Monthly Archives: July 2017

The pieces are falling into place

There was one more person from the Church whom I mildly, desperately, wanted to find. I’d Googled. I’d searched Facebook and LinkedIn. I’d looked. But nothing.

And then my mom went to what seemed to be a Moonie reunion of sorts. And ran into him. And texted me a picture.

As life it would have it, that was a Sunday, and the following Tuesday I was heading to D.C. As was my long-lost friend. So we got together.

The pieces are falling into place.

As we reminisced over a drink (well, I had wine and he had nonalcoholic beer – my how times have changed) I could feel the pieces falling into place. As I blurted out my memories and some of what had happened since we’d last seen each other, decades ago, I could feel them snapping in.

I’d so needed, and wanted, to see this person again. The universe had provided – even putting us in the same city two days after he’d stumbled upon my mom.

I’ve tried to explain my longing to reconnect with people and places of the Church. I’ve tried to explain how it makes what was so real, and then so unreal, real again. And how healing that is. How healing it is to own all of me, all that happened. All the people and places I’d walked away from. All the pain and joy that had been, and was, wrapped up into my experiences and my life in, and away from, the Church.

It healed me. It wholed me even more. It reinforced and reaffirmed the love in my heart and the love that drives me and fuels me. I remembered painful times with this friend. He apologized. I acknowledged that our friendship – and his love and care – probably helped save my life. Helped save me. I cried.

I told my high school friends about my seeing my Church friend. They sent me “wow’s” and love. I told them how I told him that his love helped save me. They told me I saved myself. They were there. They would know.

A sixteen-year-old reached out to me on Twitter. She asked about my childhood, my experiences, my pain. She told me of her suffering, her trauma. I told her that my suffering and pain has helped me have more appreciation of my life today and, I think, more love in my heart. It doesn’t make the suffering less so; it doesn’t negate the ache and unfairness of all that’s happened to her.

But we survive. We thrive. The universe provides, and the pieces fall into place.

Love prevails.

I’d love to hear your thoughts, and please share this post with others if it resonates with you!

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Even this is working out for me?

There’s this thing my body does…to release some of its pent up energy I guess. It’s not very comfortable. I don’t like it very much. In fact, I hate it, and I have to work hard not to fight against it. Or denounce it. Or me.

I mention it here because I figure if I have this reaction, maybe someone else does as well. And if I come clean about it, maybe they’ll feel better or less weird. Less out of control.

Because when my body jerks (which it does), or I wretch and convulse, and there’s very little if anything I can do to stop it, I feel bad. And weird. And I have to remind myself that I’m not.

I have to remind myself that it’s okay. That I’m okay. It’s okay that this happens, and it’s okay that I don’t know why, and I can’t control it. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. It doesn’t mean I’m damaged or out of control. In fact, maybe the fact that I can let the energy pulse and flow through me and out of me means that I’m quite whole. And strong.

If I’ve learned that “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be” and “Everything is always working out for me” – two mantras that have eased and saved my life – then it stands to reason that even as I jerk or wretch, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and everything – even this – is working out for me. Even, especially, when I feel like it’s not.

The more I accept it, the more ease I have. The more I resist resisting it, the quicker it flows through my body. The more I give up the notion that it has to, one day, completely go away, the less power it has over me, and the less power it has to define me.

I am not my weakest moments. I am not my aftershocks. I am more, much more, than the scars on my psyche and the mis-assumptions and false truths that sometimes reverberate inside my brain.

And maybe, just maybe, I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, and I’m okay exactly as I am. And maybe, just maybe, even this is working out for me. Just as it is.

I’d love to hear your thoughts, and please share this post with others if it resonates with you!

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Take your time universe

I want my book to be published. Truth be told, I want my book to be a bestseller. I want to reach (and help) millions of people and change millions of lives. That is, in full honesty, what I want.

The publishing will happen next year. Hallelujah! That is very, very cool. Very, very cool. The bestseller part? Who knows? I’m choosing not to doubt it.

But I’m also choosing not to rush it. Whereas my patience may have been, at times, lacking in this whole process. Whereas I’ve wanted this for quite some time – when people tell me they’ve been writing, or trying to get their book published, for two years, I laugh.

I am now willing to wait.

I’m willing to wait for the best time. I’m willing not to demand of the universe that this happen, and happen now. I want to be ready for it when it happens. I want to be in my best place. I want to be letting in the good and the joyful. I want to be in my power and my ease.

I don’t want to force things any longer. I don’t want to push or to try. I want to put in my effort and trust, trust, trust that everything is working out and that things are fine. Just as they are.

Take your time universe on delivering on this dream. Take your time, so that I can get myself ready. So that I don’t doubt it or sabotage it. So that I don’t get in my own way.

Take your time universe. Then let it flow!!

I’d love to hear your thoughts, and please share this post with others if it resonates with you!

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