Some mornings I don’t want to climb out of bed. It’s warm under the covers. My body feels held, supported, surrounded in a cocoon of safety. “Out there” is unknown.
It is a promise that gets me out of bed. A promise from Life herself that “out there” is where I want to be.
A promise that if I put my feet on the floor and take that first step, there is beauty waiting to greet me.
She tempts my curiosity by reminding me that anything is possible “out there”. Today, there may be eagles and towhees and spectacular clouds, even if I can’t see them yet in the darkness.
She whispers, “Out there, amidst the noise and the chaos and the darkness, you can be fully alive.”
Some mornings, I ask her to reassure me that I am brave enough to embody the life that is ready to be here today. …
Some mornings I don’t want to climb out of bed. It’s warm under the covers. My body feels held, supported, surrounded in a cocoon of safety. “Out there” is unknown.
It is a promise that gets me out of bed. A promise from Life herself that “out there” is where I want to be.
A promise that if I put my feet on the floor and take that first step, there is beauty waiting to greet me.
She tempts my curiosity by reminding me that anything is possible “out there”. Today, there may be eagles and towhees and spectacular clouds, even if I can’t see them yet in the darkness.
She whispers, “Out there, amidst the noise and the chaos and the darkness, you can be fully alive.”
Some mornings, I ask her to reassure me that I am brave enough to embody the life that is ready to be here today.
Some mornings, I ask her to remind me that she is BIG ENOUGH to hold everything that is waiting “out there” today.
Some mornings, she reminds me that what I am is also big enough to hold everything that is waiting “out there” today.
She sends energy through my body, willing it out of bed. She helps me make the tea, brush my teeth, and put on all the clothes that are required when the temperature is 16 degrees and a strong north wind is blowing.
I remember that this morning, this one morning, will never come again. I remember that whatever is waiting “out there” is only here for a minute, and then it’s gone.
Some days, when my resistance is high, I pause and send love to everything within me that is afraid of what we might find.
I open the curtains to the darkness to see if it will be “worth it.” Can I see the moon and the stars? Do I see clouds? Can I see the wind blowing?
It is that look out the window, no matter what I see, that look usually lights a fire in me. What is “out there” calls to me with its possibility and promise.
I remember that I was made for this moment. That what I am right now is all I need to be in this moment, and that whatever I will need for the next moment is on its way to me right now.
As I drive to the lake and walk down to the water, I repeat my new mantra: “My timing is perfect for me. I am exactly what and where I need to be in this moment.”
On the best days, I watch as the sun lights up the lowest clouds, then spreads her colors along the horizon and up into the sky.
On these days, I see that, in fact, She IS big enough to hold it all, and that means that I am too.
On the days I don’t feel so sure that I am ready and capable of meeting the moment, She sings a love song in my ear. The song changes, but every time it reminds me that I am bigger than I remember.
She reminds me that I can do this. What I am is big enough. I only have to remember.
May you remember the light inside is infinite whenever the moment feels like too much.