Accept. Abide. Wait.

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At times we experience a fervent longing for something more, something that feels beyond our grasp. Restless for what it is we long for, we feel as though we strain at the bit. Time and circumstance hold us back and we rage against this. We rage and rage, internally conflicted, our souls unsettled and discontent.

And we can continue to rage, to scream on the inside, bang our fists against the wall. But it won’t help anything, will it?

Or, we can accept.

We can accept that for now, for today, we are exactly where we are meant to be. Today, this is where our journey would have us. Here. Because here is where the work needs to be done. Here is where we find healing, renewal, restoration and transformation.

We must learn to live in the moment, love in the moment and embrace the wisdom we gain in the moment. For just as snow gives way to leaves, so too will this season in our lives give way to the next. When we are ready. When it is time.

Accept. Abide. Wait.

And though the waiting is hard, harder than we think we can bear, in the waiting is when creation becomes still, quiet, hushed with anticipation.

For it knows something we do not.

It knows the beauty of what is yet to come.

Don’t lose heart. Trust in the journey. Hope for things unseen. Have faith in the promise of what lies ahead.

Accept. Abide. Wait.

Let Go Of The Fear That You Are Too Much

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Let go of the fear that you are too much for this world. It is nothing more than dead wood; barren, rigid, fruitless. It holds you back, holds you down, depletes you of life.

You are here to flourish, to grow, to be abundant.

Yet you’re so scared of abundance, aren’t you? You’re so scared to be everything you long to be.

You know it’s there. It burns within you; your purpose, your calling. It burns and you feel it. You feel it when you’re alone and your soul is connected to the universe and in those moments you are an unstoppable force. In those moments your heart cracks open with the beauty of all you are and it cannot be contained within you, it gushes out through every pore and catches alight the souls of the world and you know, you know, this is who you were meant to be.

You long to step into your destiny, to make that your home. But when you emerge from the quiet shadow of your solitude, the fire is smothered by a fear you can’t let go of. You are scared of what they might think of you, what they might say about you, of being misunderstood, ridiculed. And so you shrink yourself, bend yourself, shape yourself, mould yourself into something you think is more palatable to the world.

And then you wonder why you feel as though you never fit, why you never find your place, why nowhere feels like home.

It’s because you were made for something more than you allow yourself to be.
You must be brave, beloved. Be fearless in the pursuit of your destiny. Find your place. You will never be too much for this world. Do not fear abundance, but allow the overflow of your life to spill into the world. Allow beauty and creativity and kindness and love to flow abundantly. Let go of the fear you are too much. Instead, go set the souls of the world alight.

Let go of your fear and find the courage to live the life of abundance you were made for.

We Cannot Be The Healers When We Are Still The Wounded


We cannot be the healers when we are still the wounded.

Sometimes our inability to reconcile the brokenness in our own lives means we project our relentless desire to fix and mend and heal onto others. We are drawn to scattered pieces of puzzles, determined to join them back together, to restore, to make whole.

If we only love them, we will mend them, is what we believe.

And so we become their blood transfusion. We pour our blood into them. Even though we become weak, we continue to bleed ourselves dry. Our blood flows into them but their wounds are not stitched and they continue to bleed out. No matter how much we bleed into them it’s never enough, and now there are two casualties on the table and what we need to do is save ourselves.

But we don’t, do we?

Instead, we exhaust ourselves to find the only needle in the room and we use it to stitch their wounds. Often, while they are still firing bullets into ours.

We struggle not to save. We find it hard to let go and walk away from someone who bleeds. But when we allow ourselves to be broken as we try and mend another, it’s no longer about them. It’s our insatiable need to reconcile the brokenness within ourselves. We think if we walk away we have failed another. When the truth is, we just cannot deal with the thought that we have once again failed ourselves. We cannot deal with knowing there is another thing left broken in our lives that we couldn’t fix.

But we can never bleed to death in the hope it will save another. We must stitch together our own wounds, we must allow life and love and hope to first heal the brokenness within us. And then, then we can love others as we need to. We can love them, but not have to save them. For that is our not our duty. And finally, we will know this.

