Looking in the Right Places

Is this house crooked or is it the street? Or the picture? Or your glasses ?

There’s nothing like a summer night at the baseball field to remember small town life and the simpler things.

The cool air, the beautiful mountains so close you could touch them. Sweaty, sticky little innocent faces whose whole lives are ahead of them. The crack of a bat, the anxious parents yelling to “Hurry! Get the ball!” As if there were any other goal of the game.

It’s all so surreal to me….

It’s been 11 years since I left the small town life and moved to the “Big City”. Luckily every summer I can go back to that life when watching my grandkids play baseball.

Many nights were spent at the ball park in my home town and the next one over where I raised my kids. So, of course I know many people there. Small town families are notoriously all have that LOOK that you can usually place them in their respective families. However, last night they all looked like strangers to me. People from a whole different world. I might as well have been back in the city, where everyone is anonymous.

So I asked my daughter, “how come I don’t recognize anyone?”
She said, “Well, are you looking in the right places? Because this is a whole other generation & your people are over there in the rocking chairs in the shade!”
She was right.

I was looking in the wrong places. How many times in my life had I done that very thing?

Sometimes it’s not at the ball field. Sometimes it’s on dating sites or on a social media post that we interpret to our own personal experience and jump to conclusions about what it must mean.

Wherever we are, we will find what we are looking for. 

If we are in the habit of feeding our fears or insecurities, we will most certainly find things that will.

Brene` Brown states:

Stop walking through the world looking for confirmation that you don't belong. You will always find it because you've made that your mission. Stop scouring people's faces for evidence that you're not enough. You will always find it because you've made that your goal. True belonging and self-worth are not goods; we don't negotiate their value with the world. The truth about who we are lives in our hearts. Our call to courage is to protect our wild heart against constant evaluation, especially our own. No one belongs here more than you.

There’s an old story of a couple who were moving and pulled up to a gas station in their new town. They asked the attendant if the town was friendly. The attendant said, “Was your old town friendly?” “No, not at all”. The woman said. The attendant shook his head: “Then this one won’t be either”.

Our preconceived notions can set us up for failure. When we are unable start a new experience with a blank slate; we will experience what we always have. People who have a “chip on their shoulder” are very obvious to others even if they don’t think they are. In fact, they often wonder why the world is so cruel, or why others are so unhelpful or even ‘rude.’

So, how can we find what we are looking for, yet have a blank slate free from expectations or judgements? How to be like a child who can play and acclimate in almost any situation? I believe it’s because they have one goal in mind- to have fun. They have an intention.

“Our intention creates our reality”- Wayne Dyer

If we are intent on finding something that helps us grow, we will. If we (usually subconsciously) are looking for something that offends us or irritates us, we will. All of us have had those days when we wake up on the wrong side of the bed and everything goes wrong. We keep waiting for our luck to change as if something will drop out of the sky and change our life. Until we realize we have the power to change the mood, the day, or at least stop the barrage of negative thoughts that seem to attack us.

In order to find what we are looking for, we not only have to look in the right places, we have to BE in the right place ourselves.

How to get there?

Habits for Well Being has a great list Here:

  • Writing in your journal.
  • Meditating.
  • Reading an inspiring quote or poem.
  • Go for a walk or run (if you are able to).
  • Spend some time stretching or doing yoga.
  • Focus on a power word for the day, week, month or year.

It isn’t easy, especially when we are so focused on our problems, or on that one thing that seems to be our kryptonite.

I’m going to try it today.

I’m going to limit my social media time so I’m not drawn into conflict or endless debates on things that drain my energy.

I’m going to spread light and love, especially since it’s my daughter’s 24 th birthday and the fact that I have her AND my amazing prodigal 35 year old son close by, is seriously a miracle.

I’m going to focus on seeing the good. I’m going to look for the helpers as if I’m riding the train into Mr Roger’s neighborhood.

May you find what you’re looking for on this happy & bright Saturday.

