3.17.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Stars

“Not just beautiful, though–the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they’re watching me.”
― Haruki Murakami

Dear Stars,

I am simply writing to tell you that I love you. I love you so much, and I have for absolutely ever. From the time I was a little girl, my mom taught me that I should give compliments when I feel them. If that is true, I should have whispered this to you or sung it to the sky a million times before.

There are so many things about you that are magical and meaningful, but I think I can sum it up quite simply. You give me the space to dream, and for a dreamer like me … the kind that requires a lot of room to spread her thoughts, and wonderings, and whims, I can’t tell you how much I adore you for it.

But the thing I love most, is the way you are the guardians of wishes. Collecting them from every corner of every hemisphere until you are swollen with a million, glowing possibilities … until you are so heavy with hope that you fall, giving the assurance of dreams coming true.

Thank you stars.

For cascading silver dust.

For the language of light.

For holding the history of the world in a billion crystal particles across the floor of heaven.

Did I mention how much I love you?

2.7.23 Seven Small Truths: Day Seven

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.” Mary Jean Iron

So here we are … day seven of seven days of mini truths. As important as all of the admissions I’ve shared have been to me, I think this one might be one of the most true and most necessary for us all to acknowledge, if for no other reason than to prove that we need one another.

DAY SEVEN Truth: Heaven is entirely too far away. Recently, I had a sweet follower ask me if I had any pieces I’d suggest she read to help her healing heart … she shared with me that she was still desperately missing her husband who passed away. My spirit entirely shattered, because what do you say? I have written about loss so many times over the years, and yet there is no consolation for grief that does more than offer a fleeting moment of warmth in the seemingly endless cold.

My faith has been the only consolation that ever offered me any peace–knowing that this is not the end of the story … the relationship … the love. Knowing that on the other side of the star-dusted sky lies another chapter, another conversation, another chance to hold and be held across the galaxy. To me, so many times, that promise has kept my broken heart beating.

Whenever someone I care about loses someone they love, I pray that their memories remain fresh and present. I pray that their dreams be vivid and their sensorial recollections be distinct. It is never enough … but maybe, just maybe, it will suffice one more day. And if I, myself, am missing one of the loves of my life to the point I can hardly bear it–I pretend. I tell myself that I’ll see them soon–that we’re only a memory apart.

I believe our imaginations can be holy … that if we open ourselves up to the divine we were designed to hold, heaven inches closer to us. Let hope be your light. It will be enough.

2.4.23 Seven Small Truths: Day Four

On this, day four … I share with you something that I am not entirely sure I want to. It’s personal. It hurts. And yet, I often feel that the struggles we go through, we are allowed to endure for two reasons: to prove we are strong enough to see the other side of them, or to use our developed strength to help someone else.

This is the truth I’d rather hide from than face, and sometimes–I do. It’s the truth I don’t want my mom or sister or daughter to read or know, even though I’m sadly aware they already do. It is the truth that makes me feel cliche … vain and weak. It is the truth I sincerely dislike about myself, but can’t deny.

So, just in case it is helping someone else be strong–here goes.

DAY FOUR Truth: I love myself … I don’t want to look like anyone else, but I’m still never ever satisfied with my reflection. I cannot remember a single time when there wasn’t something I thought I could improve. I am not proud of it. I want to be fully comfortable in my own skin. I often ask myself, “What if I just unequivocally loved this body of mine?” For about two seconds, I feel lighter, peaceful even … I almost give myself permission, then my posture resumes to full-shoulders-back, my tummy tucks in, my breathing shallows, and I instantly miss the feeling I just allowed leave of. Again.

Our imperfect pasts, our less-than-they-should-have-been decisions, have a way of becoming our own personal ghosts. They echo in the distance, mist-like on the good days–impermeable and haunting on the bad. The truth is, like millions before me (and sadly, millions after), the scars of my adolescent battle with Anorexia are as much internal as external. Though my body and mind are now healed–trained to recognize and pursue what is good and healthy … there are parts of my psyche that crave the shadows, the hollows between collarbone and spine.

The ghost of who I was (or wasn’t enough to keep at bay) keeps calling. And I turn away. Intentionally. Relentlessly. Because she was wrong. I was wrong. (And sometimes still am.)

Forgive me this truth?

I’d appreciate it, really.

Because most days, I’m still trying to forgive myself.

