Miracles Abound

The new year began with a shock for me—

I had just been to my children's school to discuss their progress with an administrator (and was delighted to discover they're doing well), when I pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the long, winding road towards home. Our house is a little over ten miles from the school, and it was an icy morning in the mountains of Colorado, so I was on high alert for motorists who might underestimate the slick roads. Fortunately, most people who live out here in the country are well aware of the tricky winter conditions, and to my naked eye, everyone appeared to be handling the trek well.

But my eyes deceived me.

It wasn't that anyone was speeding or attempting to text while driving. In fact, the other motorists were maneuvering quite cautiously. On top of that, I was driving ten miles per hour below the speed limit.  

Yet just ahead and to the right of the main highway, I noticed a woman in a large SUV on a side road pulling up slowly to a stop sign. She couldn't have been moving more than ten miles an hour, obviously making adjustments for the weather conditions. Nevertheless, in the blink of an eye, her vehicle slid directly into my lane. Still sliding, the SUV was so large that within seconds it occupied nearly the entire width of the road, and the poor woman stared in horror from her driver side window at my oncoming car that was only a few feet from her door.

I know enough about winter driving in the mountains to realize that brakes are nearly useless in moments like this. All I could do was brace myself and swerve.

And pray.

To my astonishment, I somehow made it around her car. 

Even more surprising was the fact that, though my left-side wheels were forced to travel over an icy berm with an incline, my vehicle didn't slide. 

My relief at managing not to plow into the woman's SUV, without flipping my own car over the slick berm, was short lived, however.

What I couldn't see beyond the woman's tall vehicle, was the other car in the oncoming lane that had just descended a hill and was now only a few feet away, about to crash into me head-on.

There were no more chances to pray. 

The driver, another woman, had eyes as big and wide as the crisp, blue morning sky. The terrified look on her face, at the sight of my car about to meet hers, will be emblazoned on my mind forever. 

Our situation appeared hopeless.

There simply weren't enough feet to spare—under the ordinary laws of physics—for me to avoid her onrushing vehicle that was moving even faster than mine. 

What could I do, except try my best to swerve? 

I have to confess, I've only experienced a few rare moments in life that seem to defy all of our notions of time and space—and this was one of them. Honest to God, I'll never know how, but I was all of a sudden on the other side of the road. Wa-a-a-y over on the other side. It was as though some unseen set of arms had lifted my car and transported it from the two vehicles that appeared destined to crush me.

The highway photograph I've displayed at the very top of this post should have been the scene of my death. Of their deaths. What we three drivers were looking at was the certainty of a 3-car collision, involving two cars which were traveling at higway speeds, with no space to maneuver by anyone without crashing or flipping a couple of the vehicles. 

But instead, I found myself pulling to the far right-side berm of the road, where I took several deep breaths. I wish I could say I screamed or hyperventilated, because that would have made me seem more normal under such circumstances. But the truth was, I was filled with the most extraordinary peace. My heart was not racing, nor was adrenaline popping and fizzing through my veins. For a moment, I pinched myself, wondering if perhaps I'd died and not realized it, and therefore felt no fear or pain. After all, many people who've reported near-death experiences describe how they suffered brutal accidents and hovered over their bodies for several minutes, unaware that their souls had slipped from the flesh. By the third time I pinched myself, however, I understood that I was, in fact, still here. What's more, I spied in my rear view mirror that the first woman in the SUV had pulled to the side of the road, too, and had gotten out of her car. Immediately, I jumped out and ran down the pavement to meet her.

HOW did she escape not being hit by me or the other woman's car? How did I? From my new vantage point, I spotted the other's woman's vehicle parked alongside the road as well. Her car hadn't crashed or flipped over the icy berm, either. This situation defied all logic: There simply wasn't enough room on the edge of that mountain road to have accommodated all three of us.

When I reached the young SUV driver, who looked to be college-age, her eyes were filled with shock and her mouth was gaping, lips twitching nervously, yet unable to speak. "Are you all right?" I asked her. All she could do was nod in reply, and I instantly wrapped my arms around her. "It's okay." I assured her, "I'm not hurt." At this point I pulled back a bit and saw that her eyes were welling with tears. "I-I'm so sorry!" she blurted, shaking. "M-My brakes locked on the ice and I couldn't stop!"

