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Life's Little Lessons

"If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud." – Emile Zola

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present

Stay Present

I think it’s good to look forward to things, to have something on the horizon that is kind of out there but within our sight and reach. I think sometimes that’s why we plan vacations, not to necessarily escape our regular-every-day- lives but to fully live them.

Not only is it wise to do so, it is needed.

I realize now, all the big trips I’ve ever been on have been planned by someone otheer than myself. When I was in direct sales, I received the itinerary months prior to the departure date for the free trip I earned and just showed up wide-eyed and ready to adventure. As a family, we headed to Rehoboth Beach each summer with extended family, which was booked by my mother and basically was like winning the lottery because Grandma’s afford tired mothers the ability to sleep past the butt crack of dawn.

I truly have been a kept woman when it comes to vacation planning.

But as life does, life changed.

So a couple of weeks ago, after months of talking about it, I woke up and called my mother’s travel agent. “Hi Joyce. This is August. Cindy’s daughter. I want to book a cruise for myself and three kids. I want to go in July and I want to leave from Baltimore. What do you have?”

Within five-minutes I was booked and in July, the kids and I will make a five-night jaunt to Bermuda a reality. The experience of booking and subsequently paying (a sobering experience) has been incredibly empowering. I saw my horizon and I knew what I wanted and since I am not fond of details, I’m grateful that other people are and know how to get me where I want to go.

I feel like such an adult.

Besides learning how to be my age, I especially love to travel. I love to explore and make new discoveries. I enjoy meeting interesting people and having new experiences and through it, am able to see, hear and taste different cultures and ways of living. It broadens my horizon and my persepctive…which is an adult thing to do.

But every time I get away, no matter how far I go or how much fun I have, it’s always good to go Home.

I use the example of physically going to a destination as a metaphor of what many of us do in everyday life, but instead of traveling TO somewhere physically, we use our thought-life as the vehicle that whisks us away. We dream about that perfect destination and what life would be like if we could just get there…

We day-dream and jaunt in and out of our present day reality to places in our future. We do it with relationships, the jobs that we have, the houses we live in, the cars that we drive and the clothes that we wear. We attempt to escape our present day sufferings by longing to trade in our current life for another. We romanticize how if we could just inch towards…

Our life would be better. More complete. Somehow different. But often times, that little visit riddle’s us with anxiety, stress, worry and fear. “How in the hell am I going to get there?” That thought steals our current moment, propelling us to figure the future out. We get ahead of ourselves, trying to fix and manipulate situations that haven’t yet, or may ever happen.

We also have the propensity to travel backwards in time to our past, replaying certain experiences in our heads like we have front row seats to an old Shakespearean tragedy which never really gets us where we ultimately want to go. Often times, hanging out too long in those VIP seats makes us susceptible to bouts of depression, resentment, shame and emotions that are hurrid and spastic. We become unsteady and those thoughts and feelings fill us with dread. They make it difficult to roll out of bed, have an attitude of gratitude and take the necessary steps to live in the here and the now. It’s a vicious cycle of expectation, disappointment, reaction and guilt. Wounding and offense envelope us.

How can I speak of such things?

I’ve lived such things.

Our thought travel navigate our life choices. Our behavior is dictated by what we think on and where we dwell. If we want to keep rehashing our past, we will live there, most likely sounding like a broken and boring record to any unlucky soul within ear shot. Similarly, if we want to keep dreaming about all these great and wonderful things we will someday have or do, but never take steps in the here and the now…we diminsh our credibility as well as our voice.

Here’s a little life lesson I gleaned from 2018:

The counselor I’ve been seeing is just as important as the travel agent I booked my cruise through. Both are helping me go where I could not go on my own. Joyce is helping me get away with my kids so we can snorkel together, which is a dream of mine and my counselor is helping me to heal from the inside out by carefully looking at my life. She’s like my own personal organizing consultant Marie Condo who wrote the book “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.” I sit with her for an hour every few weeks and pick something up in my hands (be it an old memory or a present day happening), and she helps me decide if there is purpose for it to remain in my current life. Does focusing on that memory help me move forward and upward or is it holding me back and stunting my growth? Does dwelling on that thought bring help or harm to myself and others in the here and now?

Those questions ultimately lead me to remember my purpose in the life.

