Wordless Wednesday - Nikita Loves Yogurt

How I Got Into College

I was so clueless as a senior in high school. All of my friends were gearing up for college, and getting early acceptance letters to Texas A&M, UT Austin, Texas Tech, Baylor, or any of the other Texas schools.

Not me.

I had to get out. I was absolutely clueless, though. All of my friends had taken the SAT months before, and here it was—November of my senior year in high school, and I was forced to sign up for the latest date the SAT was offered.

On top of that, my parents wouldn’t let me take an SAT prep course. They wouldn’t even let me buy an SAT prep book—because after all, they thought the SAT was meant to test my actual abilities, and any prep course or book I used would unnaturally “enhance” my scores.

Of course it would, and that was the whole point. But my parents didn’t like the sound of that. So, in December of 1992, I walked into the SAT test classroom, cold. I had no idea what would be on the test—I didn’t even know the format.

I opened the test and immediately thought I was screwed. I finished each section of the test before a lot of others in the room did. I found myself going back over my answers, questioning what I’d chosen on some questions. Sometimes I’d change the answer and other times I didn’t. I was frustrated and anxious. I wanted out of that room as fast as possible. 

And then, just like that—the test was over.

All I could do was wait. I knew I had done poorly. I figured I would easily get in to A&M, but I wanted something different. I wanted to go out of state. I looked at my sister and the life she had chosen, and I knew that didn't feel right for me. I looked at my parents, at the life they’d chosen, and I knew that wasn't the right fit for me, either. 

I had no clue what I wanted, but I knew I was different and would have to find my own way.

I got my test results a few weeks later, and sure enough—I had done pretty poorly. I was fortunate to at least break 1000, but I knew this would make it tough for me to get into any school, especially out of state.

Still clueless, I strolled college hall—the hall of my high school where all the college posters resided. I grabbed a card from each poster, mailed them all in, and waited.

Brochures and packets peppered the mailbox daily. I had several tall stacks of brochures when it was all said and done. I read through all of them, and I narrowed my choices down to three: Marquette, Tulane, and Vanderbilt.

I don’t even remember why at this point. I guess I thought Marquette’s English program sounded good, and I have no clue why I selected Tulane—probably because I knew it was a good school. And Vandy? Well, I certainly had no idea it was a Top 20 university. I chose Vanderbilt because of the Blair School of Music. It was growing, so I knew they’d be more likely to admit someone with lower test scores (even though I had straight A’s in high school) because they wanted to grow the program exponentially over the next couple of years.

And I thought to myself… music school. Perhaps I could be the next Van Cliburn. The next Horowitz. I could be a concert pianist.

I talked to my piano teacher at length to help me make this decision. I could only apply to one school, because my grandmother could only afford to give me the money for one application fee. So I had to choose carefully.

I probed Mrs. Hansen about my chances for getting a repertoire ready for audition by the end of February. I had to play pieces from the four different genres—Baroque, Romantic, Classical, and Contemporary. We took up an entire lesson time going over the requirements and what pieces I could use for the audition. I was already in preparation for the Lois Boyer competition: a competition that only high school seniors are allowed to enter, and you have to play 30 minutes of music representing the four genres. So… I already had music picked out for that, it was just a matter of accelerating my ready time by three months.

My piano teacher knew me quite well. She’d taught me since third grade, and she knew what drove me, she knew my favorite composers, she knew my discipline issues.

Mrs. Hansen also knew that I could pull a performance out of my ass like none of her other students could. At the end of our conversation, we had set out a plan for how I was going to prepare myself for my February 20th audition.

I had two months. Two months to prepare about 30 minutes worth of music: to learn, memorize, and perfect my entire program.

I left Mrs. Hansen’s house filled with absolute determination. Up to that point I had never worked so hard for anything in my life. I was driven by the notion of getting out of Texas and away from everything and everyone. I wanted to start over. I wanted a clean slate.

