GRACE ENOUGH -- Part 1

December 20, 2022

Christmas is almost here, or if you celebrate other holidays, those are here as well!

With Christmas just days away, I offer you all this grace-filled word, "ENOUGH.”

Even if you don't bake everything or have a tree, just being together with a few loved ones will be enough. Even if the tinsel is on the floor and the dust bunnies are sneaking around the corner, it is enough. It's great to get things cleaned up and have a reason to. It's great to bake some favorite things and have a reason to. But sharing love and being together (even if only on Zoom) is the reason, celebrating how a little baby could come to a poor mother and turn the world upside down, celebrating how a tiny drop of love can make a whole garden of flowers grow.

I know we want everything to be just right, that we want to gather to sing and celebrate. I want that too, but I think our desire for that is more important than actually getting there. This year I’m offering my heart to this Christmas being enough for me, even in its smallness and to myself being enough.

I just invite you to allow yourself to be enough and allow the plans you have to unfold, with the occasional mess of internet not working or spilled milk. It won't
be perfect but it might be just enough.

Sending grace and Enough,

Jules 

SOLSTICE: FINDING LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

A SOLSTICE WISH FOR YOU

Long, dark nights come. It is true.

There is barely time to catch a ray of sun before the day is over.

Long, dark times come in life too.

There is barely a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

Good news is all but eclipsed by the burdens of life.

Sometimes it seems as if the clouds will never move away.

Even so, the light seems to burn brighter in the darkness

the warmth of love seems more determined than ever

The earth keeps turning, hearts keep beating,

Music keeps humming in my dreams

Then one day it is clear we have crossed that threshold

and we're headed back to lighter days

the darkness goes back to its cave

i pray that on this longest night of the year

you can feel the music that connects you

the hearts that love you

the hope that burns on

and a glimpse of the joy

that will grow from this moment

HAPPY SOLSTICE DEAR FRIENDS!

Love, Jules

~ from December 20, 2019

Happy Solstice!

 

Long, dark nights come. It is true.

There is barely time to catch a ray of sun before the day is over.

Long, dark times come in life too.

There is barely a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

Good news is all but eclipsed by the burdens of life.

Sometimes it seems as if the clouds will never move away.

Even so, the light seems to burn brighter in the darkness

the warmth of love seems more determined than ever

The earth keeps turning, hearts keep beating,

Music keeps humming in my dreams

Then one day it is clear we have crossed that threshold

and we're headed back to lighter days

the darkness goes back to its cave

I pray that on this longest night of the year

you can feel the music that connects you

the hearts that love you

the hope that burns on

and a glimpse of the joy

that will grow from this moment

 

(written by Jules December 20, 2019)

 

Happy Solstice dear friends!

 

Love, jules

Grounded: Day 1

Ash Wednesday

In my tradition, it is the practice to have worship in the evening on Ash Wednesday, during which ashes in the shape of a cross are rubbed on our foreheads. The ashes are often made by burning the branches of the Christmas trees used during the Advent/Christmas. I have always admired that connection between the birth and the death of Jesus even if it is a bit contrived.

Today is Ash Wednesday, 2020 and once again I have ashes on my forehead. Tomorrow, my book group is going to begin reading "Grounded: Finding God in the World" by Diana Butler Bass. I'm kind of excited that tonight I got grounded, as in dirt rubbed into my face; a reminder of the reality that life is death and death is life. It is a reminder to me that I am of the earth, and that I also am part of the cycle of life that includes dying so that life might continue.

It's a mystery for sure, this dying to live thing. And I don't have all the answers. And I'm sure Diana Butler BAss doesn't either. But I look forward to this time of Lent, when I will give the inward journey a bit more attention and intention.

The term "grounded" is interesting. What does it mean to you to be "grounded?"
What grounds you? How can you build a practice of grounding into your life, a way for you to remember the source of your life, a way to reach in and find nourishment for your soul?