Mint Plants

How can a plant help us see our lives in full circle? What can a few leaves, some dirt and a pot teach us about life?

What we think will never change- one day, suddenly changes!

That’s what!

I have 2 Mint plants. The one on the left was the healthy big one when I bought them. The next one over was a measly lifeless scraggly plant that was half the price. I had hope at first that I could save it, but soon decided it might not make it & I had the thought to toss it. After I trimmed the leaves off the healthy one, to put in my drinking water, it slowly died. Soon after, the second one took over & came to life & is now reaching for new heights. It’s growing up toward the skylight in my kitchen.

Funny thing is, there have been times in my life when I was the plant on the left. Other times the situation was exactly reversed.


Don’t ever think you are destined forever in your troubles.

If I’ve learned anything in my short (5`3″) life, is that no matter how I feel or what just happened to me, it won’t last.

I KNOW it will change. Little by little I’ll feel better or something grand will happen out of the blue. Things have a way of working out. It’s just so hard to wait. Whatever it takes to get your mind clear & feeling better during that time is paramount. It’s taken me a lot of years to learn what I need to do to get to that place.

Had I learned it sooner, it might have saved a lot of heartaches. 

I was in the place on the left just one month ago. I thought all is lost, there’s no hope. But almost everything I have hoped for the last few years has happened.

I feel blooming.

Light. Hope. Happiness. Redeemed. Grateful.

Even- dare I say it? Joyful.

I wish I could say it was of my doing, but I can’t. My mood transformation is nothing short of a miracle. My family has come together like a forest full of lush blooming, sweet smelling greenery. The love and support which I thought was a distant dream, has magnified ten- fold. Amidst heartache and pain, it has blossomed deep family bonds that can only move forward.

I believe we can create our own miracles in the midst of struggle. Not by controlling others, but by honing in on our emotions and thoughts to pull us out of the depths of utter darkness.

Find your place & pull yourself up to it. Go toward the skylight. Find your Sun. Somedays you’ll be on top of the world. But be oh so humble when you are there. It can change in an instant. And don’t ever look down at that scraggly plant & think that you’re better than it. Both of you have the same innards inside. The same potential to be your greatness! It just might be hidden from the onlooking world. You both will ebb & flow thru life· So just be kind. Mostly to yourself.

When you are kind to yourself and others you can enjoy the flow so much more.

Remember to never, ever give up. Possibilities exist that are beyond our thinking when we are sinking. Faith in these possibilities, is a learned skill if you don’t naturally have that positivity.

Just remember:



93, 92, 90, 88, 85. The red flashing numbers on the monitor were screaming to be noticed, as they dived downward.

My son pulled his head up off the bed in the intensive care unit and gasped for air.

“Please get me out of here!”

“I can’t breathe!” He yelled.

His face was a shade of non- agreeable gray as his reddened eyes rolled back. He started grabbing the many tubes that were sustaining his life for 2 days now. Just an hour before, he had told me he thought he was going to die the night before. But now…..

This seemed pretty close too.

“Please help me G-d dammit!” His teeth clenched together to bite the tube that was in his mouth.

I was embarrassed, worried, scared, sad, angry, powerless and confused.

I held my trembling insides together as I watched this first born son of mine fight the ravages of the disease of addiction’s monstrous withdrawal symptoms coupled with new diagnoses of pneumonia, flu and the surprise one: congestive heart failure.

He was only 36.

This boy of mine who was always moving (no sedentary lifestyle for him); didn’t cave to the smoking fad; Loved salads along with his hamburgers; now had the heart of an 80 year old.

Over the last few years, I had conjured up all scenarios of addiction and lived in fear of overdoses; but this? Heart failure? Never, in a million years.

With the withdrawals out of control and his oxygen dropping quickly, I had to make the decision to let them intubate him. This means a tube would be inserted into his lungs to breathe for him.

