Our pastor told a story this week about Mother Teresa. In the story, her younger self had a dream about starting an orphanage with three pennies. Upon waking, she was so moved by the dream that she went to her Mother Superior and told her that she wanted to start an orphanage with three pennies.
The Mother Superior was incredulous. "You can't start an orphanage with three pennies. You can't do anything with three pennies."
Mother Teresa is supposed to have responded, "Oh, I know I can't, but with three pennies and God I can do anything."
It has been happening for so many years that I am not sure why I continue to be surprised when similar messages come to me from several directions at the same time--the same spiritual lesson that I am supposed to learn at that point in time. The Mother Teresa story was on the heels of some reading I was doing just before I went to bed the night before.
A couple months ago I wrote about my quest to complete my reading of several books on my nightstand before starting any new ones. With the fast approach of summer-reading season, the pressure is on. I finished two last week, and I am nearing the end of Marianne Williamson's A Return to Love. The book has probably been on my night stand longer than any others, perhaps two to three years. I am not sure why I struggle with it. Perhaps it is the writing style because I resonate with the messages, and every time I pick it up what I read is a meaningful reminder. Maybe I just need to pick it up periodically for a message.
In last night's reading, Williamson quoted A Course on Miracles, "If you are trusting in your own strength, you have every reason to be apprehensive, anxious, and fearful." Then, she writes, "...none of us have the capacity to work miracles, with the power that is in us but not of us, however, there is nothing we cannot do." (P.188) Hmm! Remarkably like starting an orphanage on three pennies and God.
Clearly, there is a miracle that I should be thinking about delivering with God's help. However, since my business crumbled so painfully in the dot.com Bust, bringing my personal life down with it, I have not allowed myself to dream of making miracles happen. I haven't made a conscious decision not to dream. The ideas that used to flow almost continuously just haven't been coming. My hope-generator seems to be semi-permanently stuck on "off." Quite frankly, I don't know how to flip its switches back to "on." What comes to me is that is the miracle for which I should be enlisting God's help.
Showing posts with label miracles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miracles. Show all posts
Monday, June 15, 2015
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Life's Little Miracles
Today I visited my balcony again, and, quite to my surprise, bulbs are shooting up everywhere. Where there were none yesterday, one was five inches high. I should have been able to see it growing if I'd been watching carefully. Many other shoots had burst through the soil as well, boldly forcing winter to yield to spring.
Intellectually, I knew this would happen; something similar occurs every year about this time. Yet every time it is a miracle unfolding before my eyes. My mind--my memory--cannot capture and recall the true wonder of it all. The best I can do is some kind of single-dimensional, black and white version of a 3D bursting with color miracle--a true miracle--that I experienced today.
Life is full of miracles--everyday miracles. Most of them are eclipsed by activities that distract us from the wonders around us.
Our bodies totally replace themselves every 13 months. Yet even as they do, we retain our uniqueness. Our bodies have the same peculiarities, aches, and pains, and I have the same mop of curls I've had since I was a toddler, yet every one of them is new each year.
Having coffee with a new friend consumes five hours like they were an instant. There is a magical familiarity though you never met before. A play date with an old friend unwinds perfectly and totally without conscious intention. Conversations with my college roommate always pick just as though we'd talked yesterday when it may have been a year...and they've been doing that for decades. When I think about them, all of these are miracles.
As a dancer, I've had dances with people that were other worldly. In one case a Viennese waltz unfolded so effortlessly and flawlessly that I am sure we must have been dancing that dance together for lifetimes. Although my partner and I danced together for seven years, that one dance stands out in my memory a dozen years later. In another case an Argentine Tango was pure magic with a partner I only ever danced with one time. A theater arts performance left me sure that I actually could fly.
Of course, the most perfect miracles are those of love: the pride of a parent at a child's accomplishment or the care of an aging parent who has become dependent on the child, who once depended on him or her. And, of course, there is nothing quite as wonderful as the equally miraculous gaze in the eyes of new love or the mellowed, appreciative look of matured love.
Everyone of these is a miracle. Too often the miraculous moments slip through a crevice in time, not unlike my memory of spring bulbs coming up anew each year. In tensions of other moments, the miraculous ones may totally disappear from memory. I regret that I have learned too late to savor those moments before they slipped away, many lost forever.
Yet there is a miracle greater than all if these, and that is being able to start anew each day with the wisdom gained in all the days before. Tomorrow I can start again with new appreciation for every miracle with which I am blessed and truly savor each.
