Winter Dance

Overnight the snow silently shuffled across the patio gently covering the brick pavers with a thin blanket of white, an inch deep at most. High above me in the grey pre-dawn sky, a small dark leaf takes flight, plucked from the branches of a bare tree by a gust of cold wind, then beckoned downward to the snow-covered earth by gravity. The leaf waltzes with the wind, dancing in a perfect circle, before breaking away and twirling free, moving southward toward the fence and disappearing into the shadows.

I stand quietly for a moment, then open the door and step out of the garage. The cold wind greets me and does not invite me to dance. Instead I scurry to complete my task, bringing dry food to fill a dish for the white-and-gray semi-feral cat, one of three cats that roam this small rural community—a cluster of 500 households located 92 miles west of Minneapolis. When we first met in the warmth of summer I had refused to feed this cat, yet in the depth of winter my heart moves toward compassion. The weather has turned bitter cold. Wind chills of 20° below zero are forecast for today and I am reminded of Jordan B. Peterson’s insistence that Mother Nature is a cold-blooded killer, even as she nurtures life on earth.

In past years, six decades of living actually, I’d embraced and asserted that people should not be feeding feral cats as it simply supports unsustainable breeding/birthing rates. Yet on a recent morning as I stood warm and dry looking out the kitchen window watching this one make its way across the snowy landscape, my heart moved toward intervention or perhaps interference—which however well intended often is not a kindness. Am I painfully prolonging misery in the cold shadow of inevitable death Mother Nature brings? Or is my meager offering a welcome and simple kindness?

Rw

image: Olga Deeva on Unsplash [more]

Jordan B. Peterson, psychologist and author [more]

treasure map

Traveling with toddlers is unpredictable even on short rides. Traveling 362 miles with a toddler, then turning around and driving back home the next day is a challenge.

Over the past three decades, with and without toddlers, these roads, this journey, has become too familiar.

Traveling hundreds of miles for short stays is part of our blended Iowa-Wisconsin family -- Albert Lea MN once seemed the perfect half-way point. Career opportunities did not take us there.

So as autumn moves into northern Wisconsin, we find ourselves traveling south for the funeral of the family matriarch, my mother-in-law, my husband's mother, our children's paternal grandmother. The little boy in the carseat is one of her eleven great-grandchildren. His father and his aunt occupy the front seats of the rented van; my hubby "Grumpa" is stretched out as best he can in a second row seat; i am riding co-pilot in the back row, next to the sturdy carseat that holds our most precious cargo.

"Why?" is his favorite question. "The Blu House" his favorite destination.

He treats us to nearly an hour of heart-wrenching appeals to go to The Blu House, punctuated with tears of disappointment and that favorite question, "Why?"  Our breakfast at McDonald's seems to change it up, perhaps because we invited him to choose the restaurant?  We spend the next six hours sampling the toys, games and books daddy and mommy packed for the trip, and making sure there are lots of running-playing-moving games as we visit rest areas and gas stations along the way.

For the toddler, the hotel pool offers respite, the promise of more adventure. The rosary, wake, visitation, funeral, luncheon and burial become places to meet new playmates, young life affirming hope in the dust of death.

The matriarch is remembered for homemade mac-n-cheese and sweet rolls, thoughts drift to noisy family gatherings around her kitchen table, the Thanksgiving ice storm that compelled us to stay an extra day, the weddings and funerals and baptisms that invited us to travel this way.

And then, our time here is over. We are back in the van. Reversing directions. Heading home.

The roadside running-playing-moving holds no allure. The toys, games and books packed for the trip have grown tired and stale. In an effort to avoid the "Are we there yet?" cliché i dig into my own bag of tricks and tear a blank page from my journal.

Together my grandson and i draw a secret pirate treasure map spanning three states, decorated by pictures of us as pirates with simple drawings of pirate landmarks; i soon discover that the map has turned the tables for i am the one redirecting the boredom, asking "Are we there yet?" and inviting sweet toddler fingers to find our location and inform me "Not yet!"

Over 724 miles and many-too-many hours on the road my grandson held onto hope.


Jesus said, “Let the children come to me and do not stop them, because the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14 GNT

darkness

I often give evil too much credit.

In the predawn hours on this wintery Friday, my dog Harley is nestled on my lap. Sleep eludes me, so we are in the living room, snuggled into white cotton blankets, finding comfort in the back-and-forth motion of a wicker rocker. The street lamp outside the window illuminates a clean, white snow. The light of the floor lamp near our rocker floods the pages of a book, allowing me to re-read The Shack.