I hugged her again and told her I understood—these things happen sometimes. Then I swept the hair from her forehead and gazed into her eyes. "Honey," I said, "you must have the best Angels on planet earth. Because I can see no reason why both of us are still standing here." The way she nodded and glanced at me with a spooked expression confirmed everything I'd already suspected: that she thought she there was something unnatural—no, supernatural—about this whole experience, too. 

To our relief, the other woman driver waved at us and called out that she was fine, before starting up her car and continuing back down the mountain road. But the young woman in front of me remained frozen, still attempting (and not really succeeding) to cope with what had just happened. Although I gave her another squeeze for reassurance, finally I just came out and said it: "Sweetheart," I shook my head a little in lingering bewilderment, "it's a miracle. There's no other way to describe this or put it in your brain. Like I said," I glanced at the sky for a second, "you have incredible Angels."

With that, I began to feel her tension release. Though I don't even know the young woman's name, we both understood on that cold, remote highway in Colorado that we had been, well . . . spared. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

I linked my arm through hers and walked her back to her car, where I gave her one last grip around the shoulders and told her she'd be fine. "Live your life well," I urged, "because we both still get to have one." I could see the tears pool in her eyes again as she nodded and got into her SUV, then started it up and waved while she pulled back onto the pavement and disappeared down the mountain road.

Such was our date with destiny. Obviously, as I made my way home in my car that morning, I realized I'd been shown a fleeting portal to leave this plane of existence, and yet despite all the odds, I remained here. Given that it was the start of a new year, I naturally wondered why, what purpose I'd been spared to serve. Of course, like anyone else, I have my "to-do" ideas of plans and goals for 2016, which could have easily been ripped from me in a heartbeat, along with the cherished love of my husband and children. I don't claim to know all the ramifications of why anyone is given a hall pass from an untimely death. But one thing I do know, as I drove slowly, mulling over what had just happened on the road home: My spirit somehow felt bigger than it did before. Not bigger as I think of my temporal self with all my transient ambitions, but more like boundaryless, as though something in me had expanded that day to more fully take in the morning sky. The glistening trees. The shadowy mountainsides. That cool feeling of winter breath against your lungs that slowly warms as it stirs within you before you exhale. The gentle throb of a relentless heart. And maybe that's what "miracles" are all about, those rare intersections in time and space that defy our comprehension of physical laws: they allow us to "know" something larger than before.  The confines of words may never quite articulate what that is, but the heart feels it, deep inside. And no matter where we are or what we're doing, we realize in that moment that we're supposed to be here. Something made sure of that for me on that icy morning in early 2016. 

And for me, I will continue to let it widen me inside until I fully appreciate the breadth and gift of this life.

Have you ever experienced a miracle?

 I'd love to hear about it. 

Please feel free to describe your story 

in the comments section below. <3

Late Bloomers

My favorite moments in life are those of serendipity. You know the ones--where you've carefully made plans & life surprises you with what seems like a miracle that you weren't expecting (& didn't even quite know you needed!). Such was my experience recently when I traveled to Canon City, Colorado with my family for a bike ride along the "Riverwalk", a groomed trail beside the Arkansas River. What's not to love? After an exceptionally rainy year, this warm day in mid-July was the first time in ages we'd seen the sun come out (talk about cabin fever!). We were all itching to be outdoors, and a bike ride along the swollen river seemed like the perfect day trip. Indeed, the nearby Centennial Park was filled with families picnicking, playing games & making ice cream, and a gentle mood of relief that summer had finally arrived seemed to linger over everyone like the sweet melody of an old favorite song. Yet to my surprise, after we biked a few miles beside the river, the trail abruptly ended at the railroad tracks with a large yellow barricade & a warning sign against trespassing. To my right, however, was a steep path ascending up a craggy mountain & another sign that read "Tunnel Trail." It appeared rocky & forebidding, but in the back of my mind I recalled hearing about this trail that had 3 tunnels blasted out of granite, which I thought my boys might be thrilled to see. So even though we were quite hot & pestered by flies near the river bank, something in me just HAD to go up that trail, despite the initial whining of my children...