It is not necessarily to DO things. I’ve chased after titles, accolades and attention. I have a shelf full of dusty trophies and article clippings but at the end of the day, they are just that, clutter. I have to continuously remind myself that I am not a human doing but a human being. Being is most important.

Being love.

Being kind.

Being forgiving.

Being brave.

Being all of this and more, but most importantly…

Being present.

I cannot be loving or kind to the person in front of me if I am stuck too far back in life or dreaming of a vacation that’s somewhere too far ahead. I cannot be forgiving . I cannot be brave. I cannot be myself if I am continuously chasing that “someday maybe” who is tethered to what she will do…I have to be present in this very moment and not get too far ahead of myself.

Likewise, regret serves little purpose. Yes it can be a great teacher if listened to in the moment but dwelling on the things I wish I could do over only brings angst and sorrow. Want a do over? I’ve got it. It’s called today. This very moment that I am in.

When I allow my mind to quiet itself, I imagine myself standing on the shore, a vast and beautiful ocean before me. The water is lapping at my feet, the foam tingling my toes, and then it’s gone and the weight of my body presses my being deeper into the sand. The water laps again. My toes tingle once more.

Through this image, I hear the Spirit of God whisper, “Let life come like waves to the shore.”

In and out. In and out.

YOU are the shore.”

I am Home with my feet buried deep in the sand that it is almost impossible to move. It dries quickly like cement and then fills in the gaps, again and again.

The water comes in and it goes back out. The moments come and they go, I don’t have to try to have another one because another one is already afforded to me. It is here. Standing before my eyes.

What’s most important in life is standing, with our feet buried deep, in the present moment. The mundane and regular where it appears that not much is happening or is all that exciting. It’s the laundry and the cooking, the endless routines and piles of work and conversations that never go quite like we planned. It’s the heartache and loss and learning continuously to let go and the joy of knowing what to keep. It’s letting our future rest unknown in the hands of a known God who continuously graces us with a revolving door of people whom we can somehow touch and opportunities to fulfill our purpose.

We miss them if we aren’t paying close enough attention. Our eyes glaze over the people and possibilities placed in our path if we are not careful.

The past and the future both teach us to love in the present. What other purpose would they have? They encourage us to look at life though a different lens, one clearer and not as smudged as our orginal experiences have taught us, to be kinder and somehow gentler than we ourselves have been handled. They teach us to look forward and upward, to have hope and to be full of anticipation and excitement for life. They encourage us to be courageous, even when we are unsure and scared so we can take steps toward something bigger and better than what we currently see…

The fullest life possible.

At the end of our days, if we loved well, we lived well.

Stay present.

 

 

 

 

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Maybe

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

“No.”

And with that I go to bed.

OK.”

My daily communication attempts trying to delve past talk of kids and business fail. It is glaringly obvious, it is our only common ground. I long for deep and healing here in this place, this vast ocean that looks consuming and my continued asking feels like nagging and drudgery.

Maybe he is right. Maybe there is nothing more to talk about. Maybe this is as good as it gets. And with that, I walk up the stairs and step into the bath, delving below the surface of my life.

The water has become a drug to me. The heat is calming and soothing and numbs out my raw and achy parts.

I’m basing the whole of who I am and my happiness on this marriage. I forgave quickly. I thought I’d never mention our latest snag again. I immediately became a busy little bee who opened up her heart wide. I thought I’d work and he’d work and we would meet somewhere in the middle and this could potentially be THAT happy ending. The ending we all hope for and dream is possible and maybe for some it is, but it takes more than one to dream, maybe more than that to hope.

A mustard seed…and I had it.

But there needs to be communication and not just for a day. Not just for two. We need to cultivate intimacy and by default, I’ve been crowned conversation initiator and my initiator is tired and worn out.

I no longer volunteer as tribute.

My brain tells me all sorts of good and needed truths and I know I am full and overflowing with knowledge of WHO I am but my heart tells me another story. My heart tells me I don’t feel valued or loved, that I’m sitting around waiting for scraps and someone else’s left overs. My heart tells me if I was more important things would change and go another direction. My heart tells me a lot of things…

And if I stay here, stuck in a place that continually perpetuates these lies, that is exactly where I’ll stay.

An orphan.

Actions or lack thereof speak pretty loudly.