All of these are truly miracles.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Intellectually, I knew this would happen; something similar occurs every year about this time. Yet every time it is a miracle unfolding before my eyes. My mind--my memory--cannot capture and recall the true wonder of it all. The best I can do is some kind of single-dimensional, black and white version of a 3D bursting with color miracle--a true miracle--that I experienced today.
Life is full of miracles--everyday miracles. Most of them are eclipsed by activities that distract us from the wonders around us.
Our bodies totally replace themselves every 13 months. Yet even as they do, we retain our uniqueness. Our bodies have the same peculiarities, aches, and pains, and I have the same mop of curls I've had since I was a toddler, yet every one of them is new each year.
Having coffee with a new friend consumes five hours like they were an instant. There is a magical familiarity though you never met before. A play date with an old friend unwinds perfectly and totally without conscious intention. Conversations with my college roommate always pick just as though we'd talked yesterday when it may have been a year...and they've been doing that for decades. When I think about them, all of these are miracles.
As a dancer, I've had dances with people that were other worldly. In one case a Viennese waltz unfolded so effortlessly and flawlessly that I am sure we must have been dancing that dance together for lifetimes. Although my partner and I danced together for seven years, that one dance stands out in my memory a dozen years later. In another case an Argentine Tango was pure magic with a partner I only ever danced with one time. A theater arts performance left me sure that I actually could fly.
Of course, the most perfect miracles are those of love: the pride of a parent at a child's accomplishment or the care of an aging parent who has become dependent on the child, who once depended on him or her. And, of course, there is nothing quite as wonderful as the equally miraculous gaze in the eyes of new love or the mellowed, appreciative look of matured love.
Everyone of these is a miracle. Too often the miraculous moments slip through a crevice in time, not unlike my memory of spring bulbs coming up anew each year. In tensions of other moments, the miraculous ones may totally disappear from memory. I regret that I have learned too late to savor those moments before they slipped away, many lost forever.
Yet there is a miracle greater than all if these, and that is being able to start anew each day with the wisdom gained in all the days before. Tomorrow I can start again with new appreciation for every miracle with which I am blessed and truly savor each.
All of these are truly miracles.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Five days ago when I walked to the Metro the wind-chill temperature was -9 degrees Fahrenheit. Even though earlier on this Ground Hog Day Punxsutawney Phil predicted another six weeks of winter, this afternoon it was 63 when I decided to take a break from writing and go for a walk.
I saw lots of runners and dog-walkers and almost as many bicyclists. There were lovers holding hands and walking, and a group of junior high school aged girls giggled together. I saw mothers with babes in strollers and watched a man get a good workout pushing a double-wide stroller up a hill. There were old men walking with canes, and I saw one young mother helping her four-year old ride his first bicycle with training wheels.
As I walked, I was reminded of an Albert Einstein quote: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." After three periods of bitter cold this winter, it is hard for me not to think about everything being a miracle today, and judging from all the company I had outdoors, I am not the only one seeing miracles.
I saw lots of runners and dog-walkers and almost as many bicyclists. There were lovers holding hands and walking, and a group of junior high school aged girls giggled together. I saw mothers with babes in strollers and watched a man get a good workout pushing a double-wide stroller up a hill. There were old men walking with canes, and I saw one young mother helping her four-year old ride his first bicycle with training wheels.
As I walked, I was reminded of an Albert Einstein quote: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." After three periods of bitter cold this winter, it is hard for me not to think about everything being a miracle today, and judging from all the company I had outdoors, I am not the only one seeing miracles.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Celebrating miracles
This evening at sunset began the eight-day celebration of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights and the Feast of Dedication. The 2013 celebration marks the unusual coincidence of the first day of Hanukkah and the American Thanksgiving holiday. Very unusual. If the rather complicated calculations are accurate, it will be 75,000 years before this coincidence occurs again. Some say it will never occur again. It will surely never happen in our lifetimes.
Hanukkah commemorates a time after war when a small amount of oil--enough for one day--burned for eight. A real miracle. I've written about everyday miracles that we often miss. (Little Miracles, 11/4/2013.) But this is a "big deal" miracle. Every tradition has its stories of miracles. Most of us grew up hearing both secular and religious stories of miracles or almost-unbelievable happenings. They become just that--stories. Often they are discounted or dismissed instead of being treated as lessons in how the world can work.
In The Game Called Life Lizzie keeps saying things are "incredible", a word that means not believable. Her invisible guide Helen says that in the spiritual world they are believable; Lizzie, however, is just learning to understand how the spiritual world works. In that realm all things are possible, and really the spiritual realm is all there is.