What I discovered was the most gorgeous bike path I've ever seen. Soon, we were awestruck by the spectacular vista of the Arkansas River & surrounding wilderness that followed the Royal Gorge Railroad tracks, as well as delighted to pedal through old tunnels that had been dynamited a century ago for mining. Naturally, my children made wolf howls & choo-choo train sounds each time we entered a tunnel's depths, gleefully listening to their echoes. (I was secretly glad there were no bats. ; )

Now, bear in mind that I'm a middle-aged chick who's terrible at bike riding. Terrible at most sports, really--but of course, I fake it for my children so they'll grow up "adventurous" & enjoy the outdoors. Nevertheless, when the exceptional beauty of nature whispers to me, there's just something that takes over my spirit, despite my meager athletic gifts. I have to keep going, even though my lungs strain & muscles groan. So for the first time in my life, I found myself pedaling with such wonder & exhilaration that I surprised myself, eager to see the next bend, the next vista, each one a revelation for the eyes. For all intents & purposes, I became a pretty good biker! Not about to win any races, but thoroughly enjoying myself, and I marveled that I'd somehow managed to negotiate this sport rather late in life.

And that's when I saw them...

Cactus roses & blossoms of extraordinary color, rooted in the most prickly of desert plants.

Vivid Indian Paintbrush, whose scarlet petals covered several high meadows in a sea of red.

Wild roses displaying delicate, paper white blossoms, with lush green leaves regardless of the desert ecozone & Rocky Mountain altitude.

Geraniums that littered hillsides & every rocky crevice, waving their bright petals like flags.

Even the rare Coyote Melon below, found only in western, arid areas like the Mojave Desert, Baja & Joshua Tree, happen to grow in the wilderness near Canon City as well. They've been enjoyed as far back in evolution by such creatures as the Mastadon (scientists have discovered remnants of their DNA in animals' intestines). But their fruit is incredibly bitter, so Native Americans tribes simply roasted & ate the melon seeds. 

But the one that really took my breath away is the Indian Blanket Sunflower below (which I featured at the top of this post). This wildflower bursts with rich hues, yet always grows out of the worst dusty soil imaginable. 

Everywhere I looked on this trek were blossoms of staggering color & design, overwhelmingly lovely, and each one a late bloomer. You would have thought it was April for all of the flora that surrounded us, yet it was JULY! And how these sumptuous wildflowers persist in spite of wind, heat, altitude & soil that looks more like gravel boggles the mind. It's as though Nature was holding her own quiet celebration that day for those who persist, strive, and dare to thrive. If you've ever read any of my posts, then you know how excited I always get about wildflowers, but here in the high Southwestern desert, these exquisite blossoms whispered something unique:

Sometimes late bloomers can be the best of all.

These are the ones for whom life hasn't been easy. Every force of nature & trick of environment has conspired against them. Yet these factors have only caused their colors to become that much more rich. And naturally, I couldn't help taking a little solace for my own journey in the stories of endurance that these wildflowers tell. Like many of you, I was never the shiny young thing in high school or college--I'm the kind of person who took years to unlock her passions & find her way through the maze of life, coming into her own only after hard work & her fair share of setbacks. In a culture that worships glittering youth & overnight internet millionaires, people like me often feel lost in the electronic shuffle of social media & relentless, surround-sound boasts of success junkies.

Yet how could I not look upon this unsought moment of serendipity as surely a pinnacle of life? I'm healthy, my family's happy, and Nature was putting on a show for us that rivaled Fourth of July fireworks, if we were only willing to stop long enough to truly look. So as you continue on your own journey, I'd like to encourage you to pause for the quiet stories you see all around you of endurance & tenacity, along with the rich rewards of those that are the sometimes the slowest to bloom. The road is worth it...so worth it...no matter how long it takes. Though our paths are full of unpredictable twists & turns, and few have a smooth trail to the kind of fame or success we see peddled in media, these late bloomers can remind us that the unexpected does exist... 

