What Next?

When we are born, we know everything that we need to know in the moment. The first thing that we know is that we have completed our first great transition, from the womb to the world. That in and of itself is no small matter, but regardless, here we are.

We grow into toddlers and on to teenagers and then into the years of adulthood.  Each being a transitional period in our lives. Yet, when we reach our middle years, or as Carl Jung described as The Afternoon of Our Lives. This is the time when we start to turn our thoughts inward.

• Is there a greater purpose for my life?
• Where has my passion gone?
• Did I miss out on something extraordinary in my life?
• How much time do I really have left, and will it be enough?
• Where does faith fit in my life, and what is it that I truly believe?

 

I was about forty years old when these questions started to raise themselves in my life. I didn't just wake up on the day of my fortieth birthday and decide to question the un-knowables of life. The process just seemed to sneak up on me, and I honestly thought that I was losing my mind. Everything I knew seemed to be turning upside down.

When my youngest child graduated high school, and I was faced with an empty-nest, I recognized that something had shifted in my world. There were no more hordes of teenage girls giggling and talking about boys and all the things their hearts longed for in the world. There were no more tears to be dried over skinned knees and broken hearts. There was nothing but the silence of the apartment and me.

 

My job had brought so much joy and satisfaction into my life. However, I found myself wondering if there was something more out there. Had I missed out on my big chance? I had always wanted to be an author, since the time I was a teenager. I loved to write, but as life happened the dream had been cast aside for diapers and bottles, school recitals and work. Eventually, my job became nothing more than a paycheck, and the spark of passion dwindled to a smoldering ember. I retired from nonprofit at 45 years old. I couldn't do it anymore. I felt as though I had nothing left to give.

Which led me to the age old question, of how much time do I have, and will it be enough? My heart has turned to my family and friends, and still I wonder - will I and have I been enough? Have I given them everything they will need to survive without me? Do they know how much I love them? The logical answer to all of these questions is "yes", but the questions are there. They might always be there. I think that it would be more concerning if they weren't.  I wonder if I will have enough time to do and see all the things I have put off until tomorrow. Are there enough years left in me to achieve the purpose for which I was born?

In the silence of the night, I wondered about faith. I found myself in a spiritual crisis that led to the realization that I was spiritually bankrupt, with nothing left to deposit. I found myself in the wilderness - lost and alone. It was a journey that has led me to a place of inner-peace and being centered that I cherish, and will cherish for all my days.

I invite you to walk this afternoon path with me. It is a journey of self-discovery, where in the end, we will arrive in the very place in which we all began, that moment when we completed our first great transition - focused solely on the moment. Being fully present and fulfilled.

In the Garden

"Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow." ~  Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

 Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden was first published in its entirety in 1911, and it has been a favorite of young girls ever since. There’s a lot to be learned from this 331 page compilation of human tragedy and triumph.

The book opens in the dreary depths of winter, where the world seems gray and life at a standstill. The air is crisp and bitter, much like the tongues and hearts of the inhabitants of Misselthwaite Manor. Winter seems to have that effect on people. However, winter is the season where a choice must be made, by everyone, will we be bitter or better. Will we choose to blossom with the rising of the spring sun?

Oftentimes, people will find themselves in the depths of the despair of tragedy and unfortunately choose to stay there. They allow their hearts to solidify into a hardened stone. Some hearts never heal. The Secret Garden is filled with characters struggling with loss, grief, despair, and demoralization. The beauty that lies within the pages of this book is that no matter the darkness that enshrouds the situation, there is always hope, there is always a way to find the path to better days.

Mary, one of the most introverted child characters ever to grace the pages of a children’s novel, is contrary by definition. However, the girl has lost both of her parents, moved to a new home where she knows no one, and quite spoiled by her affluent lifestyle in India. Mary finds solace in a secret only she knows, in the forbidden garden that had been shut up by Master Craven at the death of his wife. Ironically, it was Master Craven himself who gave Mary the key to the garden when she only asked for a bit of earth.

The garden is dead to the eye, but along comes Dickon to prove otherwise. Dickon, the son of Susan Sowerby and the brother of the cheerful maid assigned to tend to Mary, cuts the bark of one of the trees in the garden and says, “It is quick.” Now back in those days, the word quick meant alive. I love this particular part of the book, because it teaches us something we don’t often practice these days: you must look deeper beneath the surface to find life and hope.

Another favorite part of the book of mine is where Mary teaches Colin, the supposed invalid son of Master Craven, that he is not a victim of circumstance. We’ve all met or been the sick person who is cranky and certain of impending death. Colin is mean-spirited and bitter. He has to make a choice, one that can only come from him. Will he try or will he lie down and die, because that is what is expected of him.

We all have our secret garden. It is the place that lives within. It is the place where the flame of hope burns eternal. No matter what it looks like on the outside, there is life and beauty, hope and love that exist inside. Some people call it the will to live, or the primal instinct of survival, I call it faith.

You see, The Secret Garden, is about finding the one thing that will save us all. It’s about finding the faith to believe in something greater than ourselves. The garden, Lilias’ garden, in the book is only a symbol of that faith. It is reflected in abundance and beauty and grace, only when the source of its life is tended; friendship also known as fellowship, believing in miracles, and knowing that there is a life source that is far beyond our own imagination.

We must all tend our garden in such a manner that it emanates the glory and steadfastness of the one who planted it. To do anything less is to give away the keys to the Kingdom.

Through literature, we learn to live, to love, and to conquer!

Ice Mirrors

Have you ever gazed into a crystal clear frozen pond? The shadows of yesteryear gently reflect memories into the present. The still winter air releases the sounds of the laughter and merry-making of days far and away to ears warmly covered under yarn stitched caps. The snow alighting on the branches of the trees shimmer with the light of the sun creates a snow globe of a wintry wonderland. It is the gaze into the ice mirrors that hold all the peace and joy of all the world; only to be released this one time of the year.


Images of a sleigh gliding over the frozen banks of snow from a warm prairie shanty to the hearth of a country church come into clear view. The mother has donned her finest dress and bonnet, the children snuggle together in the bottom of the sleigh, the father, wrapped in a gifted buffalo blanket, holds the reigns of horse whose nose bears the frost of his labor. The gentle sounds of the bells on the sleigh intermingle with the church bells that ring out breaking the icy air of winter calling all to celebrate the joy of the season. It is the memory of prairie Christmases from years long past.

Visions of the kitchen, long left to the history of the world, merges with the faint scent of gingerbread baking in the oven, fresh breads, cakes, and holiday deserts spread throughout in anticipation of the festivities to come. Grandmothers, mothers, aunts, and sisters laugh and sing songs of the season as they work.

The images of the blades of sled runners whizzing down the ice covered highest hill end in the banks of snow at the bottom mingling with the sounds of the laughter of children. Ice ballerinas glide to and fro across the ice pond performing their finest tricks are interrupted by future hockey players chasing a homemade puck.

As the sun begins to sink over the glimmering snow covered horizon a baby is swaddled in blankets and laid in the hay of a manager.

Walking away from the mirrors made of ice, a final glance over my shoulder reveals the peace and comfort for all the year to come. He smiles and steps through the glass as we make our way toward home. Home to the love of family, hope for better days and the faith of the world that is mine.

This holiday season I wish you joy, peace, love and faith. Merry Christmas and very Happy New Year.