There is something about December's short winter days and long cold nights, something magnetic and dark, something that pulls me toward despondency. And in the weeks that follow, in the days of January, as I climb out of the dark and uninhabitable caves of depression I am helped by revisiting familiar stories: Gone with the Wind, It's A Wonderful Life, The Shack ...

These are the earthly measuring sticks against which change in me is self-measured.

Like a lost gift found behind a wilting and abandoned Christmas tree, something I hadn't seen before leaps from the page, bringing life to my tired soul. I close the book, stopping to ponder the idea that darkness is not a thing of itself with mass and shape and power, but rather darkness is the absence of light, evil the absence of good.

Christ Jesus has illuminated the way.

Those who trust in Jesus have been given redeemed hearts, but our bodies and the world in which we live is still physically affected by sin. Our bodies still die, our psyche is still marred, we still are prone to the selfish pursuit of being our own god, and Creation is still screwed up, but this is not the end. Our redemption has just begun. - from Beliefs, Fellowshipcf.org

So never be ashamed to tell others about our Lord ... For God saved us and called us to live a holy life. He did this, not because we deserved it, but because that was his plan from before the beginning of time—to show us his grace through Christ Jesus. And now he has made all of this plain to us by the appearing of Christ Jesus, our Savior. He broke the power of death and illuminated the way to life and immortality through the Good News. - 2 Timothy 1:8-10 NLT excerpt

 Rw

$3 Flannel

the challenge: a costume that illustrates the change you are looking to see.

my response: naked and unashamed.

today? an L.L. Bean flannel nightshirt i picked up for $3 from the men's rack in a second-hand store, clothing in which i am comfortable, clothing that signals rest and respite, time away from the world.

tomorrow? tomorrow it may be different.

"Naked and Unashamed: letting people see the real me"
— wearing something that makes you feel beautiful, that reveals your heart and celebrates the real you. So ... a tiara, a team t-shirt, a long flowing skirt, a great pair of jeans, a whispered hopes button, flip flops or stilettos, a piece of jewelry you created ...

Now let Us conceive a new creation—humanity—made in Our image, fashioned according to Our likeness. And let Us grant them authority over all the earth ... Genesis 1:26 VOICE

Rjw


photo: source

this came true

Three years ago the aroma of toothpaste greeted my daughter as she came into my office. I imagine a quizzical look scampering across her eyebrows as her gaze came to rest on the white poster board on which I'd painted with toothpaste the words "Jesus Wept" – an illustration for my blog.

use of a toothbrush 1899 - wiki commons

That this unconventional use of oral 
care product was not so odd as to cause 
serious concern regarding my mental 
health speaks to the longevity and 
fluidity of our mother-daughter, 
mentors-friends relationship.

Today there is an added bonus, the 
exquisite discovery of the words of 
a prayer, an answered prayer:

I want to evaporate fear – caring about 
people in the moment, struggling and 
weeping beside people in distress, 
living and celebrating joy as it happens 
in my life and in the lives of those 
around me. When we put down our 
shields to share our sorrow and 
our joy with the world, Life evaporates fear. – "This" July 6, 2011 more

During the 1095 days spanning the gap between the original writing and my reading, the prayer was answered. "This" came true.

While experiencing daily the concepts of "Exclusion & Embrace" more ... while embracing the blessing of sabbatical ... while diligently focusing a great deal of time to discover, nourish and integrate Sabbath ... it is not by accident that I discover an answered prayer.

Rjw

yolo

you only live once

What is keeping you from living life to the fullest?


 

This morning I think of my friends, ordinary women and men embracing life with extraordinary courage, and I wonder what is keeping me from living life to the fullest too?

Rw

ordinarycourage.com

Pink Lemonade for Krystal

God's angel sets up a circle
   of protection around us while we pray.
Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see—
   how good God is.
Blessed are you who run to him.
Psalm 34:7-8 MSG

A young woman, a brunet with bright blue eyes, runs for the first time in decades. She is freed from her wheelchair by death. She runs to Christ.

A mother grieves. A father mourns.

A priest wears the pink vestments out of season.

In the church people celebrate life. Her caregiver Ivan reads a poem composed for this occasion, a celebration of Krystal and her favorite color pink.

She is buried near the edge of the cemetery, behind the church.

