to love better…


There have been so many days over the past few years where I would go to bed defeated by the way I had acted towards my family. Within my heart was so much love for them, but exhaustion, stress, grief, anxiety, depression seemed to steal my ability to express it in the way I wanted to, in the way they deserved.

And then one night I told my husband as we were falling asleep. “I will love you better tomorrow.” And I felt better. At least he knew that A) I loved him, B) I was trying even if it didn’t seem like it. I had also reminded myself of what was truly in my heart, the desire to love and love well.

Valentine’s Day reveals our relationship to love. Do we find ourselves deserving of love? Or have we shut it out consciously or unconsciously? Are we brave enough to love? Are we vulnerable enough to be loved? Can we love ourselves? Can we feel love despite the imperfection in life, in others, in ourselves? What is in the way of our ability to love well?

Whatever relationship we have with love…love is necessary.

I wonder what would happen…if when all is still and quiet and the night has come to provide closure to our day, what would happen if we quietly whispered each night to our partners, our children, ourselves, the simple statement ….

“i will love you better tomorrow”

Whatever did or didn’t happen that day…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

Whether it is their fault, your fault, or has yet to be agreed upon…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If it was the most beautiful day…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If it was a hard, hard day…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If you were the best parent, partner, sibling, friend, human …
“i will love you better tomorrow”

Or if you acted in a way that didn’t match the love in your heart…
“i will love you better tomorrow.”

If you are so very far from where you want to be…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If you are right where you have always wanted to be…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If you are somewhere in between…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If it is Valentine’s Day…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

If its not Valentine’s Day…
“i will love you better tomorrow”

The image of those words being whispered as the last words spoken in every quiet, dark house at the end of each day…..just think it could be Valentine’s Day every day.

May our Valentines be a day each year where we recommit to loving them, more fiercely, more openly, with less conditions. And let us not forget to do the same with ourselves.

The alchemy of our miscarriages …. continued.

IMG_6244I think I left off here….

You cry as all the voids and pain begin to make their permanent home inside you.
….and then you step forward into your life with an invincible heart. A heart that is willing to beat simply because it is alive, simply because it was given the chance.

This time last year I was conceiving the child I lost. So much has taken place within me since then.

I am….
More respectful and nurturing towards this sweet body that carries me around
More humbled that I have this life to live, to try, to experience
More alive
More loving
More honest with who I am and on occasion slightly more bold
More protective of my time
More trusting of the Great God/Power/Mystery that holds all of us
More grounded
More free
More amazed

I sit here with tears in my eyes. I am so very humbled by the little spirit that came down to be with me for that short time a year ago. (I imagine traveling from spirit to body isn’t an easy trip) So very thankful for her wisdom and willingness to wake me from a slumber I didn’t know I was in.

I spent much of this last year “trying” and by “trying” I don’t mean doing the deed on the optimal days. I mean by taking the miscarriage as a sign that my body needed more time, more attention, more care to do what it was intended to do. Gave myself time to eat, rest, read, listen. Gave myself time to grieve my brother in a way that I wasn’t able to do with an under 3 yr old. Gave my daughter time to know a mom that wasn’t overwhelmed with grief and exhaustion. Gave my husband and I time to reconnect. Gave myself time to simplify my life so that my time is spent on my priorities. Gave myself a chance to remember who I was before life became really hard.

Being a female in this human form, I don’t know of any other desire that reaches so deep and takes hold of me so strongly as the desire for a child. I want a face to look at, a body to hold, and being to know. I crave the feeling of life inside me. With my daughter, I was so scared to become a mom that fear hid this longing. Ohh… but once she got here…she has me totally hooked on this motherhood thing. It is so fascinating and beautiful and deep.

A bit ago, “doing the deed” form of “trying” began and there has been no sign of a little being. And then every time I would feel that longing, it began to be followed with self-doubt, hopelessness, and self-judgment. “I can’t do it”, “no one wants me”, “my body isn’t capable” and other creative forms of those statements …… ugh

My resolution for this year was to have relationship with my body. One of the things that I have committed to is a daily yoga practice. (so thankful for that makes it an option for me) Every day now I roll out my mat and sit with the body of mine that “isn’t doing what I want it to do.” In this space I am creating, I feel all the fatigue, all the aches and usually my mind takes this opportunity to vomit its judgements, rational and irrational fears, critiques etc. and a lot of times my “yoga” feels like torture…until the end.

