Thinking

I must be the most routined woman.  Somehow that just amuses me.

Especially when Fall arrives, Sunday evenings nearly always end the same.  Often just as they began.

Candles lit, dog fed, cozy red sofa.  What will I do when someday this red lovely sofa is no longer?

Reflecting on the day, the week, what was said.  What was left unsaid. What needs confessing. And what to hug tight.

This last week, these last few days …I took a risk.

It’s such a risk to show who we are. It feels risky. That strange vulnerability of saying the truth.  Being the woman I am. Oddities and all.

But aren’t we all a bit of odd, some tender concoction of brave and scared?

We cross the threshold when we are brave enough to yank the shades off the windows.  Yes, you get to look in.  There I am, for all to see.

My world, my circle, met me with lovely. Love-filled lovely. And I am so grateful tonight.  My tears met with tears.  My heart met with gentle hugs. God shown in the arms of my friends.

I remember visiting an AA group for the first time, in support of someone I adore.  And I was absolutely floored by what I saw and heard,

Church should really be like an AA meeting.  AA meetings are incredibly, utterly transparent.  Zero judgement, total truth, broken people looking for healing

Nothing held back.  Seeing their experiences in the light of another’s being made well.

Incredible beauty, this transparency.

This safety of honesty.

May it be so in my life.

 

If you could see what I see…

Maybe it’s the bringing in of Fall. Maybe its the leaves beginning to die with a last burst of color. Or Maybe it’s a mama missing her baby girl.

Maybe it’s the bringing in of fall. Maybe its the leaves beginning to die with a last burst of color. Or Maybe it’s a mama missing her baby girl.

But there are tears.  Today, yesterday, waking up with them, drifting off to sleep with them.

It’s true that I cry…I need to cry.  Crying validates me being alive.  A nod to my feelings, an acknowledgement of life here.

In the tears I wonder if she knows that she’s beautiful.

Every girl , young and old, has to face her own reflection. Does she twirl around, stare it down? What’s the mirror going to say?

Is that your best?, says the mirror to the mess

But Can she hear the whisper?  Has anybody told you that you’re beautiful? You might agree if you could see what I see.

Cuz everything about you is incredible.  You should have seen the smile on  the day I made you.

She is so beautiful.  She is so.  Beautiful.

Thank you Nichole Nordemann. My blurry tears were ignited because of your beautiful song.