The idea crept into my mind that I could actually pull it off. I gained more confidence as the days passed and I learned my music better than I’d ever thought possible. My progress was excellent. I practiced at least two hours every single day—and for a high school senior with a very strong case of senioritis, this was a pretty amazing feat.

The time came for my trip to Nashville for the audition. Everything inside of me seemed to be colliding all at once, and the adrenaline was pumping in overdrive. My skin felt like a loose shell that might explode and expose all of my uncertainties at any given moment.

My mom and I arrived at the Blair School of Music. I was ushered to one of the professor’s studios to warm up. I couldn’t get over what I saw—a room twice as big as my bedroom, with windows and two grand pianos. Two! I could hardly believe it.

I sat down and started warming up. A wave of confidence and subsequent calm washed over me and formed a protective shell around me.

I warmed up. I went over some potential trouble spots in my music.

Then, I sat and stared out the window, fighting back tears. I had already fallen in love with the campus. I fell into a daydream about starting my life here and never turning back.

Then, a knock on the door—a messenger, letting me know it was time.

The nerves and sweaty palms instantly take me over as I’m writing this. It was the most important audition, the most important performance, of my entire young life.

I quietly stood while the judges (all professors) introduced themselves to me. There were four: two men, two women. I immediately forgot their names. I made my way to the auditorium’s stage. I carefully adjusted the bench to the appropriate height.

And I sat, hands in my lap, thinking about my first piece. I closed my eyes. I tried to forget about the four judges in the back of the room.

I opened my eyes and the lights focusing on me nearly blinded me. I could already feel myself sweating under their heat. And my hands were sweaty.

None of this fazed me.

I took a deep breath, rubbed my hands against my dress, and placed them on the keys.

I played.

The magic that poured out of my fingers and into that room still amazes me to this day. I had never performed so well and with so few mistakes. I wish my whole family could have been there to hear that performance. I wish my friends could have heard the expression from deep within my soul, finding its way to ivory keys, hammers, strings, and finally—the emotion bursting into the air, embracing the judges and taking them on my journey.

A journey filled with pain I had yet to realize, a journey filled with anger deeply seated in my heart, a journey filled with promise and desire and passion.

My journey.

I nailed every piece but one, and even in that one, I only had a couple of small “bobbles” as Mrs. Hansen always called them.

But I’m convinced the piece that won over the judges was Toccata by Jack Hawes (Disclaimer: that's not me in the video. I figured you knew that, but just in case...). None of them had ever heard it before, and I played it absolutely brilliantly. I was in my comfort zone by the time I got to that piece, and I literally flew through it. I played it faster than I’d ever played it before, and my fingers found their home on those keys. I surprised myself with my performance on this piece.

I never wanted that performance to end. My favorite part of playing piano was performing. I loved to show off. I loved showing off my ability, my dexterity, my emotional expression, my posture, my hand position—everything. I loved performing.

When those moments were over, I sat on the bench for a pregnant moment before giving the room one last glance from the stage and making my exit. The judges thanked me for coming, and I strolled out of the auditorium feeling myself walking tall, with a big goofy grin on my face.

I knew I’d done well.

I knew I’d get in.

And, three weeks later, I got that letter in the mail. 

The letter that changed my life.

From Suspicion to Surrender

When I’m in a really good place, I try to relish it because I feel like it means I’m in a glorious resting period—that peace and calm that comes just before I am stretched again by the next storm of my life.

But that’s really just a sugar-coated way of saying that I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And that makes life black and white— either good or bad. And life isn’t like that. It just doesn’t work that way. Life is full of gray area. Life is full of color, too, and to siphon living into black or white is so limiting… so small.

And I don’t want to live like that anymore, where I’m waiting for the next bad thing to happen because—after all—it’s bound to.

That’s not living in the moment. In fact, it’s anything but. It’s like sleeping with one eye open, or with a gun under my pillow.

I end up feeling a little suspicious of every good thing that happens to me, as if I don’t really deserve good things, or as if bad things are my penance for living a good life.