--just jules, 2/26/2020

The Pierced Heart and the Rainbow

September 26, 2018 (another year goes by)

Two days from now, September 28, 2018, marks the 18th anniversary of Hans Day, otherwise known as Hans' day of transformation, otherwise known as death. Hans is our third son (out of four). He died at the age of 11 1/2  of  brain cancer (glioblastoma mulitforme).

We had fought it with all we had for 16 months. Those 16 months were the best (yes, the sweetest) and the hardest our family has ever lived through. Hans gave the fight his best, best self....taking time to be grateful to doctors, nurses and chaplains that cared for him, taking time to laugh and joke and enjoy his life, even in the hospital. He was a beautiful soul, who in his short life managed to connect to the infinite presence that connects us all, otherwise known as Love, or God.

Today, Hans' two older brothers and one younger are grown men. Jacob is a teacher, married with a lovely 3-year-old daughter. Karl is also a teacher, married with a two lovely children, a 3-year-old boy and a baby daughter. Luke is a software engineer, single, and making music in his basement. These three young men are as stunning to me today as the day they were born. They are amazing human beings, full of light, joy, grace, kindness and love. I like to think that Hans would be on that same team, if he was here. I like to think he's doing victory dances everyday as he watches them grow from his view on the other side.

On my way home from breakfast with a good friend this morning, I was driving through Karl's neighborhood and couldn't resist stopping by just to see him and his little family. A few minutes and a few hugs was enough to give me that shot of fresh air to fill that huge empty Hans-sized space in the center of me. (How grateful I am, I could live this close)

Your kind empathy is well received but I need to say I wouldn't trade places with anyone. I'm a lucky wife, mama and grandma. In addition to an incredible husband (Pete), I have been given incredible children to care for. These four boys, men now, are such a joy. They are such a precious gift, that some days the love just cuts right through my heart, like one of cupid's arrows. My tears are filled with both the rain of the storm and the water from a fresh spring. Today is one of those days. It's so hard to describe that I often don't attempt it but today I really wanted to try.

Maybe it's like the moment when the sun comes through your window. My heart is a prism hanging in the window and the moment I think of my boys, of Hans and his dear brothers, as babes and men, is the moment that the sun hits the prism and all colors of the rainbow explode and spread everywhere in the room. It is a piercing moment. It's a releasing moment. It's a celebration and welcoming of all that has been and that will be, because these boys came into my life.

I do miss Hans. I wish he was here. And some days I miss the old days, making macaroni and cheese, driving car pools, sick days, watching baseball games and playing brain games in the car. But none of us needs to go back. We are all better people for the experience of knowing and having Hans part of our lives. I am a better person for knowing his brothers as well. It is a magical as the moment that light goes through the prism or the light shines through rain. Somehow, God took my love and my grief and made my life into a rainbow of color.

If this doesn't make sense to you, that's okay. It will always be hard to describe. It is enough to know that some of you are out there, sharing the rainbow with me.
It is enough to be in it for another year of life and love and pierced hearts.

~Jules

WALKING DOWN MEMORY LANE

Walking down Memory Lane

I walked through my neighborhood to the grocery store yesterday. As I walked, I soaked in the activity of late afternoon--School buses dropping kids off, grandparents waiting for the kids, parents and younger siblings walking hand-in-hand, older kids riding bike, people returning from work and mowing lawns and pulling weeds; life gently buzzing around the flowers of the first week of school. 

And then I saw a boy a few blocks from my house and thought of my boys in all their school days. And suddenly this rush of memories came washing over me. So much my life, so many seasons of my life have been lived here in this neighborhood. After living in many different houses during the first 17 years of my life, I have lived here in this one for 33 years this September! Pete and I have raised four boys, added on to our home, cultivated a huge garden and friendships, said goodbye to many, grieved the loss of our third son at age 11, and both my parents and a best friend and Pete's dad. We've grown from young to middle to almost retirement age. We've grown from dreams, to letting go, to sinking deep into our authentic beings. There's been joy here and sorrow and frustration and mess and oh so much beauty. What a life it has been! 