In each and everyone of our lives we can think of people who were miraculously healed. Back in the 1950s when cancer treatments were very primitive, my father's cousin was sent to cancer surgery. As they often said in those days, "They opened her up, and when they saw how advanced it was, they just sewed her right up again. They sent her home to die, something that they predicted would happen in 4-6 weeks." She live another 30 years without further treatment.
I met a woman who had gone into the hospital for surgery for the removal of a tumor. She'd been to have an MRI two or three days earlier, which the surgeon would use to make sure he removed all of it during the operation. When he opened her up, the tumor was gone. Not a sign of it. In just a day or two the significant mass had totally disappeared. The surgeon was totally perplexed.
There are other kinds of miracles too. The rains that come in time to save the parched crops of a drought. The woman who musters strength to lift a car from her child. The man who missed the plane that crashed believes that the cop that stopped him, causing him to miss the plane, was a miracle.
On this day on which some people will celebrate Hanukkah, others will mark Thanksgiving, and some will commemorate both, perhaps we should take a moment to really celebrate miracles--and treat them as such. Remembrances of miracles bolster our faith and give us strength and determination when we are tested. And, they leave us keenly aware of the possibility that exists around us in every moment.
Hanukkah commemorates a time after war when a small amount of oil--enough for one day--burned for eight. A real miracle. I've written about everyday miracles that we often miss. (Little Miracles, 11/4/2013.) But this is a "big deal" miracle. Every tradition has its stories of miracles. Most of us grew up hearing both secular and religious stories of miracles or almost-unbelievable happenings. They become just that--stories. Often they are discounted or dismissed instead of being treated as lessons in how the world can work.
In The Game Called Life Lizzie keeps saying things are "incredible", a word that means not believable. Her invisible guide Helen says that in the spiritual world they are believable; Lizzie, however, is just learning to understand how the spiritual world works. In that realm all things are possible, and really the spiritual realm is all there is.
In each and everyone of our lives we can think of people who were miraculously healed. Back in the 1950s when cancer treatments were very primitive, my father's cousin was sent to cancer surgery. As they often said in those days, "They opened her up, and when they saw how advanced it was, they just sewed her right up again. They sent her home to die, something that they predicted would happen in 4-6 weeks." She live another 30 years without further treatment.
I met a woman who had gone into the hospital for surgery for the removal of a tumor. She'd been to have an MRI two or three days earlier, which the surgeon would use to make sure he removed all of it during the operation. When he opened her up, the tumor was gone. Not a sign of it. In just a day or two the significant mass had totally disappeared. The surgeon was totally perplexed.
There are other kinds of miracles too. The rains that come in time to save the parched crops of a drought. The woman who musters strength to lift a car from her child. The man who missed the plane that crashed believes that the cop that stopped him, causing him to miss the plane, was a miracle.
On this day on which some people will celebrate Hanukkah, others will mark Thanksgiving, and some will commemorate both, perhaps we should take a moment to really celebrate miracles--and treat them as such. Remembrances of miracles bolster our faith and give us strength and determination when we are tested. And, they leave us keenly aware of the possibility that exists around us in every moment.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Being led
Yesterday I wrote about some little miracles that happened to me last evening. I wasn't even finished before I was thinking of lots others. I could literally write a book about all of them, but highlights from a pilgrimage a few years ago simply tell the story of what can happen if we just get out of the way and allow ourselves to be led.
In June 1998, I was given very clear guidance about some things that I was supposed to do before fall. I had been in Greece to speak at a conference. On the short flight from Athens to a different meeting on Rhodes, I decided to meditate. With great force strong guidance came to me. In the preceding year, I had written my book Choice Point, and, in retrospect, I felt that following this guidance was my "training." I was going to be asked to do everything I'd written. Just totally surrender and allow myself to be led.
I was told to come back to Greece for a month long pilgrimage, but before I did, I was to travel from my home in North Carolina back to my old home towns in Oregon. I was specifically told to see three aging women, all of whom had been important to me "for they are not long for this world." I was puzzled, but followed as guided.
In July, I headed first to Eugene and then south to Medford and Prospect. I saw all three women, and while it was great to see them, quite frankly, they all seemed fine. At the end of August I left for a month in Greece. I had no itinerary, was told to take no credit cards, and very little cash. I was supposed to listen for guidance. The only guidance I received other than that was to "make my way to Thessaloniki," where I was to ask for the English-speaking priest for additional direction and to take four copies of the book. The guidance continued that it would be clear to me who was to receive them.
