When time seemed to
speed up
and the challenges were
too big for a fractured part
of self,
it became necessary to
evolve.
There was a willingness
to keep my heart open to
the remembrance of
what I had come here
to share.
Life became a continuous,
delicate and sacred transformation
into tenderness.
Words formed out of silence — from a higher place. Somehow, in a not so mysterious kind of way, gently whispered prayers connected an expanded sense of self..
A new kind of thought was born
out of a willingness to reach back —
offering comforting words,
while remaining open
to the same gently whispered prayers
from somewhere beyond this time.
I found it worked best
to connect with parts of me
that needed attention.
I learned I could hold these parts
without needing them to change.
The first time I noticed I could, in fact,
affect my experience in the world
in a gentle way —
without analyzing or retraumatizing —
without a desperate search,
I had no more need for
less effective ways of coping
that had served to carry me
to a safer place.
Whatever appeared as a reflection
to this safe place within
would be enough.
And when the the outer experience
didn’t match what was felt in my heart,
I held my ground.
It wasn’t always comfortable,
but it was a continuous,
delicate and sacred transformation
into tenderness.
At a certain point,
the decision was made
to keep going —
through all that needed attention
and healing
so that my experience in the world
more clearly reflected
the peace I held
in my deepest heart.
It was an unshakable
determination to hold my ground
no matter what.
The more I dared
to hold a space of love,
the closer I seemed to be
to a deeper part of me.
At a certain point it was
most natural to be this space
in my heart
and in the world.
This is where I found
my deepest comfort and peace.
Sometimes the only thing
I knew to do
was to keep going,
which undoubtedly meant
surrendering to the creative flow
of life.
And so there was the
painful dropping of pieces
I had held so carefully
and an understanding
I seemed to have with God
that I would sometimes
hold on a little longer,
push ahead,
lose my center,
and struggle to find any
resemblance of grace.
But I would always keep going.
Each time another challenge arose,
I was reminded of how
it could have been —
had I not allowed the process
of expanding to happen
so freely.
There was frustration as old
patterns and emotions were
brought to the surface,
and I was tempted to retreat–
just a little.
I learned to turn
inward and hold my ground —
refusing to quit before
the next tender place
was reached.
Sometimes my prayer sounded
more like a tired scream through
swallowed tears
than a comforting whisper.
But there was always
tenderness close by —
as I dared to keep going.
Hold us a little tighter when we can’t find our way — as we can’t see the whole picture, and it’s easy to be frightened of the in-between times from here. Help us to honor all that has felt dishonored in our own hearts — that we might honor all things more deeply. Amen
–Laurie, What Now
The process of creating
involved a tender aching
of the heart
as carefully gathered pieces
were released back into
nothingnes, again,
and my heart dared to bear
the moment before they appeared
again, in a new way —
a little unexpectedly.
I understood, in those moments,
why it is tempting
not to endure this process,
at times,
reaching instead for a seemingly
less painful option.
♡ I’m happy to say I just finished my 4th book, What Now. (Thank you, Michelle.)
It was the small miracles,
the quiet inspirations, that kept my heart
pressing on long enough
to find a path that didn’t lead
further away from itself.
It was the gentle, comforting way
words formed out of nothingness
and courage was found
to look challenges in the face —
knowing the transformative power
of surrender first hand.
It was the remembrance of the
turning away from my own heart
and that first step
taken to find a way back.