And often, their hard-won beauty is the brightest miracle of all. 

"It's never too late to be what you might have been." 

~George Eliot 

(Pen name of nineteenth-century English novelist Mary Anne Evans,

one of the greatest writers of the Victoria era. Her first novel was published 

at age 40, and she had to use a male author name to be taken seriously.)

Allow the journey carry you to who you've always wanted to be...

March of the Cranes

Every March, a miracle takes place in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. The Sandhill Cranes return by the thousands, during early spring on their migration route north, to mate & create their nests. Considered a high mountain desert area & rimmed by the spectacular snow-capped Sangre de Cristo & San Juan mountain ranges, the melting snow from the nearby mountains is enough to create wet marshes in this temperate valley that the cranes especially love for their breeding grounds. 

Yet what lends an even more epic quality to this annual beautiful migration, beyond the return of thousands of cranes (as far as the eye can see), is the fact that this species of crane has been coming to the San Luis Valley in southern Colorado for millions of years.

The phenomenon of these lovers' return is so ancient that it has been preserved in petroglyphs etched by Native Americans throughout the Southwestern U.S. for thousands of years.

Now, anyone who's read my blog or my books knows that I am as sentimental as they come and a sucker for true love! So of course it captured my attention that these elegant birds, who mate for life, are known for having a lovely heart-shaped marking on their foreheads. If you've read my novel Twixt, and seen how much I love the mysterious raven, then you'll understand why the Sandhill Cranes made my imagination soar, and I just had to use them as a symbol for the ancient lovers featured in my new novel Mission Archangel--the magical sequel to Twixt in the Enchanted Outlaws Series that tells the love story of Rose's best friend, Amy Tinker.

So while researching Mission Archangel (which will be out in 2016), I took a trip to the San Luis Valley where the novel is set to see the sights, sounds, and in particular, the beautiful arrival of the Sandhill Cranes against the back drop of the Great Sand Dunes National Park and the Sangre de Cristo mountains.

My only problem? They hadn't arrived yet! Despite the fact that I got up at dark-thirty in the morning & toted binoculars to the marsh areas of the San Luis Valley to see them in the freezing cold, there were no Sandhill Cranes to be found. Unfortunately, I'd hit the migration season a bit early in the year, so a little dejected, I went back to my hotel and picked up my husband & sons and took them out for breakfast. My children begged to go to a local skatepark afterwards, so I obliged them, and then I decided to take the long way back to our hotel on a remote country road to show my family some of the spectacular scenery of the area.

To my total surprise, and in one of the most magical moments of my life, the Sandhill Cranes began to arrive at that exact moment! I tear up just thinking about it--as my small family stepped out of our car and looked over the wetlands, the sky became peppered with the dark silhouettes of these elegant birds, arriving by the hundreds, to land in the marsh area. And I'll never forget their beautiful calls to one another as they began to arrive, with that reedy, haunting quality, as if to say, "We're here! We made it! Let the dancing begin!" Because what the Sandhill Cranes do during their mating season is spread their giant, 5-7 foot wings & leap & spiral & float in ornate dances that they spontaneously create for one another, which they began to do as we watched, spellbound, by this natural phenomenon.

My children were just as silent & mesmerized as I was as we watched these lovely birds move in almost a choreographed way for each other, with their striking white and red markings and long, elegant necks & legs.

And even though the cattails & marsh areas were still covered by frost, that didn't seem to deter the Sandhill Cranes as they gathered in huge flocks, sending out their lyrical calls that echoed over the wetlands to herald their annual greetings. 

Because this was a special "research" trip for me to stir up ideas & be inspired to write Mission Archangel, I have to admit I felt especially blessed to catch sight of these birds, and it made me feel as though my novel might have a very auspicious--and even magical--destiny. I hope this novel can measure up to this early-morning sacred moment I was able to experience,  and most of all, I hope that Mission Archangel will remind us all of the eternal beauty of the path of these ancient lovers & their enchanting return to the San Luis Valley.

