Post’s (Canadian Edition) on-line newspaper for which I am a regular contributor. Initially, the letter did not receive any interest, garnering few reads on both my blog and the Huffington Post’s online news feed, as recorded by the sidebar statistics for both. I soon forgot about this particular piece and continued writing about other topics and areas of interest. At the end of January 2014, something peculiar happened. I noticed one day that my blog, as featured on the Huffington Post, had a couple hundred views on it. Surprised, I called my husband over to have a look at this peculiar phenomenon, as every minute the stat figures would change to reflect new readers. This was a complete shock and surprise to see, as almost six weeks had transpired since the original piece had gone to press. Little would I have known then that those couple hundred of views would quickly grow to thousands, then to hundreds of thousands and eventually to well over two and a quarter million readers and counting, a little over a year and a half later.

The fact that this one blog piece on the topic of caring within teaching went viral has given me pause for reflection over the past months; reflection done on my writing, the topics of my writing, the focus of my blog and the purpose behind the messages I share. Why do I write? Who am I writing for? What message do I want to convey? And why is it important that I keep writing? In watching my blog following grow within the educational community, I have felt it prudent to provide more space for writing reflectively about teaching and educational issues. My blog continues to be a space where I can express myself freely, a place where I write about a variety of topics, but now with an overall focus on reflective introspection about the important role of care in my teaching practice. Critical theorists like hooks (1994) contend that forms of dialogue, like writing and blogging, can be a means for teachers to challenge a system within which they often feel powerless to question face-to-face. Freire (1970) perhaps laid the foundations for this kind of dialogue to be possible. In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Freire asserts that “it is in speaking their word that people, by naming the world, transform it…Dialogue is thus an existential necessity” (Freire, 1970, p. 88). I have then felt the inner urging to create a space where I could dialogue on issues that speak to the heart. That place where I passionately dialogue is here, my blog.

My place for pursuing the joy in life.

Be a Noticer

“The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox.” — Augustus Waters, in John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars

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We are almost there.
It’s almost that time of year again, Students. And while you’re probably not even thinking about sitting in class behind a desk, not anxious yet to trade in summer for fall: I am already there in my mind. It’s already happening.
I am already planning and thinking and wondering and hoping. I am already imagining you.
I wonder who you are, what makes you tick, what you like, where you live. Are you a morning person or a late-night owl; are you funny, are you loud? Do you have any fears of your own? Are you ready for this next chapter of your life to open wide and be written?
Who are you?
And while we might have never met, I do have one thing I want to offer you right now, before everything begins again and we are caught up in the surge of emotion that accompanies each given school year.
My biggest hope for you—what I want for you even before I have met you and come to know your unique personality and particular way of knowing, is that you be a ‘noticer’. A ‘see’-er of life.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to do. Told to get out our pencil and pens. Get out our paper, and write. Read. Discuss. Speak. Told to turn to page 5 and then fashion a paragraph. Told to answer six questions on page 32.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to act. Told to cut and shape. Mold and make. Told to fashion that school bus craft just as we’re told. Told to fold the paper along the crease. Told to colour in the lines.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to perform. Told to sit right, listen up, shut up, straighten up, fly right. Told to mind our manners, watch our tongue, keep it down, watch out.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to produce. To achieve, churn out, give up, construct and generate.
But we are not taught to notice.
Have we ever stopped to consider that noticing precedes doing? And yet, we are not taught that this act in itself is essential. We are encouraged rather to act. To get things done. To carry out both our will as well as that of those in authority over us.
Students, if I can ask of you just this: learn to notice the world around you. Learn to watch more carefully, listen more closely, feel more deeply, understand more fully.
Watch with both your eyes and ears. Use all the senses that have been gifted you.
Listen with both your ears and your heart.
Feel others pain and joy with compassion and care.
Understand that this life is not just about you—it is about a world around you full of people and living things that beg for you to notice them.
We have not been shown well, not really been taught how to notice the people and world around us. You can change this pattern, Student. You can be the one to do things differently.
One smart decision at a time.

We Don’t Do Fancy Much

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We don’t do fancy much, preferring the simple things instead. Hotdogs roasted over burning embers, sticky marshmallows, cold root beer.

We don’t do extravagant either. We’d rather sit together under the stars and watch for meteor showers or take moonlight rides in old motor boats that go along great… until they blow a fuse.

We don’t do lavish or swanky or posh. Our lives are pretty simple.

Funny, I use to believe that my life experience wouldn’t be complete without the really good stuff. The big trips, the weekends away, the theater tickets—taking in all the big events. I thought that I was missing something. Missing out on life, somehow.

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When you and I first intertwined our lives together, we just didn’t have the wherewithal to make it all happen. We pinched pennies. Literally. We scrimped and saved. I made my own Christmas garland that first year from popcorn and cranberries and fragrant fir boughs that I found in the wooded lot behind our apartment building, and I thought I had hit it rich. I couldn’t believe that my ordinary hands could bring together such minimal items so as to make what I deemed my first crafty masterpiece. I never thought I had it in me.