My husband and I were whisked out of the room while they inserted another lifeline into my little 9 pound 5 oz baby who had metamorphosed into a 6 ft 220 man now.

A flailing struggling human.

He was finally beaten down by the deprivation and the twisted, sharp fangs of the lifestyle of addiction. This larger than life man, who was the life of the party, now reduced to the mercy of these medical professionals who were strangers in a strange and dark town.

Driving into this town lately, made my insides sick mostly because of my sons infatuation with it. 6 hours from my home; we had made many trips here to try to console, consort, bribe, and pray for my son out of it. I had begged, literally begged, stars, famous entertainers, politicians, influencers and famous recovery “helpers” and rap stars that my son loved; to take an interest, take him under his wing and help us with an intervention to save him.

No one answered me.

Except one.

One slightly famous, very influential- although a bit controversial -“star”. He told me:

“Your son is not who he thinks he is, and until he can find a way back to his true self, the true destiny he was meant to fulfil; he will continue to suffer.”

Well, here we are.


I’m not sure who was suffering worse. Him or me. Probably him.

I was told once that pain is a huge motivator. Would this be enough pain? How much suffering must one human endure? Either the recipient or the recipient’s loved ones- how much can one withstand?

I try to distract myself and log onto Facebook.

“My son is a monster!””

“I’m kicking him out!”

“How can he do this to me?!!”

My feed is filled with the mom’s support group posts of their person with SUD.

I can’t. I close my Facebook and stare at my sons’ now calm face. His long eyelashes closed over his sweaty face. This boy. This boy who has stolen my heart and encapsulated the last 3 years fully into focused kinetic energy of one goal- recovery.

Would this be IT? Would this be the final straw for him? Almost dying? His future completely dependant on his choices and decisions.
Would my boy love himself enough to care enough? Would he care enough to love himself?

That answer remains hidden. Under the sterile cold hospital room. Amidst the beeping red lights. Under the stark white bedding that lay over my once vibrant happy son.

All I know is that my son is alive. Here and now, my son is alive. How many times I have prayed for this moment. For him to just be alive.

For now, I will not wonder, or stress, or ruminate. I will not make bets, or promises or excuses. I will not project my fears, insecurities and expectations.

I will sit here and watch my son be alive.


Have you ever tried to read your credit card number to someone on the phone and the light just isn’t hitting it right or you don’t have your glasses on, or worse – the card is backward AND you don’t have your glasses on?

You just CAN’T quite make it out and you start to feel really dumb or something and maybe apologize or you might even lash out if the person on the phone is rushing you with questions of “HELLO, are you still there??”

“Yes, I’m still here. I just can’t see it yet.”

“The numbers should be 16 digits separated into 4 sections”.


“How old are you?” They say.


“Because you sound like you’re a grown person”.

“I AM!!! What does that have to do with ANYTHING!!!!!

Your face is now flushed, as you frantically look for your glasses or try to get to a brighter light.

“Well then, you SHOULD be able to see the numbers. I have MY credit card right here and I would NEVER take this long, in fact, the very SECOND I knew there was a problem I would be fixing it”.


You can’t believe your ears!

“Why you dirty rotten miserable human being, you have a lot of nerve telling me what I’m supposed to be and not be, HOW DARE YOU????”

“Ma-am look, I’m just doing my JOB. I tell it like it is and if you can’t handle it, then that’s your problem. You should probably get some help for that”.


You hang up the phone shaking.
The nerve.
You mutter to yourself, “They have no idea if my eyesight, or my lighting or all the things I’m trying to juggle. They SHOULD be Grateful that I even thought of them and called. They can take this bill and shove it!”

Ok, so customer service people may not talk like that to us, but don’t we talk to people we love that way sometimes?

“You SHOULD know better, why can’t you SEE what you’re doing? Look, I don’t have time for this. Or-I’m just doing my job and watching out for you”.