I thought as I walked of how grateful I am to live in a place where I feel safe, where people tend their gardens and walk with their children and dogs in peace, where children play and school buses pass. And where I can see the flowers and the creativity of those who find time to tend to their houses and yards. I am grateful...so grateful to have life, to have a safe life and  a good life. It's not perfect and yet it is. The compost rots and fuels the garden. The mistakes and sorrows teach us the deep lessons and we blossom and grow more than we ever dreamed possible.

and I wondered: what if there was a way to make this simple, safe life available for all? What if every person on earth could feel free and safe walking down their street or even half them? what then? Would we be in heaven already? The only thing better than this would be sharing it with everyone.

May your life, your heart find its own garden path where compost rots and flowers bloom!

love, jules--8/30/18

GRATITUDE MONTH--DAY #7: CLOUD PAINTINGS

GRATITUDE MONTH--DAY #7: Cloud Paintings
photos by Julie (jules) Bonde

Clouds get a bad rap sometimes. I've been known to whine quite annoyingly about clouds and cloudy days; especially those dull, gray, overcast days when it's more like on gigantic cloud is covering everything under the sun. But when the clouds open just a wee bit and play with the sun, magical things happen. I learn then, that clouds add a great richness to the canvas of light over my head and even sometimes the canvas of night as the moon shines through. It is the clouds as well as the pollution that create the bright orange of sunrise and sunset that I can't seem to get enough of. Every second is another whole masterpiece of texture and color, stunning artwork! The view over my head lifts my heart, inspires my soul and helps me breathe. And from it I learn that light playing with the messiness, even the darkness, of life can create a stunning artwork indeed. I learn that all I need for peace, for prayer, is a moment long enough to gaze skyward. But you don't have to take my word for it. You can just look up. Today, I'm grateful for Cloud Paintings!

LOOKING FOR LIGHT AND LOVE

So something horrible happened yesterday and we can't ignore it. And something wonderful happened yesterday but we might have missed it. It is ever so subtle and yet powerful how each time tragedy strikes, our hearts grow a tiny bit closer to each other. We let down our shields for a moment and feel compassion. We open the door just a little bit more to the idea that we are connected, that we are truly one world neighborhood. In that brief moment before we've moved on to the next thing, love has a chance to grow. It doesn't feel wonderful but it is. Why? Because we need compassion in order to get to action, in order to get to peace. Because if a flame of love is ignited in each of us, we might just have enough light to find our way. I know it doesn't make sense. And please don't misunderstand. I'm not trying to gloss over the tragedy. It is indeed a devastating thing, one that will echo in our conversations for years to come, as others have. It is just that I hope the echo is love. Perhaps it's not possible to explain. All I know is that my heart has been broken through tragedy and loss, sometimes to the point of complete surrender. And each time, in that moment after I surrendered to the brokenness, when I put my hands up in despair, that's when the love came pouring in, from friends, from strangers, from the Spirit. That's when the love has grown the most. Leonard Cohen's "Anthem" consoles us with this phrase: "there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." That's where I feel a nudge to go today, to look for the light coming through the crack. So here we are again. Can you feel it? Where will love lead us now? What if we let our lights shine together?

Let Us See What Love Can Do

A crowded sky
So many clouds
So many storms

One has a fiery furnace
Another gale force wind and drenching rain
And yet another thunder and lightening

A crowded town square
So many signs and slogans
So many voices screaming

One has hate
One has resistance
and yet another is ready with war

There's a traffic jam in my heart
There's congestion on the world wide web
Judgments flying faster than the speed of Light
Sirens warn of impending doom
A person could really get lost in it

Questions arise
How? Why? what now?
Where do we go from here?
What does it all mean?

As I breathe into my prayer here
I close my eyes so I can see with my heart
And that's when I hear the whisper of wisdom
And hear the song once again...

"Let us see what LOVE can do."