I’ve got to get myself healthy, for indeed I am sick. I hear the voice of my counselor in my head, “Your heart is broken. You need to heal,” and I know he is right. It is broken and I need to give it time and trying to help someone else mend who perhaps isn’t quite ready is not helping…me. I am pouring way more into this then he is and I’m beginning to feel the strain of my expenditures. I just don’t have it in me to ask one more time, “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Because essentially my tired refusal comes from a deep and hidden heart cry, “Would someone please pour into me first. I am empty. I no longer want to fix.”

And under the covering of the hot water that fills the tub, it becomes obvious.

The last time I turned someone over to the Lord with such resolve, my oldest son was six years old and was about to be airlifted to Hershey Medical Center for a skid loader accident. I remember standing over him as he was screaming, a mother whose heart was torn between what she could and couldn’t do, realizing, “There is nothing here I can. My very best works won’t help. But Jesus, if you exist, if you are alive and real, I believe you can help. He is yours.”

So I say it again, just the same.

“He is yours.”

I refuse to settle for anything less than what I know is possible.

Make Room 

The perfect morning to me is a cup of coffee, the couch and a book and time void of hustle and rush. Slow. Slow makes it truly, truly perfect and as Chief Hopper says in the very first episode of Stranger Things

“MORNINGS ARE FOR COFFEE AND CONTEMPLATION.”

And this morning I found myself having it all. The coffee, the couch and book…with plenty of time to get lost in some thought or some conversation and they walk right past, stuck in their morning routine, just the same.

“Come sit with me for a bit,” I say and I make room on the couch. I want more than just the normal Sunday Morning. I want their presence.

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about PEOPLE. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Isn’t that Christmas? I think of people in particular…their role in my life, my role in theirs and our influence on one another. I’ve been asking a lot of questions, gleaning a few answers and in between doing a lot of soul-searching.

There is more to life then living from here to there. There is a place in between.

In the past few days I’ve sat with people when it wasn’t convenient or easy and through it, I’ve realized once more how important it is to give each other our presence. We all want to be seen and heard and sometimes, most times, I liken all of humanity to the old stainless steel tea-pot that sits on my gas stove: We take time to warm up. We don’t want hurried along like we are an appointment on someone’s calendar or an errand they are running that can eventually be crossed off their list.

But sadly, most times, that is what we get.  Remnants of someone’s leftovers, their seconds, their hurry, their less than best.

Looking back now, I can see where that rush has caused more than a problem or two. Lack of presence places Constance where intact should be forged and before you know it, it’s easy to feel like distrusting strangers.

I think it’s the people in my every day crazy, when things aren’t calm and slow, that I’ve needed to pay closest attention to. The ones I’m most likely to whiz right by or take for granted have needed my solid and sturdy legs to remain strong yet bendy so I could ask simple and basic questions.

**Like**

“How are you?”

How many times do we dig our heels in and wade through the awkward silence for their answer? Their REAL answer.

Not many enough.

Conversely, last night as I was putting on my shoes, a random thought popped into my head. I thought of one person in particular, one I’ve been giving too much time and attention to though they havn’t been anywhere in my travels, no where in my circles but they indeed have been taking up space in the thoughts inside my head. As I laced up my last shoe, I didn’t think but more RESOLVED that they were a common denominator in too many of my here-and-now-life-problems. Too much of what I have rolling on the inside of me has their name attached and just like that… I made the decision to take them out of my equation.

And I realized I can do that.

Just. Like. That.

I’ve been giving them too much space through no fault of their own and in the big picture, it’s been frustrating. I’ve allowed their influence to tip some scale inside my life in a less than life-giving way and I refuse to carry them with me into the New Year.

I choose to no longer give them a seat on the couch that is housed in a room within my head. I stood tall after tying my shoes and within moments, showed them to the door. I don’t need to think about them or talk about them because to do so, places an unhealthy, unbalanced importance where it shouldn’t and afterwards, I’ve wondered WHY I’ve ever given away such a powerful choice.

And the sad but wonderful thing about this moment, in the midst of shoes and laces is this…

My resolve has nothing to do with an actual person as first assumed. Sure there’s a name but in the grand scheme of things, it could be a hundred names. They were merely just a representation of a festering wound and I think I needed someone, essentially anyone, to blame.

And since blaming does no good.

Here’s the door.

Be free.

What they represented to me has to go. I need to make room in my heart for vision and hope and joy and laughter and I don’t want to make time for the incessant chatter things past try to hold me to.