Photo credit note: All images on my blog are either my own or were gleaned from pictures in the public domains of popular social networks like tumblr, facebook or pinterest. If you own the copyright to any of these images & do NOT want them used publicly, please contact me & I will take them down immediately! : )

Holiday Hush

All right, I confess--I tend to get a bit overwhelmed by the holiday season. As beautiful as the month of December is, all the purchasing of presents & wanting to make others feel happy & dearly loved can sometimes leave me bedraggled. I mean, does it really matter if my gravy's lumpy or I don't tie ribbons particularly well? Probably not! Like most of you, what matters most to me is that my family & friends are healthy & happy. So this year, I had a radical thought: what if the best gift I could give to others is ME? A sincere heart & joyful spirit who surrounds others with peace & kindness? Who loves others for their authentic selves--not for what they can do for me or provide under a Christmas tree? Yet to do that, I realized I needed to first find that peace & authenticity within myself. So rather than running around like crazy trying to make everything "perfect" this holiday season (& God knows, I'm guilty of that in years past!), I decided to take time out to truly appreciate the simple joys of December & to allow a hush to settle into my bones.  

For me, this means stopping long enough on a ski slope in Colorado recently to notice how the clouds look like Angels over the mountain tops. When I lifted my eyes, honestly, I could almost hear them singing! And I wondered if this wasn't just mental fancy on my part--if there really IS something in the universe that rejoices when we take time out to notice the beauty & wonder all around us.  

And a few evenings ago, while I was out jogging during a light snowfall, at one point, I simply had to stop, clutch at my heart, and gasp. Why? Because as the snow filtered through the sky, the setting sun shone through the spiraling flakes, making each one flicker gold. The sight was so heart-stoppingly beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. Even though I tried to capture it here (rather badly) on film, nature's poetry still left its mark on my soul in the form of a deep peace. And that silence, that sacred hush, is the true gift that I think December can bring. Within its quiet chill are moments that allow us to pause & appreciate something I can't even quite articulate--but that I believe has something to do with the eternal inside the temporal. A beauty that is at once fleeting & yet so piercing that it can endure in our hearts for all time. 

If we can relax long enough to feel that "sacred hush" during the holiday season, and let it replenish our souls, then we actually have more to offer other people! We have the gift of ourselves that can truly love & cherish those around us.  So as you make your way through this happy, hectic, harried, & hustle & bustle month, I hope you can also give yourself the opportunity to take long walks, to gaze at the sky, to allow snowflakes to fall on your tongue or notice shapes in the ice & patterns in the snow. In other words, during the midst of the holiday rush, don't forget the hush. Because long after the lights come down & the decorative trees have been turned into kindle, it may well be that these quiet moments are what you remember most.

Like the sweet message from a precious child left for you in the snow . . . 

(Photo credit note: All images on my blog are either my own or were gleaned from pictures in the public domains of popular social networks like tumblr, facebook or pinterest. If you own the copyright to any of these images & do NOT want them used publicly, please contact me & I will take them down immediately! : )

Gratitude

The holiday season, particularly Thanksgiving, often causes us to reflect on what we're grateful for in our lives. Health, family & good friends usually top that list, along with a roof over our heads & food on the table, and an overall contentment with how our lives are progressing. Like many people, I try to make it a practice to "count my blessings" during this time, especially to balance the near-constant demands of our material-driven culture that insists we buy every shiny new object & technological toy. But for this holiday season, I've decided to ponder a different nuance of gratitude that I rarely hear people talk about: Space.

"Space" of the spiritual variety is what occupies the gaps in our hearts when unexpected changes happen in our lives. We didn't get the job we wanted, or the romantic partner we'd longed for, or the house we had our hearts set on. Instead, we're left with our dreams still throbbing in our hands, struggling for breath, searching to find a new goal or object to pin our cherished hopes upon.

And what we suddenly have before us, whether we like it or not, is a blank canvas. An open horizon. A new path ahead with no road map to go by or compass to provide direction. 