Jules, 9/6/2017

Clouds as Art

Millions traveled on Monday to see the Total Lunar Eclipse for a whole 2 minutes! It turns out the sun and moon still can pull an audience together from time to time. And it was wonderful but that two minutes wasn't the end of the show for me. As we drove home the sky kept showing off and changing the colors and drama of the canvas. So here is a sample of the many pictures we took on our 8-hour drive home. At one point, driving through the Nebraska sandhills, it looked as if we would driving off the edge of the hill and diving into the storm clouds. So dramatic!

A special thank you to my husband Pete for indulging me by taking some of the photos while i was driving. I am also grateful to both Pete and Luke for their patience when I stopped the car on the side of the road to finish off the sunset photos.

Enjoy this little slide show and then consider giving the everyday sky a bit more attention. You never know when another painting will show up!

Total Solar Eclipse 2017--by the shadow of the moon

By the shadow of the moon, we contemplate the sun....

It was amazing, spectacular, miraculous and worth every mile of driving to get there. Pete, our son, Luke, and I drove to Grand Island, Nebraska to view the Total Solar Eclipse on August 21st. I was able to take many pictures with my little camera and here are the results.

The experience was magical at times. As the moon reached the halfway mark, we began to notice that we didn't feel the full heat of the sun anymore. It was weird to be in the sun but not hot. Later, as the darkness gradually came, our eyes felt like they were fooling us. It was day light but yet not bright and no storm in sight.

We had the perfect weather, mostly sunny with wispy angel clouds floating by. This provided the perfect stage for a rainbow circle around the sun (aka Sun Dog), which lasted for about twenty minutes. When the eclipse was about 75%, a flock of about twenty white pelicans flew over the park where we watched, heralding the coming darkness. And right as the moment of Total Eclipse arrived, three dragonflies appeared over our heads and sat in the tree above us.

The darkness was like right after sunset, with the feeling that God was playing with the dimmer switch. overall, it was a peaceful and gorgeous spectacle. I am so grateful to have been able to go and see it. Here is a little movie of the progression. [note: there is NO SOUND in this video]

May you find the light in your darkness!

just jules

Jewels in the Darkness

I love my life! even when it means listening to sad stories, or struggle. I've heard plenty in the last few days. People hurting each other, people in pain, people feeling lonely and scared, people dying too young. In addition, I've been working on a memorial photo slide show for the Annual Dragonfly Project Celebration and Remembrance event. So for the past several days I've spent about thirteen hours staring at the faces of people who have died and feeling that grief that their loved ones feel.

Sometimes being human is hard and painful, scary and disappointing. Sometimes, despite our efforts things don't go like we want. And yet there is light. There is hope. As I'm listening, I'm looking in their eyes and right there are the jewels of hope. In those precious eyes I see love determined to not let go, I see passion ready to break through walls, I see hope. I hear it in the way the voice wavers for a bit and then continues. The voice bravely moving through the struggle to speak the truth, to say the words that need to be heard. I feel it in the intensity of the emotion. Here is a person who has very strong feelings. The intensity is a sure sign that love is at work, that love wants to win this one. There is hope.

And as I work with the photos of loved ones who have died, I am touched deeply by all the lives all these people have touched, leaving behind love--love enough to make them remember, love enough to honor and grieve for. There is hope even in grief.

Even so, I cry. And even in that, there is hope. It is a sign that my heart is still at work too, that compassion still lives in me. And that is hopeful.

So I still love my life. And I am grateful for each person whose path has crossed mine this week. Thank you for seeing me, for sharing your heart with me, for trusting me with your pain, and for letting me see the light in the darkness, the jewels in your eyes.

My good friend Barbara McAfee wrote this song "Jewels." my favorite line from that is "Every time I go into the darkness, I return with fists full of jewels." She is right! I do! and in my case, I also return with fists full of Jules. Pieces of me are healed and brought to life.

It is my prayer, my longing, that somehow my presence and my listening offers some hope in return, that there is some light shining through, some jewel for each of you to take with you.