That means I’m just limping through life… or worse—Army-crawling on all fours, under imaginary barbed wire, across imaginary enemy lines.

I make things harder than they have to be, and harder than they actually are, all because I'm trying to stay in control. Always suspicious, always on guard, always considering and calculating who’s going to wrong me next, or what awful thing is going to happen next, or what my next move will be—

Instead of letting go, living in the moment, and standing tall through those moments when life is really hard.

I should note that I’m so much better about living in the moment than I used to be.

I slip up, though. And, still, whenever something deeply wonder-full comes my way, that question hangs in the back of my mind:

Shit. What’s next?

A slight sense of dread, clouding beautiful moments in my life. How ugly… how utterly sad.

The beauty of constant growth is—now that I am aware, I have something pretty specific to work on.

Apparently my current, ongoing mission is to let go of control.

There’s a word for that, ya know. I’ve mentioned it very recently and alluded to just how difficult it is for me to do.

Yup…

Surrender.

Wordless Wednesday - Then and Now

Minus 72 pounds...

A Post About Surrender, Spirituality, and My Very Personal Journey

This got long! I am not trying to impose my views, feelings, or spirituality on anyone else with this post. All I am doing is sharing my personal experience, and I decided to be very open. If you do take the time to read all of it, that already means a lot to me! Regardless, thank you for stopping by.

I grew up attending a Presbyterian church. I could probably write an entire book about my church experience, but the most important things to note were that none of my questions were answered, and it felt like no one cared a whole heck of a lot about that.

I am very literal in that regard. If I need to know the ‘why’, then I need to know it, and I can sometimes get stuck on that ‘why’, unable to move forward.

So, when I raised my hand in Sunday School asking for clarification about the Bible stories, and how we knew Jesus was real, and all of those other big questions that kids can sometimes throw out there, taking adults off-guard every time… I didn’t get real answers. I got nebulous answers like, “Faith” and “It’s about learning how to be a good person” and other answers that made no sense to my non-abstract-thinking child mind.

As I got older, I got wrapped around the “facts” presented in the Bible—all the inconsistencies, idiosyncrasies, contradictions, and all that was ultimately left unsaid. It all led up to me going through the motions of attending church. I sat, I listened, I tried to get something out of it, and often, I left feeling just as confused as I was when I walked in the door.

I certainly didn’t feel a personal connection to God, or that God even understood me, if God was even real.

It didn’t help that I attended one of the biggest churches in the area, and the politics in the church dictated that those with more wealth (to give to the church, of course) were treated like royalty, and we Average Joes were treated like the politicians of America treat middle-class folks.

In other words, we weren’t exactly ignored, because at least two of my family members were useful, until, one day, they were no longer useful, at which point—they were ignored.

I felt confused and frustrated. I had so many questions, and I didn’t understand Jesus or most of the lessons I’d spent my entire childhood and adolescence attempting to learn.

At some point, I turned my back on God.

I wrote off Christianity as a religion that was fine for other folks, but I just didn’t get it, and so it wasn’t fine for me.

In college, and for most of my young adult life, I didn’t give much thought to God. I knew that when I needed to feel centered, I went to nature. In college, I went to a nearby lakes or campgrounds in Tennessee. It’s beautiful countryside there, and it was easy to connect with Earth. It did help keep me grounded.

I also had a close friend who was Jewish, and her family took me under their wing and invited me to all of the traditional Jewish celebrations and rituals. I grew quite attached to Judaism and at one point considered converting. But I realized that while the Jews I encountered were deeply invested in their rituals and gleaned great meaning from them, I still had all these unanswered questions based on the Bible and the teachings within. Ultimately, I knew Judaism wasn’t for me, either.

I also studied Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism, searching for something deeper. None of those took, either, although I began to realize they all had common principles, and that gave me some comfort.

When I lived near Boston, I found myself driving up to the coast of Maine on a regular basis, to walk along the beach collecting shells, or sand dollars, or to sit on my bench in Kennebunkport, but again—God was really nowhere in my life.