And that, in itself, can be an extraordinary blessing, if we allow it. How often I have been grateful for the road less traveled by! Did I deliberately choose it? Heavens no--I can count many times when I was left dizzied & gasping after the whirlwind of change, wondering what the heck I was going to do with myself once the dust & debris finally settled. But luckily, there's always been an inner voice inside me that said, "Don't be in a rush to fill up this space too fast. Set your table and put out your chairs, roll out your best china & finest wine, and let the next things that are supposed to be a part of your life gently come to you. Be grateful for the space."

Could that have been the Angels talking? I honestly think so. Because my natural inclination is to be a "fixer." Like many of you, I endeavor to have all my ducks in a row, to stick with a plan, to envision myself the way I'm "supposed to be" at this point in my life, including all of my imagined goals & glorious achievements. But what if the universe has a more interesting & soul-enriching idea?

So for this Thanksgiving, what I'm most grateful for is the gift of space--those odd quirks of fate that disrupted my plans & directed me to new paths I never would have encountered, which made more intriguing & creative choices possible. They say where one door closes, a window opens. And I believe that sometimes those windows lead to miracles we might never have experienced otherwise. Moments of serendipity where all appears lost--only to discover that there is a far more fascinating destiny awaiting you. But only if you can take a deep breath, relax, and allow the space to demonstrate its special brand of magic. If you can let yourself be content that space will do its gentle work in your heart & in your life, that is exactly the horizon that leaves room open for where your soul might really need to be. 

Oh, and by the way, did I mention I saw 10 turkeys on my jog in Colorado today? Truly wild turkeys are well known as the "ghosts of the forest"--the most elusive game animals of all. Like the gentle space I've been speaking of, they don't announce their presence with harsh, "gobble-gobbles". Rather, they move quietly, swishing the grass with their carefully placed feet & beautiful feathers as they move with the precision of seasoned ballet dancers. Their soft chortles are more like rhythmic purrs than "gobbles", if you stop long enough to listen. And they'll only remain in your presence when you pause in silence & allow them the grace to occupy their special kind of space, for they are very shy & dignified birds. 

And quite frankly, I couldn't help viewing them as a unique omen for the state of being I was inhabiting, one where I actually gave nature the room to speak in profound, non-verbal ways that are perhaps richer than all my well-laid plans. Like me, I hope you can take the time out to reflect on such moments of wild beauty & soul-opening space. Something tells me that if we allow these instances to affect us, they just might lead us to where our souls long to be after all. And for that, we shall be forever grateful . . .

(Photo credit note: All images on my blog are either my own or were gleaned from pictures in the public domains of popular social networks like facebook or pinterest. If you own the copyright to any of these images & do NOT want them used publicly, please contact me & I will take them down immediately! : )

Autumn Wonders

The writer F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, "Life starts over again when it gets crisp in the fall." And I couldn't agree more. There's just something magical about the cool air & first frosts that make you want to drive down a forgotten country lane to the nearest pumpkin patch & take time to see old friends along the way. Perhaps it's the vibrant colors that inspire us to feel more alive, or maybe it's that nippiness in the air that makes us want to huddle around a bonfire & catch up with our nearest & dearest. Whatever the spell is that Autumn so faithfully casts, one thing is certain: it's a season filled with wonder & enchantment.

Each year, I can't wait for the grove of aspens along my jogging trail to turn gold, their leaves shimmering like bright coins. And nothing spells bliss for me quite like the feeling of those delicate leaves falling all around me in a colorful confetti when the wind begins to rise. I often see the tracks in the dirt of many wild animals this time of year, such as mountain lions, deer, elk & turkey, because this is the season when the wildlife are on the move, getting in their last foraging before settling down for winter.

I also love to take wilderness hikes with my family, in awe of the checkerboard pattern of brilliant reds & oranges & yellows that lay over the mountains. This was a particularly wet year for us in Colorado, and the aspen trees have responded to the bounty with an explosion of color that's a feast for the eyes.
 

It's as though God took a paintbrush and swirled every autumnal hue possible on the hillsides in a beautiful menagerie that's enough to take your breath away.