I want to share this song with you and hope it blesses you as it has blessed me. And I pray that LOVE will help you find your jewels in the darkness.

Thank Barbara McAfee for the song! You can find more about Barbara at barbaramcafee.com

A NEW YEAR'S INVITATION

(photo: dawn on my street on winter solstice)

A NEW YEAR'S INVITATION

A new year has come

and your are invited to the feast of

another 365 days of living

a buffet of flavors and seasons

Love, humor, color, and more

Come taste the life offered to you

Open your ears to the music

your eyes to the beauty

your heart to the possibilities

A new year has come and you are invited

to live life to its fullest

to be who you are

may 2017 be your best year yet!

~Jules

Bitter and Sweet

Life is bittersweet at its heart, perhaps at its best. For it is in those moments of deepest sorrow or pain that we also are suddenly keenly aware of the amazing gifts and beauty of our lives.

I'll never ever forget the 16 months we had with our son Hans after he was diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer (glioblastoma multiforme) the summer between his 4th and 5th grade years. I can't remember the excruciating pain without also remembering it as one of the best times of our lives. Being faced with the total and complete vulnerability of life for each of us (no matter how healthy) made all those unimportant squabbles and desires melt away. Money and success and being right ceased to matter. All that mattered was love and the moments.

Hans following one of his surgeries.

In some ways it seemed like time stopped. We suddenly had time to enjoy each other and be with each other in ways we hadn't before. We celebrated every day we had together. We went camping, biking, played games, laughed, hung out with extended family. We talked, we sang, we prayed. We hugged and cuddled. We fell in complete love with each other. Honestly, it was an amazing time for us. We lived with joy. Each day was so precious that we closed with a ritual of good night with blessing and goodbye.

Of course, one day we did say goodbye forever as Hans moved on to the next life. (September 28, 2000) And of course there was some pretty wrenching and dark days of mourning to follow. But even those gave birth to a deeper sense of gratitude and honor for this sweet person we were privileged to have among us, even for a short time. And eventually that expanded to a deeper gratitude for all of life, however flawed it is.

What I'm trying to say, is that the bitter and the sweet are so closely tied, that I can't separate them. I'm not arguing for cause and effect, just for the constant companionship of them both in my life. Bitter whispers in one ear with how tragic life is and Sweet sings in the other how fantastic and amazing it is. And peace grows in me, I am transformed, as I learn to dance with both these partners.

Peace!
Jules, 9/2/2016

The Basement Excavation: Giving Thanks for the Connections

In the silence of the early morning, I stopped to meditate for a bit, to ponder. I became overwhelmed with gratitude for this knowing in my bones that I am not alone, that Love, that God, that all of you are with me. I have spent a lot of my life longing for connection (due in part to the conditions of my childhood growing up in a boarding school).

Later, down in the basement, the box I picked up to go through contained all of the sympathy cards sent to us after our son Hans died fifteen years ago. As I threw them into the recycling, I opened each one to read the names signed inside. I just wanted to see the names again. A feeling of gratitude washed over me and stopped me in my tracks. I am so thankful for the community of people whose threads of love held us up during that dark time.

As part of my ongoing longing to connect, I signed up for Facebook long before many of my peers. As a result I was able to "find" people I had lost track of. But Facebook itself is a surreal place. It is not a place of real connection, of real relationship but it is a place where we can come and remember how connected we are. As I have been going through decades of letters, cards and notes, I am experiencing the same thing there. Those letters and cards are not the real relationship but they are a reminder of all the connections my family has had over the years. Honestly, if I had to count them all, there would be hundreds of people over the years that have woven their threads with ours. Perhaps that is part of the answer of why my mom and her parents saved so many of their letters--as visible reminders of those connections. I can't say I blame them. Sometimes when we feel so alone, we need those reminders. It can help to have someone call or text or send you little note on email.