Over time—especially after attending Pathways, and seeing miracles happen before my eyes, I felt myself creepy-crawling closer to this concept of God. I found myself feeling more open to the idea of God, but I wasn't really sure how to get a real connection to God.

I tried what most people try: I studied lots of theologies (although, I tired of that quickly, since I’m not a details person), I prayed more—which I labeled as “talking to God”, and I did become more open to visiting places where some sort of spiritual growth is fostered.

It really didn’t help me feel more connected to God, though. Something was missing, and I couldn’t tell what it was. I knew I didn’t have the type of closeness to God that some people in my life had—their connection was actually visible, almost tangible.

I knew I wanted that kind of faith, but I wasn’t sure how to make that leap.

Even more nebulous than that, though—I didn’t have a real concept of what or who I felt God really is. I didn't see God as this fatherly figure with a beard and old faded robes.

I decided to do something to try and deepen my connection to God. In December 2009, I reluctantly signed up to do the Step Beyond training through Pathways.

I had all kinds of judgments about the training. I assumed that because many of the people who did the training were Christian, there wouldn’t be much there for me. I decided that I would just go and see what it was all about.

Boy, was I in for it.

That training changed me… I owe it a separate post (which is now here), but I realized that what I really needed and wanted was God in my heart. And finally, I let Him in.

I realized that I didn’t have to share anyone else’s view of who or what God is: the important thing was taking that leap, of allowing a force outside of myself to come inside and change me from the inside out.

From that moment on… my life changed.

I started talking less, and listening more.

My own little miracle happened. I started getting messages from God. Maybe it was my own voice, maybe it was my conscience—maybe there is some other explanation for what I have heard over the past year and a half.

But I do know that if I hadn’t heard that voice, with those comforting words, or if I hadn’t heard what was being requested of me and I in turn obeyed… I wouldn’t be in nearly as good of a place as I am in on this day. I wouldn't be who I am in this moment.

For the first time, I learned what it was like to follow. To submit to something greater than me and accept my path was altogether terrifying and freeing.

I began to realize that I don't have to live perfectly, to live fully.

But, still, there was this Jesus issue.

I refused to accept Jesus as God’s only begotten son, who died for us on the cross. I figured that Jesus just wasn’t for me. I couldn’t make that leap of faith in my heart—the huge abyss between Jesus as an Important Prophet™ to… The Messiah—it was just lost on me.

And I accepted that.

(Funny how God works, though. For someone like me, it had to be one step at a time, and just allowing the presence of the Divine into my heart was a big enough leap for me at that point.)

My best friend has been a bright light in my life, and she has helped me understand what it really means to be a Christian. She helped me learn to not judge all Christians, to not shut out all Christians just because of the bad apples who wear religion like some pedestal to stand upon and use as a way to live “above” others.

And she, more than anyone, has witnessed (with great amazement and bemusement, might I add) how God has pursued me over the course of our friendship, but especially in the last 18 months.

Over the past several months, a few friends and I have been visiting various churches around the area, trying to find one that fits the best.

The one we keep going back to is Northaven United Methodist. And, while I’d like to hear more modern music and see fewer robes, all in hopes of attracting more younger adults... there is also something comforting about singing hymns I used to sing as a little girl, too.

So, this morning, when I woke up before my alarm went off, I realized that even though my friends wouldn’t be there, I was apparently going to church. I wasn’t even sure what compelled me to get out of bed on my one lazy weekend out of a long string of very full weekends.

I wasn’t sure, but I felt pretty strongly that I needed to be there. It almost felt like I had a hand at the small of my back, pushing me out the door.

Lord of The Dance was part of the gathering music. It’s a song I used to sing when I went to Christian camp as a kid, and it made me smile, hearing it again.

Then, we sang the opening hymn, Christ the Lord is Risen Today… Alleluia.

And, as is often the case at Northaven, where I feel a sense of comfort, light, and acceptance, I felt my eyes welling up as tears streamed down my face.