12.31.22 Hopeful Expectancy

“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me … Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” 

– Shel Silverstein

Here upon the dawn of a fresh new year, I wanted to write you poetry. I wanted to write you dreamy, sweet, recollections. But yesterday, I called my sister in tears, and so instead, I decided to write you truth. Here it is. Being a dreamer … a wisher … a doer, is sometimes overwhelmingly heavy. Waking up each day with stories you know need to be told, but don’t have the time to tell–stepping into new days and weeks and months that pass without your permission or intention–finding that there were so many meant-to’s still in a wishful pile of haven’t done’s … it’s a lot.

This year, I have been a mom to two teenagers. I’ve been a wife (albeit one who owes her husband about a million date nights). I have started a new job teaching an entirely new level of (high school). I’ve continued my blog. I’ve been a guest speaker. I’ve written for my favorite magazine for another year. And yet, oh friends. Yet, I am the farthest thing from satisfied that I’ve done enough.

So I called her, my sweet sister, in tears. I’m not much of a cryer–until I am. Then, it seems, I have no choice but to let it all out. I called to confess that I have so much more to do, so much I’ve not done, so much I started without finishing. I told her I wanted to be someone my kids could be proud of for chasing and pursuing and “making” something of herself. I asked her why I have so many words in my mind, spinning and itching to be sent and spoken. I asked her why I can’t get farther. I asked. And I cried. And I muttered, “Why can’t I get farther?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “It’s because you’re not arriving. You’re already there.” She went on to explain (in the patient way that only sisters can) that the standard I hold myself to is not the same version of me the world sees. She told me that my children, my husband, and my family are already proud of me … and that the only one who isn’t, is me.

The truth, it would seem, is just as heavy as all of those other feelings. But where self-doubts seem to weigh me down, this spoken truth, was more of a blanket statement … settling over and comforting the parts of my heart and mind that are so often restless.

Dear ones. I wish you many things in this new year. I wish me many things too, but more than anything, I wish you truth and hopeful expectancy. May you hear the words that need to be said. May you feel the prayers that need to rest on and stay with you. May you allow yourself to be loved exactly as you are, not as you think you should be.

Here, on the eve of a brand new shiny turn about the sun: my fears have been cried, my tears have been dried, my wishes to heaven have been sent, and my busy brain has begun plotting and planning without strings attached. Maybe things will work out … maybe something better than my own plans will come to be … maybe nothing what-so-ever will change. No matter what, it is with a tenacious heart and winged-spirit that I step into 2023.

Ironically, or not so ironically, this particular verse popped up on two different apps of mine, two days in a row. “God’s timing is perfect,” Ecclesiastes 2:11. Work on believing it with me.

Delight and unabashed joy for what was, what is, and what will be, or won’t. Regardless of circumstances, sparkle and shine. Smile and trust. Love and be loved. Peace and optimism and effervescent hope be yours!

Elle

6.12.22 Forty-Five Years

For you mom and dad. Thank you for teaching me again and again what love is. I am eighteen years in today … you are forty-five. I will keep studying your beautiful example. Here is what I’ve learned so far …

I’ve heard of love described as chemistry

but chemical reactions do not tend to strengthen over time

I’ve heard of love described as biology

but if it were, then it would be marked by an innate sense of self-preservation, not self-sacrifice

I’ve heard of love described as psychology

but human connection is not mutually exclusive to just one other

So …

I suggest love is built on something far more than powerful than science –

it is built on a promise –

to keep trying, when trying seems impossible (as it will)

to keep hoping, when hope feels too far away (as it is)

to keep dreaming, when dreams have broken (as they do)

Love is built on yes

and yes again

and yes a thousand times more

Love it built on time

time moving too fast

and too slow

and perfect moments where it stops all together

Love is built on someday

and countless yesterdays

and I’m here right nows

Love

does

not

make

sense

Yet here we are …

and so the only logical conclusion is that love is not a science,

it is a magic entirely its own

cast and crafted

blessed and bound

As old as Earth herself

As young as the echo of a heartbeat

Love IS …

what other explanation need there be?

11.29.21 “Hope Spots”

I was listening to a friend of mine, Dr. John Bruno, give a presentation recently about the state of coral reefs. He is a remarkable human who has given his life to inspecting and protecting this fragile, yet tenacious Earth of ours. John would call himself a Marine Ecology professor at UNC … I would call him a warrior. His studies have taken him around the globe to study the state of the reefs. In a matter of a few decades, the seafloor has reduced from 50-15% … and yet … stay with me … breathe – Dr. Bruno said that one thing scientists look for are, “Hope Spots.”

This term was coined by Dr. Sylvia Earle, and while I know that they are places in the natural world where nature is thriving and restoration is audaciously possible … I got lost in the beauty of the term and how it translated in my mind.