Krystal Kathleen

September 16, 1984 to May 24, 2006

Friends and family gather for the luncheon; the lemonade is pink.

 Rw

photo credit nombresconsignificado.com

Tenacious Oak

My much neglected morning devotional opens with this verse:

By faith we understand that the

universe was ordered by the word of

God, so that what is visible came into

being through the invisible.

Hebrews 11:3 more

The question that follows is:
"What in God's creation feeds my spiritual life the most?"

Trees
the seasonal cycles of deciduous trees
the coming back to life after winter
the seed helicopters on the maples
the tenacity of oak leaves over winter
the sounds of birds
the scrambles of squirrels
the branches catching the movement of the wind
the shade on a warm summer day

Reading my 'chapter a day' I find myself nodding in recognition at Paul's words:

The desire to break camp here and be with Christ is powerful.

Philippians 1:22-26 MSG excerpt

I am like a tenacious oak leaf hanging on through the winter, assured in the arrival of spring.

Rw

Photo by Vasyl Nesterov more

Mama Bird

A few days ago I came across the podcasts from God Loves Great Sex. In the second season women talk about their journeys – both sorrows and joys.

I am amazed at the strength within my friends.

This morning, mama bird is back on my porch, safe and warm in her nest at the top of the column. She and her mate have nested on our front porch since 2009.

The first year eggs hatched but the chicks didn't make it. Boldly the adult birds came back the following spring to build again, and were blessed with hungry, healthy baby birds for two years.


In this unseasonably warm spring – their fourth year on the porch – the nest has blown off the top of the column three times, as though God is somehow saying: Not yet, mama bird, it is too early to lay your eggs. 

Each time the nest blew away, mama bird disappeared for a day or two. This last time she stayed away longer, long enough that I thought she was gone for good.

Harley

A few days later a small pile of sticks and grass appeared, then an empty nest ... and this morning she is there to greet us as Harley and I step out the front door for our morning walk.

As I think about my friends, the courageous women who share their stories in podcasts, in blogs and in person, I see trust and hope in Christ.

Like mama bird these women are "... working hard, working late, working without eating; with pure heart, clear head, steady hand; in gentleness, holiness, and honest love ..." believing God is with us no matter how often that nest seems to blow away.

Our work as God's servants gets validated—or not—in the details. 

People are watching us as we stay at our post, alertly, unswervingly . . . 

in hard times, tough times, bad times;
when we're beaten up, jailed, and mobbed; 

working hard, working late, working without eating; 

with pure heart, clear head, steady hand;
in gentleness, holiness, and honest love; 

when we're telling the truth,
and when God's showing his power..."  

— 2 Corinthians 6 more 

Rw

Affirmations

"Good morning, this is God..." reads the front of the card on my desk, the one my baby sister sent in October. Beside it, a friend's 2012 New Year's note and new parents' pink birth day thanks bring a smile.

Tucking my treasures into the
wire catch-all above my desk,
I think about good and bad days, the ups and downs life takes. My stash contains paper affirmations, notes of thanks, wisps of weddings, funerals and births, puffs of ordinary weekdays and long weekend holidays.

Days of bright hope. Dark nights of despair.

the image upsets my little Catholic girl

The little Catholic girl in
my head says NO NO NO
to Smoking Jesus. My inner
rebel enjoys her discomfort, embraces the many changes birthed in our adult pain.

This image brings laughter, then tears. I remember the darkness. The permission to rest. A friend witnessing the struggle. Encouraging words.

As I read the New Testament as though it were a novel - the little Catholic girl screams NO NO NO at the casual word NOVEL - the Bible story of Jesus feeding thousands with
a few loaves of bread and a couple fish is framed by granite bookends, deep adult pain.

When Jesus learns that his cousin, John, has died He withdraws
by boat, privately, to a solitary place.

The crowds follow Him.

He has compassion on them, heals their sick, gives them something to eat.

Later, sending the disciples ahead by boat and dismissing the crowds, Christ climbs the mountain, seeking solitude, prayer.
Jesus stays there alone, late into the night.

Christ grieves deeply. His pain opens my heart.

I cry out in fear.

Jesus responds,“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”


Rw
.
Matthew 14 NIV
Photo Credits Smoking Jesus Loaves and Fishes

Encouraging Words

Thank you for all you do. You are a good shepherd. You are
striving to lead people where our enemy is not interested
in you going. You are following the One True Lord. The
people you remind me of are stuff of legend.