Even through all of the religious and political dogma of the church I grew up attending, something managed to sink in. Some things—mostly the music—still offer me great peace and comfort when I least expect it and most need it, and this morning was no different.

I almost lost myself, but I hung on and clung to what little bit of composure I had… and then the liturgy started.

I had to stop reading when we came to this part: “We live in a world where our best efforts at order and control often end in entropy and chaos.”

Order and control to entropy and chaos.

Indeed…

These words resonated so deeply in my soul that I felt a stirring I didn’t yet understand.

I realized that I’ve spent the last months staking a claim on my life and trying to assert control. Control of myself, of my life, of my actions, of my very day… and at times, it’s felt like I’ve been white-knuckling it, trying to live so “right” or to do it so “perfectly” (whatever that means) because I’ve felt so wrong for so long that anything I could do to steer it “right” was better than the alternative.

Surrender?

What’s that??

Really, I’m only beginning to learn what that means, and how valuable it is.

I got a crash-course in surrender about a minute later.

I was sitting on the end of a row, watching the children bring flowers to the front of the sanctuary to place upon the cross, still with tears streaming down my face, still not really getting what was going on in my heart.

Ok, here’s the crazy part. Brace yourself…

And then, there was Jesus, sitting on the concrete steps next to me.

He turned to look up at me and simply said, “Do ya get me now, child?”

I found myself nodding through my tears.

I sat in awe. Jesus was sitting right there, beside me. We just sat together in silence, quietly enjoying the service. Everyone else in the sanctuary faded into a woven blanket of people, and Jesus and I were the only individuals.

When the gospel was read—John 20: 1-18, about Mary Magdalene coming to the tomb to find it empty, and Jesus standing before her… it was as if I was hearing those words for the very first time.

They sank into my heart like sweet music, and I realized that I truly was hearing those words for the first time. No matter that I’d heard them and read them dozens of times before during my adolescence—it was like drinking ice cold water after walking through a lifetime of desert.

When Pastor Eric began the sermon, I kept on crying. It’s as if his words were just for me. He spoke of theology and science—which I was quite literally thinking about last night—and how it was the theologians and the scientists who drove the eventual creation of Fundamentalists and Atheists, because everyone was so wrapped around the axle about ironing out the facts, and answering those questions!

And while Fundamentalists thump on the Bible as a literal record of history… Atheists can easily shrug that off and say, “No way!” and list a thousand logical ways to disprove those words.

Was the earth created in six literal days? Well, Fundamentalists and Atheists (and plenty of in-between folks) like to argue it out.

The truth is—it happened. Somehow, the earth was created, and here we are.

Did it happen exactly the way it’s told in the Bible?

Maybe.

But the truth transcends the details.

The truth is, it’s beyond our understanding.

God is beyond our understanding.

If we could really understand God, then we wouldn't need real spirituality. God wouldn’t be God, only an idol we created in our own image.

Thank God. He gave us stories to help us understand a little. He gave us stories to give us life lessons. And He gave us the deepest truth, which cannot really be explained. But, that truth gives us faith.

The service closed with the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus, which I’ve sung so many times that I don’t need any music for it.

And then, the organist played my very favorite organ piece, which I never get to hear anymore (never say never, I guess!)… Toccata from Symphony for Organ No. 5 by Charles-Marie Widor. I’ve never felt so much joy at the end of a church service as I did today… it felt so personal, like God was speaking just to me.

My soul is full and my cup runneth over. I am born anew today—the gift of new life unexpectedly bestowed upon my heart. Words really cannot express the truth inside of me, but I feel it.

New life may not happen in the way we want it to or the way it “ought” to, or the way we think it should. New life often takes us by surprise, and today—I was taken by the surprise of a lifetime.

Did the resurrection really happen?

Maybe.

But it is truth.

And today, it became my truth.

Today—Easter Sunday—I became a believer.

“All of your pain and suffering comes from your resistance to what is.” – Dick Sutphen (summing up the teachings of Buddha)

Yes, indeed. And by trying to control my own connection with God, and by trying to keep Jesus out, when He so badly wanted in… one might say I have been quite imperfect at living spiritually.