By the end, somehow I am able to be proud of my effort, proud of everything my body was willing to go without in order to get my sweet girl off to a good start, and feel one step closer to carrying life again.

One day, I was doing a practice focused on fertility and the teacher said “if you are asking for the permission to carry life….

I think growing up in a family of 9 children and in a world where there are tons of babies being born every day, compiled with frustration had turned my desire for having a child into an expectation, something I deserved, something I had control over. But her words reminded me that I am asking for the most sacred honor in this life, to bring another being here, to continue life through my own body.

And so now when the longing hits me and the tears surface behind my eyes. I pause. Tune out the attack on myself. And acknowledge the magnitude of what I am asking to be entrusted with. Ask for guidance in making my body more ready. Feel gratitude for this deep longing for life. And then I tell that stubborn little one to get down here.

I hold out my hands after my yoga practice in a gesture of receiving. And one morning, it occurred to me that what I receive from life may look nothing like what is in my mind. I might not ever have another baby.

But if there is one gift that my little spirit baby gave me, it is the faith that magic fills where voids are left, if your hands are open. I believe that all of my longing for life to come through me will not be wasted. I will create life again. I hope it has a darling face and calls me mama. But if not, I now know….

…. I have an invincible heart. And it is willing to beat simply because it is alive, simply because it was given the chance.

Love, hope and comfort to every woman that longs for a little one.

The alchemy of our miscarriages…


“I’m learning more each day

That my breath weighs more than I think

And each beat of my heart
So reluctant to start

More costly than gold ” -David Ramirez

I found out I was pregnant in March. My heart soared and my little family celebrated. Another soul had chosen ME, US! Disregarding the 12 week silent rule, I told everyone. I paraded around like a person you would be lucky to know, appearing as a self-absorbed, swaggering lady with a muffin top.
And then on the anniversary of my brother’s death, I began to bleed.

I went in for an ultrasound and the Dr. said the baby’s little home was intact and was measuring correctly. From what he could tell the bleeding was not affecting the baby; however, he could not detect a heartbeat. “It could still be early” he said with hesitation.
I chose not to prepare myself for her leaving.

I entered a space where the frailty of my humanity and the power of my spirit collided. A space where insanity and intuition used the same voice. A space where my dedication to hope felt like a wrecking ball swinging in my heart cavity. I entered this space without the protection of caution. I warded off fear like the mighty warriors in every “save the world” legend, just without armor, minimal muscles and no army. I stood bleeding in an open battlefield without the weapons of control, logic, and ego.

…and I loved.

…and I hoped.

I talked to her every night for two weeks. I played “Argue with Heaven” by David Ramirez 147 times.

I told her I loved her. I told her of the subtle magic of this world. I was honest about the vulnerability and pain here. I told her I would trust her decision. I told her how desperately I wanted to hold her body with my hands. I asked my brother to convince her that I would be the best mother ever. I told her I loved her so many times.


Sweet baby made it to Good Friday and began to let go. For almost 40 days she had allowed my bones to surround her sweet soul. And on Easter night, my body released the home her spirit had vacated.
I held her close as my body finished contracting. And the next day, I allowed my tears to fall on her. A desperate attempt for something of mine to accompany her on her journey. I played her song. I kissed each side of her and I placed her in the ground.
3 years to the day after I gave my brother’s eulogy….I buried my child.

mis•car•ry (mɪsˈkær i; for 1 also ˈmɪsˌkær i)
1. to have a miscarriage of a fetus.

2. to fail to attain the right or desired end; be unsuccessful
to go astray or be lost in transit

There are moments when life stands face to face with you, so close that you can feel its breath mixing with yours. It holds your gaze with a relentless stare. You can see the pores of its face in detail. It disregards your personal space requirements and you can’t quite determine if it is your body heat/sweat or Life’s or a daunting combination of both that you feel. You glance away to escape its glare and It moves It’s head to meet your eyes again. You step back, It steps toward you. This intense interaction with Life causes all of your pain to turn to rage at the surface of your skin. And if you believed with any ounce of your being that you could win this fight….you would take this opportunity to beat the shit out of It.

“You can escape this interaction with any of the usual human tricks” Life reminds you, “such as denial, going numb, repression, escape…..” It offers you your options.

But if you are curious like a cat or brave or crazy….You gather up all your courage and in anger ask for an apology for all the voids and pain in your heart.