You are wounded. Its time you admit your humanity and take
care of yourself. You are not alone.

These pictures make me think of you and I pray that they
bring a smile to your lips and to your heart.
—your friend and champion

.

The River

The river flows onward without clinging to where it has already
been. It does not look back with regret the path it has taken
and carved. It has no fear of the inevitable upcoming boulders.
If it comes upon a DARK hole, it fills it up without dread.
It moves toward something bigger than itself without the worry
of losing its control or losing its identity. It merges with the
vastness elegantly and gracefully, becoming one, contributing
to the larger body all its power and energy.
—Nico, Interruption

Strength: the river has taken and carved

Courage: the river fills dark holes without dread

Beauty: the river merges elegantly and gracefully

In all the words written in the blogs of my Trust 30 friends, this passage is the one I find most compelling. Nico's words quietly inspire me to be more like a river, to flow in life with strength, courage and beauty.

In her words I hear not the rush of rapids, but the quiet power
of deep moving water - a river capable of carving a grand canyon, a river patient enough to embrace life one day at a time.

Strong.

Courageous.

Beautiful.

Life-Giving.

Healing.

Water.

Wherever the river flows, life will flourish—great schools of fish—

because the river is turning the salt sea into fresh water. 

Where the river flows, life abounds.

Ezekiel 47 MSG

Then the Angel showed me Water-of-Life River, crystal bright. 

It flowed from the Throne of God and the Lamb, 

right down the middle of the street. 

The Tree of Life was planted on each side of the River, 

producing twelve kinds of fruit, 

a ripe fruit each month. 

The leaves of the Tree are for healing the nations.

Revelation 22 MSG

Rw

.

Harley's First Snow

My husband and I grew up with winter, as did our Black Lab mix, Dozer. Our handsome rescued Papillon, Harley, came to us from Texas this past April.

As the weather cooled and autumn promised winter, my husband and I speculated on Harley's reaction to his first snow. We laughed in anticipation of Harley's confusion and surprise as he discovered cold white winter. When I looked out the window this morning, I quietly slipped a camera into my coat pocket, preparing to capture the moment on my morning walk with Harley.

Pocketing the leash and a couple baggies for any mess he might deposit along the way, I invited Harley on our morning walk like today was just another day. And Harley rose to the occasion.

With no other dogs in sight, Harley walked without his leash. Staying within the familiar and defined space of the wet concrete sidewalk, he sniffed at the strange white stuff covering the lawn, perhaps touching his nose briefly to the icy cold. He walked east. He sniffed and strolled at his usual pace, staying to the sidewalk, until we got to the 4th house on our block. Turning south in the walkway leading to the neighbor's front porch, Harley sniffed the shriveled flowerbeds. He turned, backing tushy-first over the plants, and did his business, keeping all 4 paws on the sidewalk ...

... then ran back toward our house at full speed, leaping up the steps of our front porch and skidding to a stop at the front door.
I laughed.

Every morning Harley is a languishing walker, expecting an extended route, several blocks of sniff and stroll. Today, in the snow, he was efficient in the space of a few adjoining front yards, getting back to the front porch a full 40 feet in front of me.

This is when I got out the camera, as Harley waited on the front porch, looking longingly at the front door, then back at me.

I could almost hear him saying, "Gitty up!"

Good people take good care of their animals, 

but the wicked know only how to be cruel.

Proverbs 12:10

Rw

.

PMS Tea and Genuine Maple Syrup

The tea packages are tamper evident and moisture proof. Good thing too, as this precious cargo has resided in my stash for more than a decade. I've never tasted the stuff. Dandelion Root and Uva Ursi Leaf don't appeal to me. The power is in the packaging. On any one of THOSE days, when life is getting the best of me and I want some peace and quiet, I indulge in the thought of laying a package next to my keyboard, or moving all four to a strategic location in the cupboard that holds our coffee mugs. One of THOSE days when I want to hang one from the rear view mirror in my car, like a pine-tree air freshener, only more combative.

It is usually a day when, to put it delicately, I am less than my best? When being nice to me is like embracing a porcupine? Dangerous to the initiator of the hug? When I so badly need a hug? I am reminded of Elf, the scene where Buddy hugs the raccoon. I laugh.

I see the violence coming, but I watch anyway. Today, I laugh again at the simple off-beat childlike character. He's clueless and genuine. His love is sticky sweet like the maple syrup he lavishes on every plate of food.