Brene Brown says humans are "wired for connection." This is certainly true in my case. There have been times when I have felt so alone, so separate from family, from friends and even from God. The longing to connect has sometimes been a physical pain in my body. But always when I pause to look and listen, to meditate and ponder, I notice there are threads there. You are there! And I fill up with gratitude and realize I have enough, more than enough.

So if I haven't thanked you lately, for weaving your threads with mine, consider yourself thanked! Friends like you, are worth more than all the gold!

THANK YOU! MERCI BEAUCOUP! MANGE TUSEN TAKK! MISAOTRA!

The Basement Excavation: A family history of saving and grief.

Ash Wednesday was ten days ago and much like many other people I've decided to try a new spiritual practice during the 40 days of Lent that follow it. I've decided to practice getting rid of things, letting go of the past, letting go of stuff, and in some cases letting go of commitments. this is a very personal journey. It is not the first time I've told myself, I am going to de-clutter; I'm going to let go. "Easier said than done" is understatement.

Looking back on a history of family saving
I was born into a family of savers (some might call them pack rats). There were some very logical and practical reasons for the saving over the generations. We didn't have much money. My mom had grown up moving around a lot.  Our family, in turn, also moved a lot, traveled a lot. Along the way, as you travel, you collect things. My parents were missionaries on the island of Madagascar so we couldn't just run to the store for new things. We were thrifty, using the same clothes, books, toys over and over again. We saved them, took care of them and were able to enjoy them for more than one generation. This served my family well for a long time. it was a good habit that taught us to be good stewards of what we had. It also taught us to save things we would never need to use again.

In addition, there are family historians on both sides of my family; in particular my mom's side. Before the dawn of the digital age, these ancestors, including my grandfather, kept diaries, extensive family tree information, took wonderful photographs and slides and even wrote books. My grandfather had a habit of saving all his correspondence (every letter he wrote or received) some of which serve to narrate his family relationships.  He wrote about 40 books, most not published but there are copies for his children. He had his own library. So for my siblings and I, our inheritance consisted mainly of a shed full of books, letters, photographs, slides and boxes with various sentimental and practical things that my parents thought we would use after they were done with it. They meant well. Our parents were trying to help and somehow, as the youngest child, it all ended up in my lap, my basement. And I added some of my own.

Storing my Grief
Over the years I have explored several theories and justifications and analysis for the behavior of hanging on to stuff. The reason that stands out above the rest is grief. I was born in Madagascar, spending most of my time in an Eden-like setting on the southern tip of the island with vacations with my parents in the capital city. For me Ft. Dauphin and Tananarive, Madagascar are my home towns, but there is no home in either one of them to go back to. So when I left, I took what i could with me and hung on to those possessions, notes, diaries, photographs with all my might. I took my home with me. When my parents died, I welcomed their treasures from those places too. It was then I realized they had been taking a piece of home along with them too.

Grief, in its darkest moment, is the excruciating pain of separation from those people and places you love. It makes sense to me then that in those darkest days of grief, we just hung on to what we could of those lost relationships, those lost places.

When I was 17 I left my home in Madagascar for the last time. I have never been back. When I was 27 my dad died. When I was 41 my third son Hans died of brain cancer. Six months later, my best friend died. Several years later my mom died. With each death, each separation, each new wound of grief, I hung on to the pieces of those places and relationships that I could, much like my parents and grandparents had before. And all the while the basement filled up with my grief.

By the time I was in a better place, I didn't want to return to the boxes, the stuff I had stored. I just wanted to live in the joy that I could. Above ground, above the grief, I went on with my life (a pretty joyful life) but every time I walked through the basement, I was reminded. The pile was growing and it was serving me less and less.

So here I am, years later. The boys are grown up and have homes of their own. Pete and I are grandparents. It's Day #11 of my commitment. I've gone through at least 2 boxes each day. Pete is making the first haul to the thrift store. Our recycling container is full. There is a long, long way to go. I've done the easy stuff first. But there is hope.

There is hope.

BURSTING

This is me holding back....