And with a wise, compassionate smirk, Life responds….“I will not apologize for all that has been taken from you, I will not promise moments of happiness in compensation for the pain you have endured. This is me. This is my nature. I am asking you to love me as I am and as I unfold. If you are willing to see my beauty as your heart bleeds and your mind rages than you will acquire faith…and that my dear child, is what you really need.”

And Life turns to walk away and then stops….and turns halfway back around to where you are standing and asks “What would you have done with an apology anyway?” and then shrugs in casual confusion, turns back around and continues on to the next person…

As you watch Life walk away unapologetically, all the rage at the surface of your skin turns to tears. And you cry…. you cry all the tears you were hoping to avoid crying once you got your apology. You cry as all the voids and pain begin to make their permanent home inside you.

….and then you step forward into your life with an invincible heart. A heart that is willing to beat simply because it is alive, simply because it was given the chance.

al•che•my (ˈæl kə mi)
1. speculative philosophy of the Middle Ages that attempted to discover an elixir of life and a method for transmuting base metals into gold.
any seemingly magical process of transmuting ordinary materials into something of true merit.

Some beauty can only be “seen” if we allow alchemy to transform the miscarriages (all that has failed to maintain the right or desired end) of our life.

Alchemy transforms as a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. Alchemy takes us into a suffocating dark night, where our hearts bleed and our mind tells us we will not survive and it produces a beauty that is unrecognizable from its original form.

This beauty does not have the capacity to heal our wounds or fill our voids…. it is not supposed to.

This beauty does not help us to conceptually understand the “why” of anything…. it is not supposed to.

This beauty is dependent on our pain and voids remaining part of us.

This beauty connects us with our capacity for faith.
This beauty is God’s existence.


My body contained her life and her death. I was the only one that knew her… and she was wise and thoughtful. She carried her beauty and vulnerability much different than my first daughter. Her voice quiet, her pace pensive. She was kind like her father. She urged me closer to my body than I had ever been before.

I loved her with every ounce of my being…in my hope before she existed, in the fleeting moment that she took refuge in my body, and every moment since I buried her.


To my girl…
You gave me freedom.
And now the world is at my feet.

The point of tears.


“Live to the point of tears.” -Albert Camus

For as long as I can remember I have felt that life moves so very fast…too fast.  I remember being a little girl and trying to capture everything in my little pink diary with a heart shape lock.  I never understood why the grand design of life would be at a pace that seemed impossible to cherish.  But with the birth of my daughter and the death of my brother coinciding, the desire to cherish life has become ravenous within me.

Commence Mission: “Enhance Cherishing Skills.”

Recently, I had this image of myself standing under a waterfall.  In this metaphor, the water flowing over me represents life and each water droplet stands for a moment in this life.  I realized that the “point” was to stand underneath this powerful waterfall and simply experience it; to be in awe of its grandeur and grateful for the chance.

So if gratitude and awe feel far away from me during the daily grind…what exactly am I doing while this gift of life falls over me?

I am underneath trying to fill tupperware containers.   I am trying to organize the moments, over-analyze them, preserve them, regret them, resist them, re-live them, convince myself I don’t deserve them, numb myself to the experience of the scary ones, avoid the ones that hurt, hoard the ones that feel good, put glitter on some, make trophies out of others, and be jealous of the “drops” in other people’s waterfalls.  I am annoyed because water is in my eyes and my feet are slipping on the wet ground.  I am angry because despite my efforts, I am unable to control the sheer force of this waterfall.  I am doing everything BUT “experiencing.”  So instead this waterfall feels more like a fire hose pointed at my face than a cherish-able gift.

Either way, it is the same life… just a different perspective. One induces gratitude and the other pisses me off.

And it dawned on me…a possible reason why the Grand Designer did not make moments infinite was for people like me who get their tupperware containers out and shake their fists at the “perceived” fire hose.  I imagine the Grand Designer’s only hope was to make life powerful, somewhat spontaneous and so very short… hoping that in the intensity I would feel each moment fully and then release it, in order to engage fully in the next moment.  So that I could delight in the unknown.  So the pain wouldn’t last. So that I could do what I imagine the Great Designer would call “Living.”  

So why would I be “living” any other way?

