A Gypsy's Creed

Again today I will rise.

I’ll get up and brush off all the remnants of yesterday, leave it behind in the dust of the day gone forever.

Today I lift myself up again, to a new place and into a new direction.

The path of the gypsy, ever changing, always flowing, learning slowly and sometimes quickly how to let go and unchain from what tries pulling you back, tries dampening your spirit and inner light, the things from the outside that work toward taking away what’s deep on the inside. But that part of me remains. It will never be diminished or destroyed or taken away.

I know me. I know my light. I know my strength. I know who I’ve been called to be.

I know when I rise, all around me does the same, even though sometimes the pain of acceleration can shake up and break up, make me stumble, make me wallow for awhile in self-doubt and self-pity and self-centeredness that makes me temporarily lose sight of the bigger picture.

Today I rise again. And again if I have to. Constantly remembering we’re all being challenged to do more, be more, evolve more.

So it is in rising that I embrace those things that have come, that will come that trip me up. I appreciate the gifts hidden inside the experiences and I will rely on powers that flow through me, that surround me, that are present even as far as galaxies away; the powers that can, do and will turn everything… EVERY LITTLE THING… into something better for everyone, not just for me. It isn’t my power to own, yet it is. It isn’t my power to direct. Yet it is. All I have to do is remember. All I have to do is reach out and grab onto, hold loosely and trust.

Today I will rise, whether or not I feel myself moving. I call my old self out from beneath any shadows and invite my real self to enter into the path of light. That simple.

Today I rise again and dance myself, paint myself, write myself, sing myself into my higher purpose, which is your higher purpose, too.

Today… you rise again too.

Dwelling Inside the Good

Sometimes I think the breaking point in my marriage was the day the basement flooded.

I had spent most of my adult life trying to be “the good mom, the perfect wife”. I spent hours and hours creating scrapbooks and photo albums, collecting memories that I thought would be so important to document for my kids and future grandchildren. I had made the choice to be a stay-at-home mom and I poured my heart and my love into being the best I knew how to be. Hours of building a home from scratch, days and months and years of collecting just the right bits and pieces to make their home great, to make their keepsakes memorable and artistic. I spent so much of myself I often wonder if I lost me in the process of trying to be perfect.

I beat myself up for awhile. I should have placed those precious picture books high on a shelf or in some special trunk or container that would keep them safe. But instead, they were stacked on the floor, on new carpet in a room I cherished as a safe haven where I made my creations or spent time alone in prayer or healing of self. There on the floor, my sons’ scrapbooks sat in water that seeped through the floor and walls and flooded the rooms that had taken my ex-husband and I so long to design, create and build.

Something completely broke inside me that day. I came home to the emotions of those who were already frantically trying to bail the water out, to salvage what could be salvaged. All I could see, all I could think about were those books. And what it meant to lose not only the images saved, but the energy and love I had spent on something that could be taken away in such a short amount of time - as short as a thunder storm/torrential rain.

I’m thinking now about how disasters can rob you of your identity. They can steal away a lifetime of hard, honest work. They can erase within moments all the moments that you spent being who you are. Within seconds, so much can be erased and never again replaced or retrieved or found.

It’s at those times, through all the shattered chards and all the broken bits and pieces that we start creating a new mosaic. At times when a person thinks there is no possible way to move forward, they find out movement is inevitable. It is at those pivotal junctures where you discover there’s really no control to be had, only a sense of weightlessness and surrender, a floating into the arms of whatever this life is about. There is simply a will to go on so you begin by sifting through, dusting off, shaking away and allowing life to take you wherever.

I don’t doubt any more that there is mercy and grace buried inside of trials, buried inside of tragedy. And there is an energetic, live and tangible peace there, too. And sometimes we have to be rattled to the core, removed from all we’ve ever been and known in order to finally reconnect and feel it in our souls. Maybe minutes after or maybe years. But it’s there for us to unlock and uncover.

Today I caught myself wondering where I’d be if that basement would have held up and kept the water out. I know I wouldn’t be the one I am today. I wouldn’t have the same experiences or the same encounters.

I am pretty certain there is a huge advantage to seeking out the good even through all the bad. Focusing on the positive changes everything. It doesn’t take away the hurt or the negative or the pain of what happened unjustly or unfairly, but it empowers life to turn things around for the better, it opens up the flood gates of goodness.

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

Find Joy

Several years ago, after struggling most of her life to get there, my mom was healthier than she had ever been, had lost a lot of weight, was married to her best friend, had her dream job and finally had reached a place of life where she had less pain than she had known for years. I remember seeing her during one of her visits to Iowa and feeling so proud of her accomplishments. She was stunning (still is).

Shortly thereafter, she had a stroke. And although it didn’t affect her nearly as badly as it could and should have, it altered her. I’ve been thinking about how it seemed to have robbed her of the state of joy and “perfection” that she had finally reached. I’ve been thinking how life is like that too often for many of us. This roller coaster ride that we have no control over, finding ourselves throwing our hands in the air, screaming as loudly as we can and just flying with our eyes wide open. A lot of times there isn’t anything left to do except to just buckle in and ride the ride.

I’ve admired how, through it all, through the good and through the tough, she has carried one theme within her – to live life joyfully, to find happiness in each and every moment. Even in her tears and the times I’ve heard her cry on the other end of the phone, it always changes to laughter, often times giggling without reservation like a little child.

Some of us spend most of our lives seeking out, searching for relief from pain whether it’s mental, emotional, physical, spiritual; however defined. We get caught up in thinking that life has been unjust. We dwell inside of what doesn’t make sense. We wallow in the shallow. Fall down and focus on the sharp edges, the scar tissue, the HURT. I’ve learned through my mother that if you dive deeper, love harder, risk more, breathe bigger breaths and laugh deeper laughs there is a place you reach when you find the “peak”. A place where peace is truly the kind that passes all understanding and you know that whatever is around life’s bend will somehow manage to take care of you, hold you, guide you, raise you and place you right where you need to be. Even the crummy things, like strokes and broken hands and broken hearts make you better and in a sense make you more capable of being happier and more content with the little things that truly are what make life valuable.

Throw your hands up in the air. Let go. And feel life whirling around you, through you. Find joy.