It was quite a journey, staying in what was then one of Europe's most expensive tourist destinations with $25/day for room, board, and everything else. Yet at every turn, someone would show up on my path with a place to stay or a good, but inexpensive place to stay or eat. I walked a lot and met remarkable people on the journey. About a week into my journey, I had guidance to call my house sitter. He told me that one of the three woman had been diagnosed with advance stage abdominal cancer and had died in just a few days. The second one would be gone in just a few months. The third began to be consumed by Alzheimer's disease. If I hadn't followed where I was led, I would have missed rich last time with each of them.
I made my way to Thessaloniki where I had an amazing experience with an English-speaking priest. Along the way, I had wonderful connections with people each of which taught me something for my spiritual journey. And, I travelled around the country with my four books for over three weeks. I have to say, I was beginning to have doubts, but everything else had gone so perfectly, that in my heart, I knew I would still be guided. With the first three copies, each time I just knew in the moment when it was the right person to receive a book.
The remarkable part of the "book distribution," however, came the last day of the trip. I was to lunch with a Greek-American business woman with whom I'd become acquainted when speaking at a business conference in the US the year before. That summer there had been a series of one-day strikes, and on my last day in Athens, the train operators were striking. The trains had been my way of getting around. Athens was in gridlock. Between buses and walking, I made my appointment. After lunch, I told her about my remaining book.
Loula was not a timid woman and seemed to know everyone in Athens intimately. She was one of those people who is "in charge," and nothing will get in her way when she is intent upon something. Loula directed me to the senior editor at a Greek women's magazine. She told me that he would be expecting me; however, she warned that the Rolling Stones were playing Athens for the first time in over two decades, and he had tickets. I must go there directly, and, oh, by the way, the publishing house was in a neighboring town outside of Athens. OK. The trains aren't running, and I still have to get my book. This is clearly out of my hands.
Loula walked out on the street where hundreds of people, abandoned by their trains, were fighting for an available taxi. She just walked up to one that was occupied, opened the door, said something to the driver and the other passengers, shoved me in, threw money at the driver, and slammed the door. I have no clue where I am going. My Greek wasn't good enough to communicate, so I just sheepishly slid back on the seat with a timid smile.
In 15 to 20 minutes, the taxi pulled up in front of the hostel where I was staying and let me out. As the button says, "That was easy!" It was about 4:30, and my contact would be leaving the office at 6. The man at the front desk had been very helpful previously about helping me with train connections. I told him what I needed to do. He looked at the clock skeptically, and said, "You know the trains are on strike." I smiled. He whispered, "There is a rumor that the trains will start running again at 5 because the train operators don't want to infuriate all the people who would miss the Stones concert if the trains aren't running." I was about 15 minutes from the station.
Bolting up the steps to my room two at a time, I headed for the book and a fast refresh. I was out the door in just a few minutes. I walked into the station at 4:58. At 5 p.m., the gates opened, and I jumped on the first train. I arrived at the small town where the publishing house was located and found my way about two blocks to the office. I had a lovely interview with the editor who gave me a nice goodie bag, and promptly at 6 p.m., he announced that he needed to leave for the concert.
While I can relate the events that occurred that afternoon in September 1998, I cannot find words to describe the experience. It was literally like being carried on an invisible flow with the ease of any unfolding miracle intent on me getting my book into this man's hands. There was quite literally no effort on my part. I just went where I was led. If any of these transition points hadn't gone perfectly, I wouldn't have had my interview, announcing Leading from the Heart to Greece. It happened with the ease of a miracle. Actually, the whole month in Greece happened with the ease of dozens of miracles.
Einstein once wrote, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." When I get out of the way and allow myself to be led, everything is a miracle.
In June 1998, I was given very clear guidance about some things that I was supposed to do before fall. I had been in Greece to speak at a conference. On the short flight from Athens to a different meeting on Rhodes, I decided to meditate. With great force strong guidance came to me. In the preceding year, I had written my book Choice Point, and, in retrospect, I felt that following this guidance was my "training." I was going to be asked to do everything I'd written. Just totally surrender and allow myself to be led.
I was told to come back to Greece for a month long pilgrimage, but before I did, I was to travel from my home in North Carolina back to my old home towns in Oregon. I was specifically told to see three aging women, all of whom had been important to me "for they are not long for this world." I was puzzled, but followed as guided.