Continue Mission: “Enhance Cherishing Skills”

I decided to perform an experiment.  I consciously chose the “waterfall” over the “fire hose” perspective during a normal afternoon with my daughter.  We were making muffins.  We were alternating between baking and dancing to her favorite song.  And then it happened… tears came streaming down my face.  And they kept falling and falling.  This moment became so vivid.  I could clearly see Her and how much she had changed from the infant that I clutched to my chest after my body released her.  I could intimately feel Myself as a mother (Me!  as a Mother!) and feel the intimacy of this unique relationship with her.  I was aware of the beautiful subtleties of our language, the intricate way we navigate a day together, and the way we attempt hold each other’s hearts carefully in the daily grind.  I could feel all of the wonder between us, hidden in this random house, in this one city, in this one country, in the midst of an entire world, in a vast galaxy.  I could feel all the magic that had allowed our specific souls to be in this space during this time.  I could feel the quiet dimensions of my love for her that I will never have words for and the external world will never know of.  I felt everything that I desperately wanted to preserve in my tupperware containers.

Many of the tears cried that afternoon were from immense gratitude and awe; but I realized something else…I was grieving.  I realized that in the “fire hose” perspective there is a protective delusion of chaos that keeps me from facing that we are in the process of leaving each other.  This is not meant to sound faith-less or melancholy, but rather embracing a clear understanding about the agreement of this human existence.  An understanding that I am realizing is imperative to cherishing this life fully.  We might transform into glorious angels and hug forever, but the way that I am able to interact with her in this frail human skin is fleeting.  “What is,” is quickly changing into “what was,”despite how much my heart adores it.

Each beautiful moment carries its necessary shadow: heart-stricken grief.  Everything that we love deeply, we will long for forever.  And this is what I believe we unconsciously avoid and why we find ourselves feeling like this gift of life is a brutal fire hose. The moment we were born; we begin our ascent into the next world.  Fleeting impermanence is the soil that allows us, (if we choose) to cherish and be grateful; to live rather than pass time.   To face that our tupperware containers won’t survive the Great Transition.  And whether we stand under this waterfall in gratitude or wave our fists at the perceived fire hose…this life is passing.  And in order to cherish this life, we must be brave enough to grieve as powerfully as we live…and that takes the bravest of hearts…one I am not sure I have.

Integrate Mission “enhance cherishing skills” into daily life.

Lovely Bones

photo-24 copy

“Open-eyed, loving bones…with nothing hidden…how we will sail.”

                                                                                -Courtland Patrick Quinn

Maybe when you feel a child move through your body, the wisdom of your bones becomes inescapable.  Or maybe when you suffer deep loss, the gratitude you feel for the bones that carried your loved one for the time you had him overwhelms you.  In a society that tends to see bones, skeletons, skulls rather morbid, I have found myself developing a deep admiration for that that is gut-wrenchingly human.

For a long time I was taught being close to God meant separating myself from my bones, separating myself from my human nature, cleansing my soul of all that was not pristine and angelic. I grew up surrounded by a culture that taught me that my bones were bad; my human nature sinful.  And the way to God was fleeing my humanity and praying for forgiveness along the way.

Ten years ago, I found myself with a honest heart, years of loving and serving others, years of praying for forgiveness, seeking God in everything I was told contained God, years of combing through my motives, intentions, thoughts, feelings with a fine tooth comb for specks of sin.

I was hollow, I was sick, I was sad.

I prayed that there was more.

God entered….and began to knit my spirit back into my bones.

I began to view my bones differently.  They weren’t evil…they were grounding, honest, present…lovely.    I found my human nature simply the avenue for vulnerability.  Vulnerability, necessary for intimacy with myself, others, God.

Does the vulnerability of my human nature create  opportunities to harm others and not honor this gift of life I have been given?  Sure.  But my spirit isn’t blameless either.

You see, my spirit, if left to its own devices, will get caught up in perfection of soul which creates an obsession with right and wrong and consequently finds itself in chronic judgement.  This leads to an arrogant hatred towards all that is human in me and all that is human in others.  And “tolerating” replaces “loving” in my interactions with myself and those around me.  And this is what I believe truly separates me from God.  I believe God is love.

This separation from God leaves my soul in a desperate place.  Which causes the need to feel more powerful, to be right, to cope, to escape, to perfect.   Feelings that are the catalyst of any “sinful” behaviors I was trying rid myself of in the first place.

I am convinced that the separation of human nature and spirit causes more “sin” than human nature does on its own.  Our spirit and our human nature were meant to be in divine balance that allows us to love, heal, create, and connect to God. I believe we were meant to revel in our bones, not escape them.  When my human nature is not exiled from relationship with my spirit, my spirit is free, genuine, true.  It is able to seek and truly connect to God.

It is impossible to truly connect with another being without connection to our bones.