I don’t have to have all the answers. All of my questions won’t be answered for some time, and certainly not during this life.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my life, imperfectly, and live with surrender in my heart and God in my soul.

And with Jesus… my own Savior.

Life aches to be beautiful. All I have to do is allow it…

The Power of Vulnerability

First, from the Tao:
To be whole, let yourself break.
To be straight, let yourself bend.
To be full, let yourself be empty.
To be new, let yourself wear out.
To have everything, give everything up.


Knowing others is a kind of knowledge;
knowing yourself is wisdom.
Conquering others requires strength;
conquering yourself is true power.
To realize that you have enough is true wealth.


Pushing ahead may succeed,
but staying put brings endurance.
Die without perishing, and find the eternal.
To know that you do not know is strength.
Not knowing that you do not know is a sickness.
The cure begins with the recognition of the sickness.


Knowing what is permanent: enlightenment.
Not knowing what is permanent: disaster.
Knowing what is permanent opens the mind.
Open mind, open heart.
Open heart, magnanimity.


Second, from Brené Brown:
(You might see the length and think, "Nevermind. Not worth it." I PROMISE you, watching this video IS worth 20 minutes of your time. You absolutely will not regret it!)

The original definition of courage: To tell the story of who you are with your whole heart.

(By the way, her talk is essentially the core of what Pathways offers: learning how to believe that you are enough. You can read more about my own Pathways journey, and visit their website and go to "Events" to see what kind of trainings they offer.)

And lastly, from me:

I am finding that life makes a lot more sense when I'm not in constant struggle with my ego vs. the direction I am being led in, if only I surrender and sit still long enough to heed the path to which the Divine is guiding me.

I am authentically, beautifully and imperfectly living daily with courage, compassion, and vulnerability.

(Psst. Clearance sale on my jewelry. Enter code CLEARANCE1 at check-out to receive a whopping 25% off your entire purchase!)

Yoga: A Transformational Revelation

I’m in a constant state of soreness these days.

But, it’s a good kind of sore.

On Saturday, I went to a class that was entirely foreign to me. My therapist had actually urged me to go. She had talked about this class a couple of times before, but I managed to conveniently forget about it every time I walked out her door.

Last Thursday, I was in a very bad head space. I was stressed out about a lot of things and a lot of self-defeating tapes were on replay in my head. On the way to work, my phone rang, and it was my therapist.

Sometimes, when you’re in a bad head space, a phone call can feel like a lifeline. And that’s exactly what it felt like last Thursday—her phone call felt like a beam of light coming straight down from the heavens.

She was calling to give me details on the class, happening on Saturday.

I knew it was unavoidable this time.

I dreaded it… but I knew I had to go.

I’m not sure why I dreaded it so much. I guess it was just the fear of doing it wrong or making a fool of myself, or maybe it was just apprehension that it was going to be some hippy-dippy silliness that wouldn’t make sense to me (and, wow, how many judgments are wrapped up in that? Yeah… LOTS).

On Saturday afternoon, though, my fear subsided. I realized that I was falling back into the fear trap, which is a trap I had been stuck in for years, causing high anxiety over lots of things, like decisions I had to make, things I needed to do, and situations that were inevitably out of my control.

I’ve only recently re-discovered the fearlessness I felt as a little girl. So, once I realized what I was doing, I smiled, knowing that there were bigger issues to worry about than going to the Movement Montage class.

I felt awkward at first, because the instructor, Liz Tucker, started out with some Yoga poses. I’d never done Yoga before. I was clueless!

What if I do it wrong? What if I break something? What if—

Just breathe.

Just do it.

I took a deep breath, looked around and saw what others were doing, and I copied.

The second part was Ecstatic Dance. By the time Liz transitioned us to dancing, I was open, warm, and ready. I moved my body in every way I wanted to, and in every way it called me to move it. She played a couple of songs that have always touched me deeply for various reasons, and I felt a beautiful release. I also got a hell of a workout!

