"Never before. Then, three times in a week. It made me wonder what kind of message the scene might hold. I prayed about it. I meditated on it. And this was the revelation..."
This is a beautiful reflection. Your writings about your faith have helped me deepen and understand my relationship with God. I think I connect to your writing because of the similarity in how I was brought up in religion and how that left an emptiness and a disconnect in a loving relationship with God. Thank you for the honesty you share in your writing because it led me to seek more true understanding of God's love for me. The chorus to Laura Daigle's song "Losing My Religion" summarizes this well:
Nothing could make me happier than to hear this, Karen. And thank you for the Lauren Daigle recommendation. Somehow, I missed that track on that album. It's wonderful!
Thank you Kelly. Lots of sympathetic vibrations for me in this post. For me, as I grow older, there is the paradox of feeling hollow and whole at the same time. At 61 I am still, in small increments, detaching from what I thought made up the sum total of me. My role as a pastor... my education... the warehouse of my experiences... all of that, and more, seems to bounce off of the challenges around me and within me. I don't feel hollow because I am empty. I feel hollow because I reach for that idea... that perspective or truth that was always there, only to find that it is out of stock and no one is placing an order for it anyway. I feel whole, because, in small increments, I am embracing how small I am. It's why I feel so alive at the edge of the ocean. Like I nestled next to a grain of sand... content to be near the vast beauty and majesty of the sea. So happy to just be a grain of sand.
Taking this with me today, thank you. "I don't feel hollow because I am empty. I feel hollow because I reach for that idea... that perspective or truth that was always there, only to find that it is out of stock and no one is placing an order for it anyway."
I'm taking it with me, too. Thank you, Carlos. Hollow but whole. So beautiful. It dovetails with an awareness I had this weekend. I've always loved broken down old buildings. Couldn't figure out why. Now I realize it's because they illuminate how impermanent everything is, how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Like standing next to the ocean. Grateful to be a grain of sand next to you, my friend.
This is beautiful. I've always thought of today - the Easter Vigil - as the most liminal of liminal spaces. I also was struck by the fact that you experienced the glow of those leaves three times within a week. I agree with you, as a 52-year-old - that this second half of life is when we grow most beautiful and also, if we're doing it right, when we learn to trust and let go. Thank you - such a poignant reminder. Keep writing!!!
I desire a glowing, a resurrected energy deeper into the flow: ready, waiting, expectant, aglow with all the possibilities of having just let go and now embracing the flow
Isn't amazing, Heather, how the ego is horrified at the possibility you so beautifully described above, but the rest of us longs for it? Ah, the never-ending tango of the two!
This is a beautiful reflection. Your writings about your faith have helped me deepen and understand my relationship with God. I think I connect to your writing because of the similarity in how I was brought up in religion and how that left an emptiness and a disconnect in a loving relationship with God. Thank you for the honesty you share in your writing because it led me to seek more true understanding of God's love for me. The chorus to Laura Daigle's song "Losing My Religion" summarizes this well:
"...
I'm losing my religion
To find You
I'm losing my religion
In finding something new
'Cause I need something different
And different looks like You
..."
Nothing could make me happier than to hear this, Karen. And thank you for the Lauren Daigle recommendation. Somehow, I missed that track on that album. It's wonderful!
Thank you Kelly. Lots of sympathetic vibrations for me in this post. For me, as I grow older, there is the paradox of feeling hollow and whole at the same time. At 61 I am still, in small increments, detaching from what I thought made up the sum total of me. My role as a pastor... my education... the warehouse of my experiences... all of that, and more, seems to bounce off of the challenges around me and within me. I don't feel hollow because I am empty. I feel hollow because I reach for that idea... that perspective or truth that was always there, only to find that it is out of stock and no one is placing an order for it anyway. I feel whole, because, in small increments, I am embracing how small I am. It's why I feel so alive at the edge of the ocean. Like I nestled next to a grain of sand... content to be near the vast beauty and majesty of the sea. So happy to just be a grain of sand.
Taking this with me today, thank you. "I don't feel hollow because I am empty. I feel hollow because I reach for that idea... that perspective or truth that was always there, only to find that it is out of stock and no one is placing an order for it anyway."
I'm taking it with me, too. Thank you, Carlos. Hollow but whole. So beautiful. It dovetails with an awareness I had this weekend. I've always loved broken down old buildings. Couldn't figure out why. Now I realize it's because they illuminate how impermanent everything is, how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Like standing next to the ocean. Grateful to be a grain of sand next to you, my friend.
"We grow most beautiful in this second half of life." I very much needed to hear that today. Thank you, Kelly.
So glad to get to join you in this second half! :)
Haha, I’m way ahead of you but glad to have you along!
This is beautiful. I've always thought of today - the Easter Vigil - as the most liminal of liminal spaces. I also was struck by the fact that you experienced the glow of those leaves three times within a week. I agree with you, as a 52-year-old - that this second half of life is when we grow most beautiful and also, if we're doing it right, when we learn to trust and let go. Thank you - such a poignant reminder. Keep writing!!!
I'm glad this resonated with you, Katie. Thank you for reading and thank you for your encouragement to continue writing!
I desire a glowing, a resurrected energy deeper into the flow: ready, waiting, expectant, aglow with all the possibilities of having just let go and now embracing the flow
Isn't amazing, Heather, how the ego is horrified at the possibility you so beautifully described above, but the rest of us longs for it? Ah, the never-ending tango of the two!