Today, as I touch the unopened packages of PMS tea, I feel time rushing past too quickly. I think about the genuine unfiltered love offered by the movie character Buddy and the burdensome amount of real-life time I spent being a porcupine.

Today, it is time to pass on the PMS tea, not as a weapon of selfish indulgence, but as a reminder to accept all the sticky sweet hugs and genuine love life offers.

Rw

Will Ferrel plays Buddy in Elf

This is my 100th blog. I was going to start with that, but it seemed too big a risk. Now, I'm celebrating!

Then, I realize the software counts better than I, it is the 95th.
Now, I need a hug.
.

HGTV

I like watching HGTV, especially the shows where people tackle projects. I am drawn to the sharing of a vision, the demolition, the rebuilding. I am captivated by the moment of hopelessness when a problem 'bigger than expected' is discovered.

There is difficulty and pain in the moment of hopelessness, yet the joy in the finished project grains depth, becomes greater. The homeowners appreciate the completed room with a bonus: they view themselves differently, more capable and knowledgeable. Self-image is remodeled too.

The LORD merely spoke,

and the heavens were created.

... breathed the word,

and all the stars were born.

... assigned the sea its boundaries

and locked the oceans in vast reservoirs.

Psalm 33:6-7 NLT

As the green leaves splash on autumn color, and fall gently glides into another day, I am learning to embrace the remodeling of my self-image, the unfolding of my strengths and weakness, my moments of hopelessness and joy.

Rw
.

Timeline

Do you make room for “accidents” in your writing plan, and allow opportunities to explore creative diversions? Take a few minutes and look at one of your current writing projects. What can you do to loosen the plan just enough to ensure you don’t make the same mistakes that Tharp mentions below? Smash365
These mistakes — relying too much on others, waiting for the perfect setup, overthinking structure, feeling obligated to finish what you’ve started, and working with the wrong materials — are deadly. Any one of them will undermine your best efforts. ~Twyla Tharp, The Creative Habit, p. 128 

This morning
as I listen to the 09.25.11 podcast by one of my favorite teachers,
I search for 
my timeline, something gathered together as homework
for a class
14 months ago, a synopsis of my life. I can't find it. What I leave behind is a mess. Bins and boxes, unfinished scrapbooks, a room full of bits and pieces. The dried and crumbling bouquet of calla lillies from my wedding rests atop a photo of my father as a Marine. I am lured by the promise
of a perfect setup, a flawless filing system, a well-structured story of my earthly life. If I only stack neatly the memories in closet and armoire, then I can pull together the words. I wallow now in the chaos that just minutes ago rested unseen in dark spaces behind tidy doors.
I want the disappointing memories, bottomless emptiness, inky blackness to disappear – and the beauty of a life created to emerge within my words.

Perhaps what I need is a Word?

I didn't find my timeline. Instead in the chaos I discovered the workbook that prompted the homework: Believing God.

We spent 12 weeks on 5 statements, a pledge of faith:

God is who He says He is.

God will do what He says He will do.

I am who God says I am.

I can do all thing through Christ.

God's Word is living and active in me.

Our of respect for her work, I resist the urge to replace the author's use of He with my preference S/He. The non-gender-specific pronoun is my weakness, a need to be reminded often that I too am created in God's image.

Taping together one sheet of paper for each decade of my life here on earth, I put my birth father's birth date on the left edge. Scaling the timeline at about 1/2 inch per year, I mark my birth mother's birth date, my own birth date, and the birth dates of my siblings, and my children. Then I added more paper to the left side, space for my grandparents' birth dates, great-grandparents birth dates, perhaps more.

Today, recreating the timeline brings perspective.

Each day is 1/365th of the space between two birthdays – the slash marks at the right so close together that the text is unreadable. The whole year is really such a tiny slice of life when compared to all that came before, all the time God devoted to designing today for me.

And for you.

Rw

Inspiration

I am inspired by simple stories from my childhood tied up in fairy tale endings like Cinderella with Lesley Ann Warren or the animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas narrated by Boris Karloff.

I am inspired by sequined comedy and clueless heroism in the weeping The Three Amigos who just found out life is not a movie.

I am inspired by the play of light and dark in an oil painting of a stormy sea I once viewed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Today I cannot remember the title of the painting nor the name of the painter, yet the inspiration remains.