The vistas this year are so striking that at one point during our weekend hike, my 8-year-old son paused and tugged at my shirt . "Mom," he said softly, "are we in Heaven?" I fell silent for a moment, simply allowing myself to feel the same wonderment he did. And after taking a deep breath, I replied, "Yes, I think we are."

I loved my son's smug satisfaction afterwards—as if he'd discovered Shangri La in the quiet beauty of nature & couldn't wait to show me. And to be honest, I think he did—and I've tucked that memory in my heart & given a quiet thanks to Autumn for enabling us to experience it.

If you're at all like me, you can't wait to start decorating with fall colors the minute the first day of Autumn comes & you love to collect pumpkins to carve into fun faces for Halloween. But I hope in the hustle & bustle of this lovely season that leads us up to (gasp) Thanksgiving, you'll take a moment to cherish all the quiet wonders that Autumn brings. And maybe, you'll discover that its magical silence fills your heart with a special kind of gold...

P.S. If you're looking for an enchanting novel that takes place during Autumn & Halloween,

check out my paranormal romance TWIXT, available now on Amazon & Kindle

 (Photo credit note: All images on my blog are either my own or were gleaned from pictures in the public domains of popular social networks like facebook or pinterest. If you own the copyright to any of these images & do NOT want them used publicly, please contact me & I will take them down immediately! : )

Sparkling Heart

Spring comes in March, so of course I'm out there jogging my butt off in preparation for the warmer weather! Who doesn't like to wear more body-flattering clothing than a turtleneck sweater & winter parka all the time? Like the maiden in the above picture with the narrow waist, perfect ball gown and bouncy hair, I like to greet the magic of spring with a sense of excitement & adventure without having to worry about my midriff bulge. But with the lighter layers & cute, clingy spring fashions comes the (gulp!) need for a more serious fitness plan. Since I live in Colorado, my favorite butt-busting hill is a nearby ridge at 9,000 feet where I like to run that has a 500-foot elevation gain. Why? Because the road is made of nice, soft dirt and has a gorgeous view of the Rocky Mountains. So while I'm out there huffing & puffing (and ready to blow the nearest house down), if I can just take my eyes off my tired feet for an instant, I can let the scenic view set my thoughts a little higher than the usual "Lord have mercy—am I really going to survive this?"

But today, it all of sudden hit me that my fitness journey isn't about survival at all. Or about beating myself up over whether I did this number of miles in that amount of time. As I stared at my feet trudging across the soft, granite-laden dirt, I suddenly realized how beautiful this moment is. This pudgy, tortoise-jogging-pace moment—regardless of my ultimate goal to finally shed those winter pounds or top my achievement from yesterday. Because it's my heart that gives this moment meaning—my brave, yearning, tenacious, (and dare I say it?) heroic heart. Ultimately, no one really cares how streamlined I look in a slinky dress or pair of skinny jeans with high heels. But what's truly beautiful is that gallant heart who gets out there & tries to ascend that mountain, day after day after day . . .

And for the first time, I just took a deep breath and appreciated my heart and all its beautiful dreams & ambitions, no matter how silly or serious they may seem at times. That wonderful ability of the human heart to lift its sights and TRY . . .

 



Could it be that the very act of wishing, and then believing in that wish strongly enough to set feet in relentless motion, is more beautiful than any ball gown or castle in the air my mind might conjure? Because when I'm at the bottom, and not the "perfection" that I aspire to, my soul is perhaps the most noble of all. I find out what I'm made of—one foot after the other, focused on vision & hope. And as I looked at the footprints I'd made in in the mountain dirt, I thought to myself that their image is as lovely as any lofty dream. This is the evidence of a spirit who never gives up—on her life or on her goals. And even if I never find the path towards my version of happily ever after, those footprints made in faith are perhaps the most rewarding of all.

Castles crumble, kingdoms fall, dreams can die, and ball gowns can certainly fade or fall out of fashion. But the joy of spring for me is the chance to step outside & enjoy the journey. And perhaps to relish in the crystalline quality of my soul most of all . . .