We need to free up space friends for real people. Not for the stupid things people do or our assumptions about them. Not for past hurts that keep replaying like a broken record. Not for our offenses or the sordid scenarios that we play and then rewind again and again in our head. Sometimes it IS as simple as refusing to give those thoughts an audience and if it means for a while that the name that’s attached goes unmentioned so you can quit your bad habit, then let it be so. Go cold turkey. Do whatever you can to think favorably again.

It’s not about cutting our losses. We need to look at the rooms within our homes and examine what is filling them. Sometimes it gets a little crowded with stuff and I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to have a full house, I’d rather have it packed with presence. People presence. Not poor thinking OF people presence because at the end of the day, negative attention is STILL attention and takes up space. An awful lot of it.

Friends I’m short on time and like you, I want to make my time count. I want my presence count. If I have any resolutions this year it is this:

want the person standing in front of me to walk away knowing they were heard and seen **THAT THEY WERE LOVED** and I want my thoughts to count.

I don’t have people to waste. I don’t have thoughts OF people to waste.

Neither do you.

Making Sense Out of Christmas 

I woke up early this morning and said good-bye to our son. His ninety-six hour leave would come to an end in a few hours and he has to report back for three days before he could venture home again. I hug him and his girlfriend tight and tell them to be safe and that I love them, all the things I’m growing accustomed to saying when we part ways and moments later I crawl back to bed. I don’t have any trouble falling asleep and I wonder if I had truly woken up because sleep comes quickly and the minutes spent saying good-bye now feels like a dream.

I wake up for real several hours later and take the dogs out. The thought of heading to the barn crosses my mind but the thought of hot coffee nags and wins. I resolve to feed my miniature pig Rosie the next time I’m out and walk through the front door. My brain scans the living room that houses an incredibly dead Christmas tree and I begin plotting out my day.

It’s time to make sense out of Christmas.

Needles lace the floor and I almost cannot see the carpet. I’m not really sure what happened because I never missed a beat and was faithful in watering but I apparently missed something somewhere because evidence points to the obvious. It is dead. The tree has got to go…today.

The dog quickly finds a candy cane and then shortly after, a forgotten toy, and I feel as if I never stopped raising toddlers and somewhere between the living room and the coffee pot, I remind myself to go slow and smile because smiling is important.

I get to work.

I start in the kitchen and eventually meander my way back to the living room; sorting, unpackaging…trying to find a place for everything that was recently brought into this home. “Christmas is more than this,” I remind myself. It is more than the gifting and the eating and the cleaning.

But today it feels just like that and I am done.

An hour later, my husband comes into the house and tells me he went out to feed the chickens and found Rosie. She had died sometime between when I fed her yesterday morning and today. At first I have no words. I really don’t even know what to say about a pig I wasn’t supposed to love.

But did.

I think of our barn and how it’s housed calves, chickens, 4-H pigs and now little Rosie. I think of the smell, the cobwebs, the mice and the dirt and I wonder if moving Rosie from our home to the barn a few years was a good move. Did we cut her life short in the transfer? My brain scrambles to make sense and it can’t. Was she old in miniature pigs years? Was I feeding her enough? She was social and here I stuck her in the barn, no longer having room for her in my house. I don’t have answers so I shake my head and resolve to let those thoughts go. It will do no good to sort that out because there is no sorting. My little pig is dead.

The most random of all pictures comes to my head; a feeding trough. It’s one of the dirtiest and foulest things in a barn if not kept clean and I instantly think of how Jesus was laid in one at His birth. I don’t know why I think of this at the same time I think of that little pig, laying cold on the barn floor but I do.

I think of the packages that fill my home and the needles from my dead tree that fill the floor and the list of all the things I want to get done and thoughts of my son still flutter through my head. I look around the kitchen at my husband and kids. They sit, both quiet and compassionate, waiting for me to respond terribly with tears, but I don’t. It would be awkward to cry over a little pig and I do awkward enough. 

This is what I tell myself.

I think in my trying to make sense out of Christmas, I was trying to package Christmas up so I could move forward and get back to life as normal. I wanted to move forward from the gifts. Move forward from the floor laced with needles. Move forward from the busy and the chaos and the goodbyes.