It is impossible to be truly alive without a relationship to our bones.

It is impossible to be truly honest and humble without reverence for our bones.

It is impossible to be in awe and wonder of God without existing in our bones. 

It is impossible to be truly grateful of this moment without awareness of our bones

It is impossible for our spirit to soar without grounding in our bones. 

For ten years now I have been trying to return to the way I was before all the humanity got baptized out of me. Attempting to create the same reverence for this vulnerable human nature that I have for my seeking spirit.  To be alive and thankful, rather than pristine and blameless.  To connect my bones and spirit within me so that spiritual arrogance or human vulnerability do not cause harm to myself or others or disconnect me from God.  I can’t say that I am any closer to having THE answers.  I don’t know what form God is in.  I don’t know what happens when we die.  I don’t know for sure why we are here.  And maybe to some that appears as a lack of faith.  But for me, those unanswered questions are what creates my faith.

On my 33rd birthday, I found myself in a river, holding my child, fully in my bones and after 33 years……. my spirit soared effortlessly.

(in deep gratitude to a God who taught me my bones are lovely)

All over the World … a tribute to mothers


“She laid on my chest and her breathing filled me almost beyond what I could hold.” – Story People

All over the world, mothers yearn to be mothers

All over the world, bodies of mothers submit to life’s longing for itself

All over the world, bodies of mothers contract to bring new souls to this existence

All over the world, mothers love simply because another exists

All over the world, the embrace of mothers reflects to little ones “you are here, I am honored you chose me…you are sacred”

All over the world, mothers bear the responsibility of being a child’s first and most important exposure to themselves, to another, to the world.

All over the world, mothers hope they will be, are, were enough

All over the world, mothers internally face their own fallible humanity attempting to love purely and teach powerfully

All over the world, mothers neglect their own needs, desires, dreams to support a another soul securely into life

All over the world, the hearts of mothers reflect to little ones “this world is good, take another step away from me…your life awaits”

All over the world, mothers face adversity with quiet unwavering dedication to the child they were given

All over the world, the eyes of mothers reflect to little ones “you are loved, take another step inside yourself…you are fascinating”

All over the world, mothers grieve as their children grow and move away

All over the world, mothers fear the world will not be kind

All over the world, mothers display the purest form of courage as they continue with a hopeful and kind heart after a child was taken from life too soon

All over the world, mothers are more vital and more capable than they know

All over the world, the love of mothers quietly creates, nurtures and sustains this life


To the sweet girl that chose me…. 

you have spoken to the deepest part of me

believed in the core of me

connected me to a power beyond me

humbled and honored me

astounded and expanded me

caused paradox to meet within me

broken me

allowed magic to flow through me

fought for the soul of me

caused fear and grief to terrorize me

awoken me

caused mountains to move within me

chosen me


have become mine


Where Soul Meets Body

DSC_0158“You wasted life, why wouldn’t you waste death?”  – Modest Mouse

I had never thought about wasting death.  I had always thought of death as just the semi-colon between life and after-life. A moment when your spirit no longer exists in your skin.  I have pondered what happens after we die, thought about losing people I love,  thought about what it is like during the moment of death, and thought about living my life here to “earn” a certain after-life.  I understand what it means to waste life, but death?  How could we waste something that is simply a moment, simply an end?

I heard these lyrics when I was knee deep in trying to move through the grief of losing my brother.   I realized that this concept was giving words to a very important aspect of my grief experience that I was unable to conceptualize.

Part of me was grieving the absence, drowning in the void he left, and desperately longing for the tangible form of my brother.  The pain was/is horrific and devastating.   But the part that I was surprised by and even startled by, was the part of me that felt my brother more alive than ever, felt him closer than my own skin, felt him everywhere.  My brother had become expansive, dimensional and extremely close.  (And to be honest for someone who was sleep deprived and dealing with postpartum hormones, this was confusing and creepy… I told him this)

For the past two years, living in the wake of his death. I understand now the opportunity we have in death.  I understand that there is an actual element of “birth” in our death.  And I am not referring to our birth into afterlife or the memories or legend our physical life leaves behind.  There is an actual birth of “life” that occurs as our body releases our soul.  Our soul has a life here, not contained by our skin, not reliant on our organs, and no longer contending with our human nature.  And what i have learned knowing my brother is that if you live powerfully in your body, living as close to the conjunction of where “soul meets body” (Death Cab for Cutie) in this physical existence….the life of your death, is explosive and healing and magical.  You teach those you leave behind of God, of dimension, of hope.