Unlike the quintessential renaissance man, a master of both arts and sciences,
I am a woman adrift in
a stormy ever-expanding
sea of inventions and incantations that I will
never master.

And I find inspiration in
the simple, paint-spattered t-shirt of an apprentice working and learning and living in this creative space called life.

Rw


Original Thought by Michael Brajkovich
“The arts and inventions of each period are only its costume, and do not invigorate men.” Think of the last time that you thought, said, or did something that was original. What inspired or invigorated this? MB

Blue Hydrangeas

blue hydrangeas

blue stained glass

stained glass ducks

a bunch of multicultural rubber duckies

just a bunch of flakes

dog treats in kitchen jars

wheat on a bowl, the pattern my grandmother owned

my favorite cotton table cloth

rockers with faded cushions on my front porch

the encouraging words of a friend

blue hydrangeas

blue stained glass

stained glass ducks

a bunch of
multicultural
rubber duckies

just a bunch of flakes

dog treats in kitchen jars

wheat on a bowl, the pattern my grandmother owned

my favorite cotton table cloth

rockers with faded cushions
on my front porch

the encouraging words
of a friend
Zeph 3:17









Rw

Ordinary Things by Ana Guardia
“Every artist was first an amateur.”
To be an artist one has to find beauty in ordinary things. Find 10 things of great beauty in the landscape that surrounds you. For example, crumple sheets on your bed in the morning, the smell of coffee making its way around a busy office. AG

This

After spending more than half of our Trust30 days together trying to catch up, Tuesday night I was inspired by This: "Fear evaporated under these conditions"

I grabbed a piece of whiteboard
and my tube of toothpaste, went outside in the fading light and wrote This: "Jesus wept"

Jesus was human. He shed silent tears as the mourners lead him to the tomb of Lazarus, his friend. He shed silent tears for Lazarus' sisters Martha and Mary, and the people who mourned with them. Jesus wept for his friends, and the friends of his friends.

And Jesus wept for us.

I want to evaporate fear – caring about people in the moment, struggling and weeping beside people in distress, living and celebrating joy as it happens in my life and in the lives of those around me. When we put down our shields to share our sorrow and our joy with the world, Life evaporates fear.

I am inspired by This.

Rw


Number 1 Passion by Eric Handler
What is your #1 passion in life?  Now, imagine what would happen if you incorporated that passion into your life daily.  Write down your passion and keep it close to you.  Remind yourself of it daily, just like brushing your teeth. EH

A Simple Gift

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.
–Ralph Waldo Emerson

Iron string. Silver cord.

Trust thyself. Remember your Creator.

When the almond tree blossoms, trust. When your hair turns apple-blossom white, trust. When you are doing the thing you love, working with a heart vibrating, trust.

Trust that you are creating something beautiful.

Imagine the brush strokes, as Van Gogh created Almond Blossom.

I look at the painting, then close my eyes to imagine the feeling, talent pulsing from heart to fingertips, creating something so beautiful ...

... to give as a simple gift, a painting to hang in a child’s room.

After the birth of his nephew, Van Gogh wrote in a letter

to his mother, “... I started right away to make

a picture for him, to hang in their bedroom,

big branches of white almond blossom

against a blue sky.” Feb 20, 1890

 Today, my hair is apple-blossom white. I kept my hair a youthful shade of brown for 26 years, applied artificial color and highlights more than 260 times, spending an estimated 1081 hours of my lifetime covering true me. On the second Wednesday in March – 108 days ago – I asked my stylist to cut it at the growth line, to essentially shave my head. He gently refused, agreeing to cut it short, then later cut it again, then cut it again, and again until all that remains is true me – an almond blossom me.

How will I use the time I am not in the salon, dyeing my hair?

How will I use this time here on earth before the silver cord is severed and the golden bowl is broken?

I will use it to remember my Creator.

Life, lovely while it lasts, is soon over.
Life as we know it, precious and beautiful, ends.
The body is put back in the same ground it came from.
The spirit returns to God, who first breathed it.


Rw

Ecclesiastes 12


Enthusiasm by Mars Dorian
Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. – Ralph Waldo Emerson  “Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.” is a great line from Emerson. If there’s no enthusiasm in what you do, it won’t be remarkable and certainly won’t connect with people on an emotional basis. But, if you put that magic energy into all of your work, you can create something that touches people on a deeper level. How can you bring MORE enthusiasm into your work? What do you have to think or believe about your work to be totally excited about it? Answer it now. MD