And we get no appreciation right?
In fact we might even get the cold shoulder, or the phone hang up, which isn’t nearly as dramatic as when we could slam it on the receiver.

Because, guess what?
No one. Likes. To. Be. Told. What. To. do. 🎤🔽.

Especially when they CAN’T SEE it themselves……..

No one wants to be told they’re paying too much for their car insurance until they sit down and re-do their budget. It doesn’t matter how many times you shove the little green gecko in front of them. They can’t see it. 🦎

I heard it again today on a Mom’s support group:

“He’s a grown man, he SHOULD know better. He NEEDS to be doing this and this. Oh and he NEEDS to give his life to Jesus too”.

Look. I like Jesus, I believe in him. But that doesn’t mean my son does, or ever will. Also, my son may never recover in the way I want him to. In fact, come to think of it, all my kids seem to have to learn the hard way of things I’ve told them.

Does that mean that I deprive them of my time, attention, and general pleasantness until they learn their lesson?
No this isn’t about not kicking a child out, it’s about being mean and spiteful and just generally cruel to someone who doesn’t think the way we do or see things as we see them.

Here’s a shocker…..

What if WE, the ultimate expert on allThingschildren..now, don’t actually know what’s best for someone?

It’s hard to believe when we see such pain and heartache and wasted time and money, but we have to get to a place where we stop trying to maneuver outcomes according to our comfort level. (outside of our own homes I mean).

How many times have I been driving and seen a car going just a little too slow for MY schedule, and I pass them thinking they need to get a life. How many times has just one thing been wrong with my husband’s hair or beard and he fixes it just for me and then I can go on with my day?
Like really?

No, I’m not a control freak. That’s not my personality type.

But I am a:

Ifonlythisonethinginthis momentwasdonedifferentlythenicouldrestfinally…freak.

Bottom line. We, as humans, probably will never be happy with WHAT IS. Until we mentally be happy with WHAT IS.

We can do that begrudgingly and crabby or with lots of deep breaths and a smile on our face. No, not a fake smile.

A smile of relief that we are no longer in charge of everybody and everything in order to be happy.


Addictive Personality

I’ve always known that my son had an addictive personality but since he seemed to use it for good things, it wasn’t an issue. In fact, most times we would just roll our eyes at how intense he was.

I’ve heard that most addicts are people with addictive personalities. And if they didn’t have one before, the drugs will make sure they do now. The unquenchable thirst for more, and more, makes them prone to get involved in riskier and riskier obsessive behaviors. That so called line that “normal – thinking” people think is so bold and stark – like an orange painted crosswalk- is just a blurry gray to them. It’s as if they are color-blind to the advancing risks of use.

I learned from Addiction deconstructed, by Nicole Labor, that the reptile brain is always in action of seeking what they perceive as survival. So lying, hiding, stealing and then selling are progressions of an unhealed brain which sees only the options of survival to them but to us they only seem to further their bad situation.

Addiction wouldn’t even be a thing if it didn’t have this strong drive for “survival.”

So the fact the person (puppet) follows the algorithm of addiction behaviors; shouldn’t really be a surprise to us. I think we forget that fact when talking about the why’s of this devastating disease.

Why are they so mean?

Why are they so devoid of empathy?

Why are they so selfish?

Why isn’t their children enough to get them to stop?


Why can’t a regular job be enough?

Because, it just isn’t.

You can explore all the ‘why’s’ of an addict that you want, but it’s just going to drive you insane.
It’s like those little pullback play cars. You pull them back a few times to rev up the wheels then let them go.
At that point, nothing is gonna stop them until they crash. We all know what those crashes entail, but most are temporary, sadly some aren’t. They just get sent in a different direction. Addicts actually adapt well to different surroundings because their minds (if not completely healed) MUST find something l to focus on to tame their headspace.

The “addictive personality” theme may explain why some people can be on opioids or occasional alcohol and not get addicted. (because they don’t have the addictive game, or propensity for it?)

