While watching the news reels on repeat about the war in Ukraine, my heart goes out to the destitute women in particular struggling to voice their circumstances to reporters through interpreters, and often in their second or third language. Their frustration of not being able to share in their heart language screamed through the TV screen!
I’ve often wondered and asked myself how I grew into a strong woman. I think it’s a combination of my parents’ high expectations, their unwavering support, my faith legacy, and the unique childhood adventures of my education and friendships.
I recently took a quilting class with one of my sisters. Our back and forth chatter while being shown a new technique set the tone for the morning. And oh, what a delightful morning it was!
Sometimes, spring arrives and we’re angry! We rage silently, “how dare flowers bloom when I’m experiencing _____!”
You fill in the blank and rest assured that you’re not alone.
I was reacquainted with the word biophillia while listening to a gardening podcast several weeks ago.
I was having a conversation with Jesus. Actually, it was more like I was begging with every ounce of my being to stay. I knew that this strong, gentle being standing before me was Jesus, because the power of our connection, of being one was so pure, sure, and true. I looked, really looked into his warm brown eyes and knew; I just unequivocally knew I was at heavens gate.