It has been raining for days. Streams flow from the mountain tops and flood the roads. So far, Shekina Garden (next to the river) hasn’t flooded again.
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I wake up and have to choose.
On my last post, Dee commented that motherhood is more of an offering than an investment. Whew. That is a mouthful. An offering.
I wake up and have to choose. To consume? To invest, strings attached? Or to hold my hands out: an offering?
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:: part seven ::
You will find that you can do the same- you can move toward others in love, even knowing that you can’t always understand all of what they are going through or what they decide, knowing it is not your job to understand everything. That is the work that they do with God in their own souls.
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:: part 4 ::
I am of course writing these things for myself, attempting to teach myself things about being a human that I have been mulling over for years.
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:: part 2 ::
So, there are the hidden things that no one can ever fully describe or define in you. The hidden nuance, your history, your life of true and untrue things, all the times you did something that seemed so normal but actually took real and overwhelming bravery.
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There is no one who can define or contain all of you. All your wildness, your beauty, the things you struggle through on your own. The thoughts of others can’t create you, can’t limit your being.
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Morning like a glass of clear water. I take the first sip. Everything has become a poem, lately, even sleeping, which feels like being curled on the forest floor with creatures coming by to investigate what or who I am.
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