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4T3A1201-4

Published by Heather (she/her/hers)

I am a spiritual director seeking joy in the mundane and writing to inspire others to do the same. View all posts by Heather (she/her/hers)

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When did I realize that it is the combination of all of it that makes a life so full of miracles? It’s the barn cat that probably has fleas but is so regal and perfect lounging outside the farm store. And her chocolate lab companion with her mama nipples still raw from her last litter, caked with dirt sleeping sidelong in the shade and begging to be pet. You know your hands will be dusty and smelly after you scratch her lazy head, but the joy you feel from befriending her trust is worth it. How did I stumble into the knowing that the mess is stuffed full of goodness? Not trite cliches, just honest-to-god connection. And when did I stop running from the complications of all of it? Having the uncomfortable conversations and embracing the truth. How did I land here in this goodness, and most of all, how do I make it stay?
I have so many offerings bubbling up inside me. I want to come on IG live and offer you a self-forgiveness mediation. I want to write to you about how I have learned to actually feel my emotions in my body instead of building walls and shutting down, and how much bravery the practice of feeling has cultivated in my soul. I want to talk to you about gender and faith and- no surprise here- my favorite topic of all: delight! And I keep feeling guilty that all of that is brewing without the time to offer it, but I just had an epiphany. I am a lot of things, and I may not be wearing my spiritual director hat that often right now, but my mom and partner and teacher hats? Those are looking stellar. My little ones need me more intensely right now as I send many of them off to kindergarten and wrap up this school year well. So this is me reminding myself and reminding you that seasonality matters, and that if you are throwing a lot of yourself into one area more intensely than usual, life will likely pull you back another way in time. Go where you are called- where your heart finds warmth and where the spirit leads. Time waits for no one, but life does. People do. And the things that don’t wait and can’t wait for your readiness weren’t meant to be yours. We are called to be open-hearted and open-handed, ready to receive what is ours and to release what isn’t, and I believe that everything predestined for this world will find its way to it.
And that’s a wrap on the baseball season! We adored Carter’s coaches and teammates/families. It was such a great year!
I used to think that I saw the world through rose-colored glasses. I was told by anyone and everyone close to me that I was such an optimist, and too gullible. A hopeless romantic. And I am a romantic. Hopeless in some ways, sure. And even still, a touch of an optimist. But I don’t see things in shades of red, blurring the lines of what I don’t want to examine. No, it’s never been that. I see all of it, feel all of it deeply. And I chose hope, slippery as it may be. I see this menagerie called life in every possible shade the human eye has to offer, and I think the reason stained glass windows break my heart is because nothing comes closer to painting a picture of what my soul feels like. Choose a favorite color? How could I possibly? I’ve needed every hue to make sense of what I see and how I have always felt. So when a binary society set on rules and placements made us choose, we chose the rainbow. And queer folks with queer hearts and kaleidoscope souls have found ourselves in the beauty of spectrum since the beginning of our heart’s drum. Proud? Are you kidding me? I could not love us more. Happy Pride, babes.
I dreamed that he died last night. The ache in my chest was the most intense, most vivid physical sensation that I have ever experienced in a dream, and I woke to my alarm with tears streaming down my cheeks. My face found his chest next to me and I stifled a sob while he assured me he was there and very much alive. My dreams are filled with the terrors that I don’t allow myself to fear while I’m awake. My need to protect just how vulnerable I have made my heart with love lives in my ability to dissociate and to assure myself that everything is going to be ok. The idea of a God that would prevent my pain if I prayed a certain way or aligned myself closely enough to His will was a false assuredness that I miss. Instead, I’m left with the constant knowledge that the longer I live and fall more deeply in love with my people and this exquisite world, the deeper that pain in my chest will burrow as I consider my inevitable heartache. And yet, here I am: a martyr to my own vulnerability. I cannot even consider another way.
Parent, caregivers, educators, coaches, grandparents, and all adults who have influence over our youth,

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