At the end, I felt more relaxed, open, warm, and calm than I’ve felt in years. It was absolutely blissful, and I can't wait to do it again.

Ever since Saturday, I’ve been obsessed with Yoga (not to mention dancing around in my living room like a wild thing). A couple of the poses Liz walked us through really inspired and moved me deeply.

I felt the beginnings of a magical awakening when we did child’s pose and pigeon pose. We did pigeon sitting upright as well as folded over, with some cool stretching movements to transition between the up and down parts.

I recognized the beauty of pigeon right away. I was struggling to keep my balance, with the muscles flexed and rigid in my folded leg. I didn’t even realize what my body was doing, but, for just an instant—my leg muscles relaxed.

And when I just let the leg be there, folded up under me like that… I felt a physical release and stretch and openness in my hips that I had never experienced. I had no idea how much I was holding in my hips, and how tight and heavy they had become. It was more transformative for me than I can possibly articulate here, but this pose is one my body has begged me to do every day since.

I have indulged, of course.

Child’s pose was very relaxing when I did it in the class, but since then, it’s become sacred. I had a breakthrough on Sunday evening, when I found myself in child’s pose on my living room floor. I stayed there for a few moments, trying different modifications of the position with my arms, head, and back, and I landed back in child’s pose with wide-spread knees, and my arms extended forward. I pressed my forehead into the carpet, and it hit me that this pose is much like a prayer pose.

And then I started crying.

I cried into the carpet for several minutes, feeling my connection to the Earth, as well as my own inner light, and feeling God in my heart in that moment.

And I prayed. I prayed about a difficult situation I was handling, and I asked questions, and then I went silent. I continued to lie there in child’s pose until I felt like moving. I have no idea how much time passed. I got up and went about finishing the laundry, and the answer I longed for came to me:

“You keep doing what you’re doing. Keep taking care of yourself, keep working on yourself, keep growing, as you already are. Let me handle them.”

The relief washed over me as I received that beautiful reminder. I don’t have to be in control of anyone or anything but me.

I have fallen in love with Yoga. I don’t know why I put off trying it for so long, but I think it had something to do with the fears I mentioned earlier.

No more fear! 

I can’t afford to go to classes all the time right now, but luckily for me, there is a wealth of knowledge available for free on the internet. And, I’ve figured out a way to get the lighting just right at home to see myself in a window, to check my positioning. For now, that will have to do.

This, I can tell, will be absolutely transformative for me. It’s already changing me, changing my body, my mind, and my attitude, and I’m only five days into it.

I look forward to tonight, so I can learn more poses.

If you practice Yoga… what’s your favorite pose?

On Extending Grace

I heard this yesterday, as part of a liturgy from a congregation to new church members:

"We will not act as though you have to earn your way in."

Beautiful... it touched my heart in a significant way regarding a situation I’m currently going through, that I am not at liberty to talk about here, but this got me thinking…

How hard do you make it for people to earn their way into your company, your organization, your circle of friends, your family, your life, your heart?

What if grace came first, followed closely by support and trust?

How judgmental are you of the actions, attitudes, emotions, situations, history, and words of others?

How would it feel to engage the world with more grace, more love, more openness?

These are things that a single statement made me think about. I have come to realize that I’ve been judgmental of a close friend of mine, for some mistakes and bad choices he has made in the past. I’ve been working hard to make him earn his way back into my life, and it hit me yesterday that he deserves my grace.

I’ve screwed up, I’ve made mistakes, I’ve done a bad job at some things, but that doesn’t make me a bad person, a bad woman, a bad volunteer, a bad employee, a bad human.

It just means I am not a robot, and I don’t have it all figured out, and that’s kind of what living is all about, isn’t it?

So, I ask you… on this, Martin Luther King, Jr. day of celebration and reflection: where can you extend more grace?

Who do you feel least deserves grace?

Chances are, that’s the person who needs it most.