For six weeks, I’m participating in a project called Great-full Summer 2012. Given a prompt, I record my gratitude in this series of posts. Perhaps you’ll join in?
Dear Life,
Thank you for giving me
a second chance.
And a third. Well, a million.
Thank you for giving me
the opportunity to change my mind.
To recognize where the wagon wheels have gone off the track. Or completely broken off the axel. To say, huh, I guess this route isn’t working anymore. For allowing me the humility and the courage to start again.
Thank you for believing in
my own wisdom.
Instead of telling me what to do, you guide me through it, trusting I have all I need to figure it out. Eventually.
Thank you for
the sun that keeps rising, despite my fear to face some days.
You open the door to look, even if through squinted or shaded eyes, at what has the power to burn me. Then you show me that the warmth is the gift, the reward, the right.
Thank you for
the moon that watches over my rest.
Reminders that I’m so small, such a cosmic blip, relieves the pressure to hold the weight of the world. I am merely star dust after all.
Thank you for
the tears that are spilling from my eyes.
I tremble at the emotion that simply cannot be contained, the soul of my heart that longs so desperately to be connected to the source that is us all. To feel so free to be bare and understand that not only is that okay, but that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Thank you for
the vulnerability of spirit.
By knowing my edges, where the fall is threatened, I find the place that has no boundary. The open expanse of everything. The promise of abundant discovery, taking me higher than my mere mind and body can go.
Thank you for
the depths of grief and the confusion it caused.
It cultivated the height of my clarity when it finally came. I am certain, strong and unshakeable now.
Thank you for
the glimpse into heaven.
The beautiful bottomless wells of my daughters’ eyes are pure white light of faith, love, and majesty. The common ground, the source, the inspiration, the road we wander, the exhale.
Thank you for
the dent in my new car.
Nothing lasts forever and in the letting go I can go on.
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