We just don’t understand enough about their brain to know what it’s like to be so controlled as to ALWAYS be in survival mode. Whether that’s the fear of being alone/ powerless/ raw with their own emotions/facing what damage they’ve caused; we are not going to be able to reach them.

WE are not going to reach them in the way that we think. and unfortunately they are not able to show that they care.

I believe that they really CAN’T care until their brain is remapped or given time to heal.
So they continue to ONLY care about what their ‘sick’ brain tells them to.
It creates a path behind them of chaos & confusion, hurt people & innocent children & lots of lost time & money spent.

The only conclusion that gives me any sense of peace is that we ALL must ultimately navigate our own journey.

So, in a sense, we need to stop wondering why.

We can help by working within our boundaries, we can pray, sympathize with others, etc but each of us- including the addicted- must forge our own healing journey in the best way we can to survive our pain❣️💛❣️

The Mother Love

The Mother Love

Love is not found in the Hallmark aisle.

Love is not found in boxed chocolates tied up with a silk bow.

Love is not found in a Facebook post with lovey-dovey pictures.

Love IS found in the quick breathe of a Mom who looks at her phone and sees the number of her child calling.

Love IS found with the expelled breathe of relief when the door to the treatment center or bus door closes with her child behind it.

Love IS found in the fallen tears on the pillow, alone, in the dark.

Love is seen when a mom looks into her hurting childs eyes as he lashes out at anyone who dares get between him and his master.

This life, this journey. We didn’t request to be in the club. But when we first laid eyes on the child, along with all the hopes and dreams to come; we unknowingly accepted the disappointments and pain that would surely come also.

The first time our child came home crying because someone was mean to them, we felt the fierceness rise inside us.

We knew instantly we would fight for our child’s heart. We knew we would do anything to soothe their pain.

Now they seem so far away.
We can’t save them.
We can’t bridge that gap to cauterize their bleeding heart. If we could, we would.

God knows we try.
We try bandaid after bandaid.

It doesn’t work.
The hemorrhage continues.
It filters through loved one’s lives and relationships like hot lava flowing from a huge volcano.

We wonder when it will stop. How deep is that hole?

No one truly knows.
So we forge through the pain.

Thinking we can’t go on.

But we will.

Because of that momma bond. Unbroken. Unseared.
We will go on.
And even if we can’t fix this boo boo.
We can still love.

We love DESPITE the pain.
We love THROUGH the pain.
We love because we are Mother’s.

We carry love from the pre-mortal existence before earth and we carry it through the galaxies into the afterlife.

Not time, nor space can douse a Mother’s Love.

Throughout centuries and worlds of hardships- nothing has stopped a Mother’s Love.

Beware, of the Mother’s Love.

It can crush unimaginable barricades.
Move mountains to plains.
Change hearts to Gold.
Make a meal out of nothing.
Sew a complete fictional character out of strips of cloth.

This war might think it has been won. The victory flag being raised by the devil himself.

But he doesn’t and never will…..
Know the strength of a Mother’s Love.

Waking Up

In a world where every day is a new beginning….

Yet it feels like an old version of a cable channel.

Where we are told what to be enraged about today.

What to fight about.

Who to blame.

Until a tragedy happens. Then it’s all kumbaya. Until we are told again who to be mad at.

Passion rules the human experience. After all:

If we don't stand for something we'll fall for anything.

We’re told.

My heart hurts. Because the thing I want more than anything remains just beyond my reach.

I’ve grasped and dug into the sand with every tentacle possible like an octopus looking for food.

I want my son back.

I want my family.

I never thought life would become so painful.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly blessed. I have people who love me. I have a husband who takes care of me. I have daughters who keep me afloat. But no one understands the pain.

Rainy days like today pull at my insides. I love the beauty. The freshness, the hope. Then my aching heart pulls me inside its grip. Like a mother duck leading her babies across the rainy road and one gets swept away.

Oh my heart. What to do.