And here all along, Jesus was reaching into me from the barn, reminding me there is no normal to move on to. He was trying to show me what Christmas really is: Love comes in unexpected ways and in unexpected forms. Jesus, the baby in the manager who I now call my closest friend, reminds me to open my heart wide; unbiased and unrestricted. Hours later I give myself permission to cry, even if just for a little and I wonder if the Innkeeper had known who Jesus was if he would have given him more than just the barn, more than just a feeding trough, more than…

So I choose today to not put Christmas away. I choose to stay focused on my family as I walk around the clutter as needles cling to my feet. I choose to allow my heart to relentlessly love who and what it loves, to be surprised when the unexpected stranger knocks on its door and to embrace the unsuspecting.

One thing we should never have to do is apologize for our hearts.

 

letting go to move on

I have some of the best conversations between God and myself when I am driving. My vehicle wanders from one location to the next and my mind often wanders with it. It’s during these times, I have some of the most thought-proking of thoughts and as a writer, I love to process by putting words down on paper. HOWEVER, since I am driving, writing is an impossibility so I find myself trying really hard to capture each word and replay conversations in my head so not to lose a single syllable, but a lot of times…they are lost.

I begin to think about getting home, do I need to stop and buy milk? Who has what going on tonight? The memory of the conversation may pop back into my head and it is there I wonder if the words will formulate again into something in me, but even words have a way of digging their hook into my skin. As a writer, I have had to learn to hold even my words loosely in my hands so they could be free.

So I could be.

Just yesterday I sat at my desk writing and I was sure I saved it, but I got up to drive and came home and it was gone. I scaveneged every area on my computer and finally came to conclusion, what I had just poured myself into was unsalvageable. I could try to weed through all the boxes in my head and heart and possibly recreate another version, but it would not be the same. When I try to go back to what was, I lose authenticity by creating what is only a copy. No matter how GOOD a thought that translated itself into words in my head was, I do not want to tirelessly sift and sort trying to caption a glimpse of what I had. It is never the same.

I know I am using writing as an example, but this really speaks to so much more…

We cannot go back. We cannot return to something that we once had or did and recreate it. It won’t be the same no matter how we fool ourselves into thinking it could be. We cannot revisit an ideal time in life and live in easier moments or bliss-filled days. We cannot go back to relationships or the way things used to be in them and ask them to remain forever etched in stone without change. Yes, life is much like the thoughts I have. Good ones come and good ones go, but most of them were just to be had in the moment, treasured and then released. They are merely opportunities that allow a seed, be it a word or a moment or a person, to be planted deep within you…

And once planted and deeply rooted, it can never be taken away or forgotten. It doesn’t need to be contained in some alabaster jar and placed on some mantle as a prize…

Breaking it open and allowing its contents to pour out unfractured is hard for if we hold our jar too tightly, the pressure from our grasp inadvertently cracks its contents. We find ourselves discouraged and weary from relentlessly trying to recreate and then incredibly disappointment when our expectation is not met. I need to let my words go, I need to let conversations just be conversations instead of thinking I need to scoop them all up in my net and box them up neatly in my storehouse. I need, because I WANT, to be present in the moment. And each moment only comes once…

Once.

Letting go to move on is as necessary as breathing and life has much breath in it.

Inhale deeply. Exhale the same. 

My Cell Phone is Ruining My Life…Longing for a Simplier Me.

There are eight adults in the waiting room. All on their phone, myself included, except two.

One is resting his head back against the wall and has his eyes closed. The other has her face in a book and is continually turning pages. I want to say “What the hell is happening to us, folks?” but I don’t. I sit and I long. I miss the days where I didn’t have to look up to acknowledge someone’s presence. I miss the days where leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes was an option. I miss having my face in a good book while my hands turns its pages. I miss sitting, watching particles float through through the air while my heads empties into it.

I miss striking up a conversation with people, skin and flesh people…

My awareness that this device in my hands is continuously contending for my attention tries to make me feel powerless and controlled. Numb. I start to think it’s at fault but I know better. I AM. Anything can be used to keep me from being present and aware of my surroundings and the people in it; the wall my head rest against, closing my eyes in order to breathe, holding a book up to my face, staring blankly into the air.

Anything can be used as a respite from reality, the question is “WHY am I wanting a break from it?”