I remember that I was more creative that year, more intent on finding ways to personalize and do it all up homemade-style. I made you a jar of Hershey’s kisses with notes attached. It took forever, but I think it was perhaps more meaningful than handing you a gift card.

You and I, we have forged together lives that are intent on honest, down-home, uncomplicated living.

You took me on picnics and we shared fries with the works for our second anniversary date. We bought our first and only antique brass bed that we literally had to build the house around, having shared that bed for nineteen years and counting now. Purchased from simple country folk ‘down along’. You built me shelves and mirrors and apothecary cupboards from the old elm tree that was felled in our front yard.

And together we have raised a busy growing family— country-style, for fifteen years and counting.

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The years have passed while we’ve lived out these simple, mundane lives of ours. So much has changed and yet so little. We have more at our disposal, certainly. Experience, tenure and opportunity have allowed for this. And yet, we still crave the simple. Walks on quiet roads that face into the sunset, a sturdy lawn chair with a good book in hand, a cold glass of lemonade. We still do simple.

We’d still choose this.

And isn’t that the best there is in life, anyway? Isn’t this the good stuff?

Patches of sunlight on smiling faces just before dusk. Our friends and family gathered close. A roof overhead and four walls all around.

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We don’t need extravagant when we’ve been afforded all of this.

No, we don’t do fancy.

And given the choice, we’d still prefer the simple life we’ve been handed… again and again and again.

We’d choose simple every time.

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Hope Springs Eternal

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blessed:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
– Alexander Pope
image retrieved from http://www.telegraph.co.uk

The ants are in my dahlias and they are killing my beautiful flowers. I bought the two small pots earlier in the summer on a whim— something to brighten my doorstep. I didn’t even know what colour they would turn out to be but was quite delighted when their copper tones began to peek from out of the foliage.  Now, these beautiful plants are being overrun with tiny little killers which crawl in and out of broken stems as if on a mission, while wilted blossoms droop in support of their fragile stems. I am no gardener, I am afraid. I love to have beautiful things surround me, but my green thumb is non-existent. I water and shade and protect from the elements, but when it comes to predators, I feel helpless to defend. I want to do something, but what?

A quick search on Google suggest pesticides, but there are also downsides to using these as well. What to do?

In spite of it all— despite the abuse and the odds racked against them: my poor little plants continue to suffer on, even boasting a few little bulbs that might withstand the dangers. These flowers refuse to bend and break in light of the certain outcome to befall them, if present conditions remain. They carry on. They endure. How lovely to be a flower and not know, not realize what’s coming next.

To not have to prepare for what lies just around the corner.

I talk to her and we circle around the same issues once again. The same heaviness clouding our conversations.  There is little to say sometimes when darkness overshadows. Life and all its accompanying struggles aim to kill joy, diminish our already dwindling supply of hope in the face of certain desolation. Fear, anger, rage, discouragement and despair try to crawl inside even while we fight for courage to persevere. We feel the presence as some kind of malevolence: as if it is a wave that will overtake us. Sometimes we believe that we are being destroyed from the inside out with little recourse other than passive acceptance.

We all need courage. But how is courage acquired?

We all need hope and expectation. But from where is that summoned?

We all need to know there is something worth fighting for. We need to believe that life is worth living. That there is purpose and meaning in our actions and thought. That there is something more.

But from where do we draw this resolve to believe?

I take it all in, the beauty of this late summer day. Wind blowing through the trees, clouds gently floating by. It all seems so idyllic until I turn by gaze back to my doorstep and these pitiful dahlias.

But nature has a way of replenishing itself. When grass dies, there is always new growth. When trees lose their leaves in autumn, new buds emerge in spring. When flowers die, new blossoms eventually appear. Renewal and revival are part of the process of life. In the very same ways, the soul needs to believe in hope just as the natural world aches for rebirth and new beginnings.

Some inspiration for today taken from David’s psalms.

Psalm 121 (NIV)

1 I lift up my eyes to the hills– where does my help come from?

 

2 My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.

3 He will not let your foot slip– he who watches over you will not slumber;

 

4 indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

 

5 The LORD watches over you– the LORD is your shade at your right hand;

 

6 the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

 

7 The LORD will keep you from all harm– he will watch over your life;

 

8 the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

And more comfort still…

Psalm 91 (NIV)

1 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

 

2 I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

 

3 Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence.

 

4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

 

5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

 

6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

 

7 A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

 

8 You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.

 

9 If you make the Most High your dwelling– even the LORD, who is my refuge–

 

10 then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.

 

11 For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;

12 they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

 

13 You will tread upon the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

 

14 “Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

 

15 He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.

 

16 With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Like the wind and the waves in nature, I will carry on. Like the flower in spring, hope will always emerge from the blackness of the earth.

Courage is ours for the taking. Quitting is not an option.

Take heart, dear one.