Enjoy the rain. I’m told. Just enjoy the rain.

A Wisp of Magic

I was told once “Don’t ever lose your magic”.

I remember saying,”what magic?” (Because I certainly never thought of myself as ‘magical’)

They said: “The magic of when you’re deep in thought yet have that sparkle in your eyes with a wisp of child-like joy.

Or when you hurriedly bandaged up the cuts of your dog that got in a fight before your kids could see the trauma.

Or when you laugh at yourself falling off a rock.

I thought about that. Laughing, joy, carefree. Finding the magic.

If I could pick one word that describes my ‘persona’ the last few years it would be consumed. Not with magic but with saving my son and my family.

It’s been the most horrendous, exhausting journey I could ever imagine. Do I blame my son? No. Many others already have that role. My role, my character in this version of life seems to be the one who holds onto hope. With every last thread I can get my hands on, I hold onto believing in the power of miracles. Dare I say- the gift of magic.

You know, the funny thing about that magic is that it is always there like a never-aging friend. It can be plucked off its low-hanging fruit of life. However, most people don’t know where to find it or even that it even exists at all. As we get more bogged down with problems and life’s hardships, we become blinded to finding joy.

There are two superhighways to find it. I have spent my life walking the fine line of the division of the two. Trying to balance the responsibility of woman hood with the joy of childlike fun.

Like a pendulum clock swinging side to side, I spent so much time over the years seeing both of the sides of the spectrum and meeting in the middle the best I can. Both sides pulling at me with their energy of everything I wanted the most at the time.

The innocent childhood hopes and dreams gave way to new hopes & plans now riddled with so many expectations.

These expectations, interspersed with blankets of fear and mountains of tears, left me questioning the innocence and joy of life.

My heart now beats in the middle of all this, wondering how to maneuver the pain of the last few years with the possibility of living out my years in peace.

Yes, every day is a choice.

A choice for peace.


Easter has always been my second favorite holiday. I love the pastel colors, the tulips opening up to the hope of spring, and the colorful candy. Finding Easter eggs was my favorite childhood activity for some strange reason. I would make my mom hide them 2 or 3 times until she was sick of it. The fact that we basically had 2 rooms and a small yard to hide them in, meant that they were usually hidden in the same place too.

In my community, we had a tradition of “rolling Easter eggs” that my kids found out was not a commonly known thing, as they received weird looks when they ventured out in the world.
I look back on the pictures of these times with such melancholy, and love in my heart, albeit with a tinge of sadness.

I have always felt a need to capture moments as they happen with the realization that the moment will never be here again. So 27+ scrapbooks later, I am left with precious memorabilia to look through on occasion. I can look at these pictures and really appreciate how precious life is, holding my sadness close but having hope for better days.

To every one who suffers during holidays and every day & those who are apart from the people they love-may you have peace and comfort knowing all will be well, in due time. Even if you don’t know what “well” means.

There is always a greater purpose. 

And no- I’m not saying everything happens for a reason. None of some things should EVER happen. God doesn’t want people suffering. He doesn’t “make them suffer”. A lot of it is from free will of someone else or the person suffering.

I believe free will is important for human autonomy and for society in general. But that doesn’t mean others’ choices don’t affect us.

I’m reading a great book on how to deal with others’ choices when they cause you pain. It’s called: Letting Go, Rugged Love For Wayward Souls – how to love and forgive those who have hurt and abandoned you.

I will be putting a few paragraphs from this book into my book because it describes my son perfectly. Specifically this one:

Although I hate the term “Letting Go”, because it implies letting an unwell person flounder around needlessly. But I want to learn how to Love Ruggedly😎💯😎

Free Gifts

As I was shopping at a discount and salvage store yesterday, a lady was standing in front of a palate of cardboard boxes as I checked out. She asked if I wanted a case of dinner rolls- for free.

Being Easter weekend (and even had it not been) I said “sure”.