In July, I headed first to Eugene and then south to Medford and Prospect. I saw all three women, and while it was great to see them, quite frankly, they all seemed fine. At the end of August I left for a month in Greece. I had no itinerary, was told to take no credit cards, and very little cash. I was supposed to listen for guidance. The only guidance I received other than that was to "make my way to Thessaloniki," where I was to ask for the English-speaking priest for additional direction and to take four copies of the book. The guidance continued that it would be clear to me who was to receive them.
It was quite a journey, staying in what was then one of Europe's most expensive tourist destinations with $25/day for room, board, and everything else. Yet at every turn, someone would show up on my path with a place to stay or a good, but inexpensive place to stay or eat. I walked a lot and met remarkable people on the journey. About a week into my journey, I had guidance to call my house sitter. He told me that one of the three woman had been diagnosed with advance stage abdominal cancer and had died in just a few days. The second one would be gone in just a few months. The third began to be consumed by Alzheimer's disease. If I hadn't followed where I was led, I would have missed rich last time with each of them.
I made my way to Thessaloniki where I had an amazing experience with an English-speaking priest. Along the way, I had wonderful connections with people each of which taught me something for my spiritual journey. And, I travelled around the country with my four books for over three weeks. I have to say, I was beginning to have doubts, but everything else had gone so perfectly, that in my heart, I knew I would still be guided. With the first three copies, each time I just knew in the moment when it was the right person to receive a book.
The remarkable part of the "book distribution," however, came the last day of the trip. I was to lunch with a Greek-American business woman with whom I'd become acquainted when speaking at a business conference in the US the year before. That summer there had been a series of one-day strikes, and on my last day in Athens, the train operators were striking. The trains had been my way of getting around. Athens was in gridlock. Between buses and walking, I made my appointment. After lunch, I told her about my remaining book.
Loula was not a timid woman and seemed to know everyone in Athens intimately. She was one of those people who is "in charge," and nothing will get in her way when she is intent upon something. Loula directed me to the senior editor at a Greek women's magazine. She told me that he would be expecting me; however, she warned that the Rolling Stones were playing Athens for the first time in over two decades, and he had tickets. I must go there directly, and, oh, by the way, the publishing house was in a neighboring town outside of Athens. OK. The trains aren't running, and I still have to get my book. This is clearly out of my hands.
Loula walked out on the street where hundreds of people, abandoned by their trains, were fighting for an available taxi. She just walked up to one that was occupied, opened the door, said something to the driver and the other passengers, shoved me in, threw money at the driver, and slammed the door. I have no clue where I am going. My Greek wasn't good enough to communicate, so I just sheepishly slid back on the seat with a timid smile.
In 15 to 20 minutes, the taxi pulled up in front of the hostel where I was staying and let me out. As the button says, "That was easy!" It was about 4:30, and my contact would be leaving the office at 6. The man at the front desk had been very helpful previously about helping me with train connections. I told him what I needed to do. He looked at the clock skeptically, and said, "You know the trains are on strike." I smiled. He whispered, "There is a rumor that the trains will start running again at 5 because the train operators don't want to infuriate all the people who would miss the Stones concert if the trains aren't running." I was about 15 minutes from the station.
Bolting up the steps to my room two at a time, I headed for the book and a fast refresh. I was out the door in just a few minutes. I walked into the station at 4:58. At 5 p.m., the gates opened, and I jumped on the first train. I arrived at the small town where the publishing house was located and found my way about two blocks to the office. I had a lovely interview with the editor who gave me a nice goodie bag, and promptly at 6 p.m., he announced that he needed to leave for the concert.
While I can relate the events that occurred that afternoon in September 1998, I cannot find words to describe the experience. It was literally like being carried on an invisible flow with the ease of any unfolding miracle intent on me getting my book into this man's hands. There was quite literally no effort on my part. I just went where I was led. If any of these transition points hadn't gone perfectly, I wouldn't have had my interview, announcing Leading from the Heart to Greece. It happened with the ease of a miracle. Actually, the whole month in Greece happened with the ease of dozens of miracles.
Einstein once wrote, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." When I get out of the way and allow myself to be led, everything is a miracle.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Little Miracles
Sometimes little miracles just show up. Our job is to recognize them. First off, an angel came to my door this evening. Just like that. And she spent almost an hour with me, showing me features of this blog. Thank you, Filiz!
One of the things you will be able to do in the future is to sign up for email notifications when I make a post. Some of you may think you've done so already, but since you weren't receiving them, Filiz helped me troubleshoot. I hadn't set things up right on my end. We think we've accomplished that now. However, you will need to go in and register again at the top of the column on the right.