We cannot be the healers when we are still the wounded.

Letting Go

There is nothing romantic about letting go. 

We’ve been made to believe there should be. That we should caress bittersweet memories as wine flows into our empty stomachs and our hearts break with loss and we write words on paper to process the grief that consumes us. 

We are made to believe letting go is poignant, mystifying, haunting. An expression to be glorified, that we should find beauty in this pain of ours, as if it’s a slow dance under cherry blossom trees on a still night while petals loosen from clear skies and land on dewy grass around our feet.  

But there is nothing romantic about letting go. 

We let go because it’s time. It’s pragmatic, rational. One day we just know. To hold onto what is no longer good for us will only continue to cause us to suffer. It will only beat down our fragile hearts and waste away our delicate souls. One day we just do it. We stumble upon the courage we have lacked. And we stand and brush the dust off our war-torn spirits. We walk away and don’t look back. 

And though at first our steps may blunder, we soon gain strength, speed, momentum. We find ourselves upon a familiar path. The path we used to walk, before we carried around the pain of others, until, heavy laden, we were no longer able to hold ourselves up.

Because in their pain, they told us who they thought we were. And we believed them. We let their opinions and judgments sear themselves on our hearts. We let them change us. But they were so wrong, precious ones. They were so wrong. 

We know who we are. We’ve always known. 

And as the path ahead becomes clearer once again we feel our hearts rise. We no longer fear our freedom but hasten toward it. With each step, we are renewed and transformed.

And here, in our transformation, this is where the romance is found. This is beauty. This is magic. This is life. 

And this is where we will dance under cherry blossom trees on a still night while petals loosen from clear skies and land on dewy grass around our feet.

Precious One, Lay Down Your Shame


Precious one, you had to grow up so fast, didn’t you? You were so young when they handed you such a heavy box to carry. A box filled with secrets, lies and shame. It contained the weight of the world, and your job was to protect it, to hide it away, to never put it down.

It was your responsibility, wasn’t it? To keep everything hidden away in the box. While other children played in fallen leaves under autumn skies and laughed with gleeful abandon, you sat with your box and watched and longed and imagined the feel of grass under your feet. But you were so scared of what might happen if you put the box down, even for a moment, and so there you remained; far too grown up to play childish games. And at night when crickets chirred under skies mantled with glistering stars, even then, you would lie awake, too afraid to fall asleep, too afraid that if you did, you would fail. This was your burden to carry. To be the keeper of secrets, to never betray your mother’s despair, never expose your stepfather’s shame. It was up to you to keep them safe.

As you grew you hoped the box would become easier to carry. But over the years it had become weighted with your own secrets – abuse, neglect, abandonment, rejection. Your lies, your manipulations, your deceits, masks you wore, things you did. Your box was laden with coping mechanisms needed for your survival, but you didn’t know that back then. It was your box of shame, and your weary body crushed under the weight of it.

Childhood passed; games and play and laughter forsaken. Instead, you had to be so serious, so sensible, so wise. You had no choice, did you? You were left to look after yourself. You had to learn self-reliance when you were still so small. But you learned, didn’t you? You learned to do it on your own, to not need anyone or anything. You learned to hold it together. Even when you wanted to cry, to scream, to fall apart. Even when you longed to surrender, to trust, to love, to be loved. Even then, you stayed strong and in control. You never let go of your self-sufficiency. You never let go of the box. You never fell apart. You did what you had to do.

But now your bones ache and your muscles seethe and your hands shake from the cold. Your legs are weak under the weight of all you have carried. You are forlorn from years without laughter. Depleted from so many nights without sleep. Withered from worry, from care, from strain.

Beautiful woman, it’s time to lay the box down. It was never yours to carry. The secrets were never yours to keep. The shame was never yours to bear. The burdens were never to be carried upon your shoulders. Lay it down. Breathe. Rest. Whisper words of truth to the precious child within. Tell her she can let go now. Tell her she is safe. She is safe to find joy, to laugh, to play, to trust, to love, to be loved.

Lay the box down, beloved. It no longer serves you. Leave it behind and walk away.

You are free. You are free.