I am bursting to the seams
Filling with, falling into, wallowing in love
Waves of gratitude overwhelm me
as the awareness of the present moment sinks deeper
tiny atoms are dancing to the tune within each cell
Cells are filling with joy
all of IT spilling out, expanding
I can't grasp this abundance all at once
anymore than I can embrace the depth of sorrow all at once
What if suddenly the last 10 years of your life
created a masterpiece of wonder on your wall?
What if all the doubt, the fear, the rejection,
what if all the hope, the tidbits of wisdom
what if all the ways I thought I screwed up
All the ways I was devastated and alone
what if all those things merged into one?
What if all of it is just another molecule, another atom,
a drop of water, A teaspoon of salt, a scale,
a weed, a flower, a tail, sand, rocks, volcanoes
What if all of it is just the ocean, the land the planets and us?
what if I really am here?
What ir you are really here?
And we are one, one joy, one sorrow, one delight, one life,
what if we could really touch each other, really exchange wows
What would you share? Would yesterday show up to bow?
Would tomorrow grab your hand to dance?
Would today this moment lift us both past cloud nine?
love, hope, and yes, even darkness transforms us.
I'm bursting to the seams, another transformation shaping me
Will I grow wings? Will I suddenly run on all fours?
Will I take up gills and swim around the globe?
Or will I melt into the me I suspected was there all along
simple, joyful, present?

There's more but....here comes another wave....got dive in!

sending LOVE, JOY & GRATITUDE,

Jules, 1/28/2014

The Gift of the Lonely Day

I wrote my last post a couple weeks ago on a day when all of the loneliness came crashing in around me; all the grief and sadness, all the loss. I just took a bath in my tears that day. It was definitely a superb pity-party and all just for me; kinda self-centered of me. But something wonderful came from that day.

In the middle of the day, I was eating lunch in my car alone from a hill overlooking the city. Even though it was midday, I was already exhausted from the tears. As I looked on the city I have lived in and loved for three decades I was thinking about all the wonderful people I know who live here; all the beautiful people. My my mind wandered through the list and then stopped for a moment on one particular friend; a friend I had been disconnected from for years. I had tried several times in different ways to get her to meet with me; always leaving it in her court, "let me know when you want to get together." Each time, nothing happened. Each time, I got more discouraged. But I couldn't shake the longing to be reconnected.

Then suddenly I had a new thought. Here I am lonely, sad and sobbing away and I've got nothing to lose, at least not at this moment! I mean if I try one more time and she says, "no!" will I feel worse? So I grabbed my cell phone and sent her a text. "you want to get together for lunch some time?" And she said YES. so two days later, I found myself having lunch with my old friend. It was amazing. The years have changed us both. the losses have changed us both but there was beauty and joy in the connection.  I was suddenly so grateful for that moment of despair a few days earlier and for the whisper of wisdom to try one more time with no expectation of succeeding. And I was grateful for "texting" on my cell phone that it possible for me to invite her in the simplest of fashions.

Conclusion: though it is hard to see the benefit when swimming in your own lake of darkness, there often is grace and gift in giving in to our vulnerability, to our weakness.

Blessing: may you, my dear friends, return from your dark days with "fists full of jewels." (from Barbara McAfee's song) May your tears be the rain that quenches your thirsty soul, may your grief turn to joy and grace.

Blessings on you all,

jules

Sunlight and Shadows

"Sunlight and Shadows playing a game
They're playing games on my window pane."

These are the lyrics to an old, old song I used to hear in my childhood...not that I'm old, old but my parents were. So I just had this simple thought in my early morning dreaming today. As we walk this labyrinth of life's choices and experiences, we gradually learn to embrace both the darkness and the light. And then we begin to see the beautiful intricate designs and paintings that the sunlight and shadows have created on the path behind. I believe this is the amazing experience of being here on this planet...learning to embrace both light and darkness, learning to face the truth of it all, to forgive and to rejoice in the gift.

Peace to all; especially those with the courage to face the darkness within and see the truth!

Blessings on you,

jules