Filiz also showed me some other features that I will be playing with so you may be noticing some changes in the days ahead.
The other little miracle is my new app that allows me to post from my iPhone. Since I spend quite a bit of time on trains each week, hopefully that means I will have fewer 1 a.m. posts...or not. This is my first post from my phone.
Life is full of little miracles. Most of the time most of us just take them for granted. Yet I find that, when in bring attention to the gifts that come into my life, I am always reminded of the divine preciseness of the Universe in delivering to me just what I need, exactly when I need it.
That may be a good place to pick up tomorrow.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
One of the things you will be able to do in the future is to sign up for email notifications when I make a post. Some of you may think you've done so already, but since you weren't receiving them, Filiz helped me troubleshoot. I hadn't set things up right on my end. We think we've accomplished that now. However, you will need to go in and register again at the top of the column on the right.
Filiz also showed me some other features that I will be playing with so you may be noticing some changes in the days ahead.
The other little miracle is my new app that allows me to post from my iPhone. Since I spend quite a bit of time on trains each week, hopefully that means I will have fewer 1 a.m. posts...or not. This is my first post from my phone.
Life is full of little miracles. Most of the time most of us just take them for granted. Yet I find that, when in bring attention to the gifts that come into my life, I am always reminded of the divine preciseness of the Universe in delivering to me just what I need, exactly when I need it.
That may be a good place to pick up tomorrow.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Seeds of Faith
This is my first full year in my apartment, and I am still planting my balcony garden. Thursday a box full of plants and bulbs was waiting for me when I got home. For me there is something therapeutic about getting my fingers in the soil, so when I embarked on the chore of planting, I did so with much joy.
Fall is a time when I become most consciously aware of faith. As I put out the plants that will grace my home next spring, I do so with a great deal of faith. I trust that if I do my part--plant them right, fertilize, and then water them regularly--they will do their part.
The magic isn't limited to my balcony. In the park behind my home, seeds are or have been dropped and are working their way into the ground to grow roots. Fruits and vegetables left too long in the field have broken open and dispersed their seeds. Wild flowers have gone to seed. The wind has scattered their seeds as well. In something of a mystery, during the winter when the elements seem most inhospitable to fostering life, a magical process of starting life is going on.
This mysterious cycle of life occurs so regularly that it is easy to lose touch with the wonder of what is occurring. In many ways, what occurs in our own spiritual development parallels what happens in nature. Each day as I attempt to grow more whole, whether it be in how I eat or exercise or in my focus on creating heart connections with the clerks in the grocery store.
I take actions each day, not because I expect something will miraculously change in an instant. I take actions in alignment with my intentions for who I am becoming because I have faith that if I do those actions to which I've committed every day, then a few months down the road in what seems like an overnight success, the seeds I've been planting will spring forth in a new me.
Spiritual growth, like planting my garden, is an act of faith. If I act consistently over time, I will grow into a new person, as surely as the tulip bulbs I planted yesterday will blossom in shades of purple and pink. I have faith that I will grow into more wholeness, and by so doing, I will plant seeds for a better world.
Fall is a time when I become most consciously aware of faith. As I put out the plants that will grace my home next spring, I do so with a great deal of faith. I trust that if I do my part--plant them right, fertilize, and then water them regularly--they will do their part.
The magic isn't limited to my balcony. In the park behind my home, seeds are or have been dropped and are working their way into the ground to grow roots. Fruits and vegetables left too long in the field have broken open and dispersed their seeds. Wild flowers have gone to seed. The wind has scattered their seeds as well. In something of a mystery, during the winter when the elements seem most inhospitable to fostering life, a magical process of starting life is going on.
This mysterious cycle of life occurs so regularly that it is easy to lose touch with the wonder of what is occurring. In many ways, what occurs in our own spiritual development parallels what happens in nature. Each day as I attempt to grow more whole, whether it be in how I eat or exercise or in my focus on creating heart connections with the clerks in the grocery store.
I take actions each day, not because I expect something will miraculously change in an instant. I take actions in alignment with my intentions for who I am becoming because I have faith that if I do those actions to which I've committed every day, then a few months down the road in what seems like an overnight success, the seeds I've been planting will spring forth in a new me.
Spiritual growth, like planting my garden, is an act of faith. If I act consistently over time, I will grow into a new person, as surely as the tulip bulbs I planted yesterday will blossom in shades of purple and pink. I have faith that I will grow into more wholeness, and by so doing, I will plant seeds for a better world.
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