I hope as the warmer breezes come & flowers begin to spring up, that you will honor the one who does the seeing, the smelling & the feeling & the believing along your way. And that you will treasure each moment you get to spend with the stirrings of your own sparkling heart.

(Photo credit note: All images on my blog are either my own or were gleaned from pictures in the public domains of facebook, pinterest, or other popular social networks. If you own the copyright to any of these images & do NOT want them used publicly, please contact me & I will take them down immediately! : )

Unexpected Magic

Autumn always feels like a miracle to me—the crisp air, vibrant leaves, and that lovely stillness that pervades the earth, bringing a sense of contemplation & subtle understanding of life's rhythm & mysteries. It's as though, with the leaves fallen from the trees now, life becomes more fundamental, and we not only can see beyond the former foliage of tree canopies, we can also perceive the bare bones of our lives. Nature reveals much in her stark beauty. As we head towards Thanksgiving & our thoughts naturally become more meditative, I love to step out into Nature as often as I can to let the earth speak to me. Since moving to Colorado a few months ago, I've been taking my family on hikes nearly every weekend on backcountry trails in the Rocky Mountains that often lead to an elevation of 10-11,000 feet.

When I breathe the air at these heights & see the glorious views, I feel deeply blessed & also content. Nature & healthy loved ones are enough. The beauty of the outdoors is enough. The fragrance of the pines & soft chortle of wild turkeys or the call of the elk are enough. It seems like blasphemy in moments like this to be anything but grateful for life, color, love, and the majesty of nature.

And it's funny, but in times like this—when my mind is at peace and I don't waste a single thought on what I "want" in this world—that's when it seems like I experience the most magic. Some people call it serendipity: that unsought moment when a blessings arrives, light as a feather, that seems to synchronize perfectly with the contentment you've cultivated in your heart. For me, a delightful example of this phenomenon occurred recently when I took my family on a spur-of-the moment hike on an unmarked trail near my property. It turned out to be far steeper than we'd anticipated, with extremely rough terrain that luckily rewarded us with spectacular views. And as we neared the top, my son (who is no stranger to a belief in fairies), called out "Look mom—a kite!"

Indeed, at the top of a mountain (that was almost 10,000 feet) lay a dirty Star Wars kite under a boulder that looked like it had seen better days long ago. But my son insisted that "The fairies must have left it for us!", so my husband decided to unravel its string and give it a shot. It took a bit of time to straighten out its mangled cross sticks, but before long, we hoped we had it in working order...

The wind began to rise, and with my heart in my throat, I watched my boys' anticipation as my husband gave a yank on the kite string. If only you could see the joy in my boys' faces as that kite began to soar! They squealed & laughed & skipped & chased after it as the sun glinted off their foreheads & the breeze tousled their hair. Nothing on God's green earth could have made them happier in that moment than flying that beaten-up, discarded old kite.

And I thought to myself, "This is what magic really is." A swelling in the heart at an unexpected blessing. A child's glee. Abundant sunshine on a mountain meadow. A fragrant breeze. Laughter that you could almost swear was punctuated by the giggle of fairies. Or was that angels? And it didn't cost a thing. Simply a belief that in that moment, life is abundantly beautiful—more than enough—and a flimsy old plastic kite & some worn-out string are all it takes to thrill your soul & fill you up with a magical memory you'll never forget.

Oh, did I mention that we hadn't sold our old house yet & were paying two mortgages, my car needed fixing to the tune of 1,500 dollars, I'd pulled a tendon that made hiking precarious, and the trail back to my house was so steep that on parts of it we had to slide down on our butts?

None of those distractions could water down the magic of that particular moment—because I refused to let it. Because if I've learned anything about magic, it's this: Magic exists in the NOW. It's up to us to notice it & let if fill our hearts when it comes our way.

May this Autumn season give you many opportunities to stumble into magic. And may you have the wisdom & openness of heart to recognize those unexpected moments when they alight upon your world : )

(Photo credit note: All images on my blog are either my own or were gleaned from pictures in the public domains of facebook, pinterest, or other popular social networks. If you own the copyright to any of these images & do NOT want them used publicly, please contact me & I will take them down immediately! : )