My brother lived vibrantly.  He constantly sought to understand himself and his impact on others, negative and positive.  When he discovered some way he was being, thinking, using resources, believing, that caused hurt, harm, judgement, shame to another, he worked to change it.  He left no stone of his being unturned.  He pursued an existence of love and compassion like no one I have ever known.  In hindsight, I am surprised his body was able to contain his soul as long as it did.

What does it mean to live where your soul meets your body?

I believe it is living in reflection, having the courage to look at our attachments, our addictions and feel the vulnerability behind them.  Allowing them to create a genuine humility within ourselves and a deep compassion for others.  Understanding that we are breathtakingly unique and as commonplace as they come.  Knowing our unique gifts and allowing the unique gifts of others to teach us.  Seeing and resolving the judgement, hatred, wounds of our own hearts, not allowing the illusion of being “right” to protect us from confronting our “selves.”

I don’t know why I was given this particular soul or why you were given your particular soul…. but what makes sense to me is that we are called to live in this existence where our souls can just barely be contained by our skin.  So when our bodies are done, our souls live powerfully for good beyond our bones.

I have felt the impact of a life lived like this and…. Your death has been as a beautiful as your life.  My brother….. it was…is an honor.

“Your body may be gone… i’m going to carry you in, in my head, in my heart, in my soul.”  -Modest Mouse. 

Exchange of Wisdom


My child’s newest fascination is to climb up on a chair we have in our guest room, turn on the radio and dance, dance, dance.  And my girl…is tribal.  In between body rolls, head swerves and swanky footwork, she throws all of my books off the shelf.  I think it helps her to feel as though she is at a rave.

I was chaperoning her dance party and the “Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle was chunked at me.

He says two things that I find so powerful:

“enlightenment” is simply being close to God and

“prayer” is simply being present

I look up and see my daughter rockin’ out and something clicks.   My daughter does not know how not to pray, nor does she know separation from God.  She prays and moves with the Divine with every movement, in every moment.  She unconsciously expects this intimate connection.

I don’t believe it is coincidental that she is also the most loving, forgiving person I know.  And I don’t accept the simple explanation that she is this way because she is “JUST” a child.  It makes sense to me that if you are constantly in prayer and your mind cannot fathom separation from God, that unconditional love and forgiveness are simply by-products of this way of being.

And of course my child throws fits, and gets mad and swings and scowls at me.  To me, she is simply learning to navigate this world, setting her boundaries, acquiring what she needs/wants, protecting herself.  To me, this is not evidence of a sinful nature.  I must remember that just two short years ago, she was in soul form where she knew none of the rules of this world.  She didn’t know what it was like to be “in body”, had never felt need, want, fear, cold, hunger, loneliness, vulnerability.  All things that I thirty two years later still have trouble communicating pleasantly and politely.

Most of the parenting strategies I read are based on teaching our children the language and survival skills of our adult world.  And of course, I want my daughter to know how to navigate this world successfully.  But very few, are parenting strategies helping us as parents to help our children to hold onto their peaceful, creative, kind, forgiving, loving hearts that they came here with.  And I have find it ironic that all of the adults i know, myself included are desperate to be more peaceful, loving, kind, meditative, prayerful, creative, get out of our heads, feel, breathe, connect to God.

So I wonder….

Maybe if i quiet the urgency to move her along

Maybe if i silence the avalanche of milestones she needs to reach

Maybe if i allow her to be

Maybe if i allow myself to join

Maybe if i remind myself that despite the small frame, jumbled words and awkward movements, she is a soul with a spiritual depth that I can only hope to acquire before my time here is complete…

Maybe if I can preserve this in her, by SEEING it, NURTURING it, CULTIVATING this in myself…

Maybe we can CREATE adults that don’t SEARCH for God/Peace, but instinctually KNOW

Maybe we can BE adults that don’t SEARCH for God/Peace, but instinctually KNOW

I imagine this would change the world.

If our job as parents is to help our children acclimate to this world,maybe their job as children is to remind us of home, what is beyond.  Our children can remind us of the innate connection to God we all have, the ease and the depth that God moves through us. (if we allow them) They are little guides that show us by example, the simplicity of prayer and enlightenment. They are magnificent, full, complex beings.

Sweet angels, we cherish you.

*note: the use of “God”  above was used in a way to incorporate your own unique understanding of “what is beyond”