There were moments of deeply felt grief, having endured a long, intense spiritual and human journey. There were regrets and lingering physical scars and emotional wounds. And there was tenderness, something that was understood deep down to somehow be the whole point.
There was the understanding, in the brief moments of outer calm, that I had given up many things on this journey — but not this. I wouldn’t have been able to endure without this tenderness of spirit.
I wouldn’t have been able to be present in a world of challenges without having broken apart and come back together. I wouldn’t have been able to look at overwhelming challenges and destruction without knowing what is possible. I had been to the edge of destruction in my own way and had, against all odds, transformed — not with my own limited human self alone, but in cooperation with something much bigger that I didn’t quite understand.
At a certain point, it became clear that standing on the edge of destruction was only one way this thing could go. It was possible to be moved also by respect and compassion for having made it so far and the passion to prevent future suffering wherever I could. It was possible to nurture and allow the smallest spark of pure love to ignite.
Sometimes the only thing
I knew to do
was to keep going,
which undoubtedly meant
surrendering to the creative flow
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,
lose my center,
and struggle to find any
resemblance of grace.
But I would always keep going.
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.
When I looked back, after a while, the story I had carried had faded. It was the subtler, sometimes painfully subtle story beyond the surface that kept my attention.
It was the faint memory of all the times I had managed to allow a quieting, just enough to hear the quiet prayer spoken from my own heart — somewhere long ago.
It was each moment I had allowed my heart to remain open, even though I was sure I didn’t know how to continue on, that had woven a more beautiful story — somehow.
I let go,
trusting that wherever
the pieces fall will
be okay —
possibly even more
beautiful than if
I had tried to fit
on my own.
— Laurie, What’s Right Here
May I be guided today by grace. May I have the patience to wait for higher thoughts. May I be moved by inspiration and love and creative flow — viewing each experience that crosses my path as an alternate route to tenderness. Amen
I wish to reflect
all that is soft,
to offer my love
to all that is not —
to remind us
of the sacredness
of the journey
and the beauty
in the transformation.
— Laurie, What’s Right Here
I learned to look for the light in every experience, no matter how dark it looked at first glance. It meant being willing to not know exactly how situations would transform, while knowing they would in fact transform.
It meant being willing to be still in my heart and diligent with thoughts while daring to place my feet in the world of form.
There was a delicate softening — the transformation into tenderness. Tenderness spilled over again and again from the ever-present quiet prayer within my deepest heart.
It took a little practice, but I learned to remain in my heart. I learned to honor all that was painful while holding space for tenderness.
I began to sink into my heart a little more each time I remembered I had the option to remain there. Experiences that seemed unhealable at first glance began to reflect the softening in my own heart.
There was pain in returning to wholeness. It was painful to reach back to parts of myself stuck in the past. And it was painful to begin to feel the pain of others as my own pain.
But there was no turning back. There was a tenderness in tapping into truth that I was unwilling to let go of again. And so I continued to meet each unfolding moment from a state of prayer — trusting in life to meet me. It felt like a huge risk, but I had been in that place before.