“When we focus on our gratitude, the tide of disappointment goes out and the tide of love rushes in.”
– Kristin Armstrong
My family has a Thanksgiving tradition where we go around the table and everyone says the one thing they are most grateful for this year. It’s a time of reflection for us all and usually sparks up a heartfelt conversation that brings us closer together.
As I was thinking over the one thing I would share this year, I realized this was next to impossible. There are countless things I am thankful for and each one, big or small, deserves acknowledgement.
“Beware the barrenness of a busy life.” — Socrates
Preparing for a trip recently, I found myself overwhelmed with an especially long to-do list.
As I plowed through each task, diligently checking off the completed items, it suddenly occurred to me that many activities I consider essential — the kind that make my heart glad — never get jotted down the way that stop the mail or water the plants do.
Sometimes I just want a “do-over.”
Have you ever felt that way? You wake up and things just don’t flow well… the coffee spills, the toddler doesn’t want to wear clothes to school, or time gets away from you. You haven’t showered, eaten, or dressed, and the clock rattles, “You’re late!”
All is not lost for the day.
Read More …
I was that odd, artsy girl in high school who sat cross-legged in the poetry section of Barnes and Noble. I’d grab a few of the best looking covers and pour over the words. Something in my chest would flicker like a lighter before the flame.
I can remember the first time I bought a Mary Oliver book at a little bookstore in San Francisco. I was 18 and read it cover to cover on my bed that night. It rattled my insides and verbalized truths I needed to hear. Since then I have reread Oliver’s books dozens of times, I have gifted them to countless friends, and quoted her on Instagram at a shockingly high volume. Most people don’t read poetry these days, but Mary Oliver seems to attract an audience that touches every diversity. Her deep sense of wonder, natural imagery, and accessible language invite readers from all walks of life to enter in.
Before I’d play golden music on my Fender guitar, I’d admire the stained wood and strings. Every day was the same: the moment I returned home from school, I sought an hour of solitude with my guitar. I’d grasp the fret-board, pulling it free from the magenta wall, right where the tuning mechanisms scratched my wall silver. My guitar chords always emitted a prismatic sound when I struck them against the grain with my pick before I sifted through the printed chords of my favorite songs and chose the one I’d play, sometimes over and over.