As December has arrived and gift buying is in full swing, I am reminded that gifts are not only made of material. Walking through the mall, listening to the Christmas music, and watching the young ballet dancer gracefully float across center stage, I recognize a deep longing within myself to reconnect to meaning as I push aside the hustling yet robotic tasks of the holiday season.
Gifts of the heart given from the center of our beings shine through us like twinkling Christmas lights. Yet it is possible that some of these lights can burn out leaving us with a half-lit strand of joy. When we allow the resentments of events that we cannot control to seethe beneath the surface, our power is drained eventually resulting in burn out.
Join me in changing the empty bulbs to once again receive positive, supportive, and loving energy. Let us recharge and reignite our passion, the direct passage of energy from the heart of our meaning. There is redemptive power in recognizing our individual gift to the world. So let it shine radiantly, joyfully sharing it with others.
Rather than allow the distractions of the season to zap our energy, let it infuse us with hope as we look for opportunities to encourage those around us even those who may judge us, outrun us, or are simply more talented than us. In truly appreciating other’s gifts to this world, we act as a conduit supporting the transfer of loving intentions and positive energy.
When we focus on sharing our unique and creative gifts, all else seems to fall into place. We reconnect to the power source, as our bulbs are refreshed.
It exists in all of us, whether initially a flicker or a flame, creativity eventually asks for engagement. Art is born not only in painful moments of life’s unexpected and uncontrollable events, but also in the peaceful serene entrance of morning when an invitation is presented to begin a new day with the most playful of heart.
My wish to capture the sunrise this morning as a photograph was not granted as I was traveling on the highway. I could only gape at its beauty and imbed the picture in my memory. Difficult as it was to keep my attention on the road, mesmerized by the half crescent shape of the bright orange globe peeking out from the horizon, I turned my thoughts to the inspiration from nature once again.
Further down the road where the sun’s rays had not yet touched, a heavy ethereal mist was floating above the red river and evoked my fantastical imagination of a world where mystical delights swirl around each and every one of us playfully invoking a powerful urge and desire to create art from the inspiration of tiny water droplets suspended in air.
For me, the mist represents a lightness of heart that floats above the harsh realities of a mundane existence or the senseless casualties of loved ones. As with atmospheric changes, the heaviness of life can be transformed into featherlight peace. Once again my sense of purpose has been reestablished and confirmed.
As I was elevated from a mechanical state of tending to daily cares to one of sublime happiness, a magical gift was received again from above. A place created by a societal and collective imagination, but also quite possibly a place revealed to us in tiny glimpses of unimagined beauty upon daybreak in nature’s masterpieces.
Appreciation of these slivers of magnificence can fan and fuel the burning desire to bring forth our own creative beauty deepening our relationship with the creator of all.
Hope is my therapy. Where else can such a profound sense of acceptance be felt? It exists for all of us, gentle support that anchors our souls. A belief and expectation of something good.
Two blue jays visited today on a branch outside my window as if to remind me of a universal smile of goodness. A pureness that radiates from nature all around me, a perfected treasure gifted to me to view daily if I slow down enough to do so. If I delete one “o” what remains in the word is the strength I put my hope in. For it is in recognizing that power and glory that I accept my own goodness.
My initial inability to rebound and cope seamlessly with loss pours life into these words. They exist only because I still have hope. Hope in a future, not without pain but with a gift. The gift of believing each day, itself, is a gift.
We wake naively without any anticipation of who we could lose in a split second, an occurrence taking only .00001157 of the entire day, changing the course of life for thousands of others. That one second does not define the life of the lost, rather it defines the implication that even a second of each day matters.
That particular second changed everything for me and many others this past week. Except Hope did not change. Hope remained a constant. Life goes on because of Hope. Hope that all happens eventually for good. Even if the temptation is to sink low into an abyss of confusion, the universe reminds us that all is good with it and invites us to put our hope in the power harnessed within.
Strong arms of healing wrap around me gently, reminding me that my pain of loss needs hope now more than ever.
Self-protection. Do we allow it to get in the way of progress? Does fear of harm or ridicule stunt our growth. Do we view outside forces as something to hide from? Or do we learn to adapt?
I watch the water form a river in the leaf of a plant. My mind wanders to the self-protective ability of a succulent to divert the harmful power of torrential rain from washing it away.
How much of our environment and its harsh elements helped create who we are today? The adaptation of our natures cannot be ignored as we learn to deflect the ominous, hurtful, degenerative, toxic messages that may have been forced upon us.
When the vicious prey on us, we have our cloaking devices. We do not have to expose ourselves to harmful situations to become more powerful. Power resides in the protection of the gift we are given. There is no need to flaunt or battle.
Deflecting criticism protects our tender roots. These roots ground us in a hostile yet beautiful terrain. The vast wilderness becomes manageable as we adapt by using our strengths. Our beings are created for survival and hope.
What is your hope today? I look at a blank page in my newest planner and imagine accomplishing what I was born to do.
My inspiration comes from artwork created by the hands of an amazing artist, Marjolein Bastin. Reading her biographical page on her website, I find that she knew what she wanted to do from a very early age. Her love was nature and she collected treasures like pinecones, seeds, and flowers in her early childhood days.
As I look ahead to opportunities of this life, I realize I often go through a gathering stage. Much like an artist, I surround myself with inspiration as reminders of what I love. When I fill my treasure chest, I become in tune with my purpose.
Many of us wake each day with a fresh slate or a blank page. We may recall yesterday or look to tomorrow while we make our plans. Soon our page is filled.
What if on any given day, we were given only the time to accomplish what we were born to do? The beauty of life is, we are. We were born to be who we are today and dream of who we can be tomorrow. Our gift to the world is what we give and who we are.
My hope is this page is filled with inspiration for you to dream of possibilities today and every day.
So many opportunities exist to express the unique person you are. Fill your page with dreams. Do not view these opportunities from a viewpoint of scarcity. When you do what you love, your uniqueness shines for others to see.
There is no reason to hide your light. Sharing your gifts with others is what you were born to do.