The box had been frozen and was thawing fast. I drove home and proceeded to put my groceries away. When I saw how many ‘dinner rolls’ there were in that case, I quickly called around to see who wanted some. There were no instructions in the box, just a California company. I managed to divide my rolls up and put as many in the freezer as I could. The remainder I placed on cookie sheets to thaw out and bake.

A bit later, I noticed they hadn’t risen at all, so I heated up the oven and put them at 325 degrees. When I started to smell the dough cooking, I checked on them and they were obviously too brown. I tried to save them by scraping off the dark part but they were still dough-ee inside.

My daughter stopped by and since she worked in 2 bakeries as the bread baker, she said to cut a slit in them on the next batch. I turned on my air fryer and decreased the heat, and started my second batch complete with the much-needed slits advice in the top. They too quickly went dark with dough-ee insides.

Finally, after this failure, my husband called from Texas, and after hearing my baking adventures, mentioned that maybe they are scones. Yes! They are scones. Little square scones! It was obvious now. The lady just hadn’t known what these “free gifts” were.

I proceeded to heat up some oil and dropped my newly acquired dough knowledge with confidence into the crackling oil. They quickly turned dark and crusty with dough-ee insides. Obviously the oil was too hot. Next batch was better- a soft golden brown developed on the outside as my mouth watered, thinking of the butter and honey dripping off of them into my mouth.

When they had cooled, I eagerly sliced into the golden brown crust and was hit with more raw dough!

What the heck? How many times was it going to take me to get my reward from my ‘free gift’?

It was then that I realized how long it had been since I cooked scone dough. Years! But my memory was being forced back. After letting them sit outside the freezer for a while, I would take the little clumps and stretch them in all directions, as far as I could without breaking the tender dough, then gently lay them in the warming oil.

The skin would gently turn a light golden brown upon which I would turn them over to finish their lovely cooking into a beautiful display of breaded goodness.

How could I have forgotten? 

Over the years my cooking and baking has decreased tremendously, so this seemed the likely excuse. But the more I thought about it, I started to see that I had forgotten my way because I was mistakenly told what my free gift was.

My gift wasn’t “frozen dinner rolls”. My gift was a mixture of soft flour and rich oils and butter and baking powder and a touch of salt, all immersed together, frozen, silently awaiting their chance to be dropped in the hot oil-not unlike the making of steel-just waiting to shine brightly into SCONES!

How often do we forget what our gifts are? How often do we veer away from our truth to chase some version of ourself or a false God who promises things that are too good to be true and end up causing strife and pain, not only to ourselves, but to others.

How often do we feel the ache of a soul abandoned by God? Who was the abandoner? How many times have we unknowingly crushed someone who loves us, because we were hellbent on some sort of personal satisfaction at all costs?

Or maybe someone has or is doing it to you. You feel the ache of who they used to be. You feel that they have forgotten who they are.

They've forgotten their gifts. Their gift to the world. Have you forgotten your gifts too? 

Your gifts of love, of compassion. Your strength. How many times have you been told you are strong? But you didn’t feel strong. You felt weak, insignificant; ignored even.

You forgot your gifts. You lost sight of your power.

You were pulled into the pit of pityland where everything is gray, gray, gray.

How to get out? Where do we start looking for our “free gifts?” Our gifts that were lovingly handed to us by a greater power or by the generations of goodness that our ancestors contained of which led to the billions of cells that are YOU!

This video is of the Paralympics where all the runners are blind. They have partners who are tied together at the wrists! I don’t know the whole story but I know this video brought tears to my eyes.


Rise up.

You can find your gifts again. Your gifts are meant to shine. You can be an inspiration to those around you, even when you feel broken. Maybe the way to mend the emptiness and pain inside you, is to be of service to someone else.

Easter is about re- birth. Springtime.

New growth. Old growth redefined.

Happy Easter

Happy grow day. Happy find- your- hidden gifts day.