It would be easy and convenient to place blame; to say the PHONE made me do it, that this phone has made me obedient to every notification like some dog who does tricks on command. To say the PHONE made me zone out instead of simply watching the air and the people who breath it. That would all seem unfair because it has given me the illusion of productivity therefore necessity because I now have everything and everyone at my fingertips which just means more done and more connection, right? Then why am I left with a dull, nagging pain? Sometimes I’m less connected with real people and more concerned about the the cyber-laced layers of their shadows and the knowledge of that alone gnaws at my gut. It would be easy to…

But I am not powerless…

And I have been challenged. With every challenge comes an opportunity to tarry along unscathed or to dig deep and make a change. This cannot be MY new norm.

Technology is not my contention. Learning how to powerfully choose and guard…is.

On To The Next

The pounding of my feet can barely be heard over the continuous humming of the treadmill. I appreciate knowing that right now, the gym is an option and at the same time, loathe it. I am using it as an excuse to not run outside and I know it. I was made to run outside and I can feel myself wanting to hurry my time along to get done. The humming continues and I look down.

.67     .69     .75

3 miles is going to feel like FOREVER if I keep watching the distance tracker roll another number by.

.89

F-O-R-E-V-E-R.

Give me a cloud to look at or a conversation with a running partner to occupy my mind. Anything. I liken running on the treadmill to watching the grass grow or paint dry. The more I WATCH, the more IMPATIENT I become with WAITING. I have never been much of a WAITER.

The TV above my head is on. I watch it to distract myself. It’s the news. I’d rather watch the numbers scroll by…

.95    1.4    1.7

Good God.

Perhaps what I do in my job aides in my feeling the need to hurry. We own a transportation company so it is my job to make quick decisions and respond in a way that problem solves on the spot. I easily find myself getting into the habit of “On To The Next” where I continuously move from one person to the next, one circumstance to the next since there is seldom time to waste. Perhaps that too is an excuse and rushing through is just some bad habit that I need to seriously break. Either way, I am purposefully positioning myself to practice presence so I can fully BE in the moment, even if it is on the torturous treadmill with its slow rhythmic hum.

One thing that has become glaringly obvious to me over time is that when I HURRY, most of my mistakes are made when I do so. I react instead of taking the time to rightly respond. I make decisions that necessarily didn’t have to be made quite as quickly because I want a fix like 10 minutes ago. The sad reality is that HOW I’ve responded has created most of the issues I’ve encountered in life.

But here is the thing:

Most things, if given time, will work themselves out.

Most things, if given time, reveal what is best, needed and true.

If given time.

Hands off. Eyes off. This is sometimes best.

Walking away for a bit and creating space allows things to grow and dry. Space can aide in the cultivation of a soil that can reap a richer harvest, hosting stronger roots. Time surely can be a friend if eyes are taken off of what is the perceived issue and placed on what perhaps is the REAL one.

WHAT am I responding to?

WHY am I responding?

WHEN is the best time for me to respond?

WHO am I?

In the past, I’ve thought that the person in front of me or the issue at hand has been THE issue but it seldom has been. I have been. My response always reveals MY identity, WHO I am and really has little or nothing to do with anyone or anything else. It is my desire this year to intentionally think before I respond so I reveal my identity, which at the end of the day reveals HIS. Once I remember WHO I am, I rightly know who/what I’m responding to and if it needs addressed at that particular time or even at all. I’m tired of going around and jumping in quickly to put out every fire I see. I cannot hurry to fix it all by wearing some heroic badge on the scene of every accident, even if it is my job in real life. When I slow myself down and live out Proverbs 4:23 which says, “Above ALL else, guard your heart for everything you do flows from it” I rightly respond and can trust my heart without regrets. When I take the time to KNOW and BE KNOWN and not hurry life by, I live fully by Faith, in Hope and am Love. Perhaps there is more all to it but I don’t think so.

So friends, pay attention but not too close. Outsides things tend to be a distraction from rightly guarding your inside territory and your heart is too valuable not to guard. Practice going slower and allowing your heart to be searched so that you know WHAT, WHY, WHEN and WHO you are responding to. Guarding is KEY. It takes INTENTIONALITY so you will have to lose your flippant attitude if you have one. Hurrying happens when you step down from your post and make decisions outside of your identity so stand firm. The world around you needs you to remain diligent.

On to the next will come soon enough but start what you finish…

And enjoy what you started.

 

 

 

 

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