What if we, flawed and broken, fragile and fractured humans that we are – what if we focused on our own personal hope spots? Where would they be? Are they external places in which we reconnect with our former, stronger selves … or could they be internal, only a memory away? When I heard about hope spots, these were immediately the kinds of questions that came to my mind and skipped and stuttered across my subconscious.

After a great deal of reflection, I think, for me, hope spots are everywhere. They are anywhere I can feel myself coming back to life. There is one in the curve of my daughter’s smile … another in the twinkle of my son’s eyes. There is one that can only be found in the palm of my husband’s outstretched hand. One that resides in my mom’s voice, and another in my dad’s arms. They are in my scars, those I still see, and those I still feel. They are anywhere I let the light in, floating on the faith of a prayer. Skipping on the whim of a wish.

What about you? Would you be willing to share a spot? Maybe someone will be able to find one of their own from your words. Soon our world will be so littered with brilliant bits of hope, that an incandescent path will form and light the way for us all. It could happen … expect a miracle and you just might find one.

So what do you say? Hope with me?

Elle

9.19.21 You Will Rise

” … If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools …”

– Rudyard Kipling, “If”

This week, a precious friend confided the difficult reality that sometimes, life hurts. Right now – her pain is acute. And although no one goes through this existence completely unscathed, there are times that will shake you to the point of an internal tremble. I’ve been thinking about her all week. Praying for her. And while I hate that I cannot fix it, I want her to know … I want you all to know, that Hope is an ever-present promise, even when all else fails. I wish I could take away the trials, but for the time being, all I have to offer is a small collection of words I gathered in the midst of this trial. May they bring you back to a point of knowing this is not the end of the world’s story … or of yours.

Life isn’t always what it seems

what you thought it was,

would, or even should be

Sometimes, when the clouds come

they stay

stagnant and unforgiving

relentless and roiling

In the dark, the questions come

doubts intermingling with leftover pieces of dreams …

as though everything you thought you knew to be true

is backwards, a broken, mirrored reflection of what it once was

sharp shards revealing every tear

Even then … in the moments where Destiny feels defective

and reality is rent with defeat,

even then there is light

Fractured bits of faith remain as glittered dust among the debris

incapable of being gathered and disposed of fully

Just as embers might once again be fanned into flame

Credence is worthy of reflection

And while chaos is deafening –

Hope speaks in constant whispers beneath it all …

a steady undercurrent, present below the pain

What is anguish but an inverse reaction to love?

What is devastation if not proof that devotion was present?

So be angry dear heart,

there is room in this space to be angry.

Be sad if you must,

there is room in this space to be sad.

Ask questions, have doubts, be aware of the darkness …

because I know,

even if you don’t –

even if you can’t –

that you are made of stardust and promises …

and your heart is branded with infallible truths

This life has no claim over that which is eternal

You may be shaken but you are not shattered

You might well have fallen, only to prove

once again

you will rise

4.21.21 Joy of the Unexpected

In truth, I almost didn’t write tonight. Again. It seems that every night, I am too much or not enough of whatever it is I feel that I need to be to contribute to the world in the way I want. And yet, I have a simple story – so short it is more an occurrence, but a sweet one nonetheless.

I was walking during my daughter’s dance practice, looking up as I normally do on walks (as the sky entertains in a way feet cannot). As I rounded a corner, I saw an older man walking his dog. I looked down long enough to smile at him and wave, and he said, “What an unexpected pleasure.”

That’s it. That is my sweet snippet, and yet when I reflect on this day … it was my blossom. To think that seeing a smile from the other side of the road, from a total stranger could bring this man such joy, brought me joy just to think it possible. We both continued on smiling. I went back to looking up, he went back to walking forward, but he was right, it was an unexpected pleasure. Being given the gift of a smile, one intended specifically for you, is a tiny treasure – a golden moment I tucked into the pocket of my heart.

I hope you found something that warmed you today … something small enough to keep your travels light, and bright.

3.24.21 Springing Forward by Looking Back

“In a year that has felt both impossibly long and frozen – an immobile collection of repeating days – it can seem difficult to look forward. A new season is upon us and yet it is the same season when, for many of us, this entire shift of ‘the world as we knew it’ began. So what are we to do with spring? How can we advance bravely into the possibility of what we hope for when things appear no different? It’s simple – we look back. Take a bit of time to dwell in your ever-present treasure of memories. Spring is a time of reflections, new directions, and growth. Let the garden of your mind harvest sweet blossoms, and make yourself an enchanting bouquet of thoughts.”

– Excerpt from Springing Forward by Looking Back, Bella Grace Issue 27

I hope that you will take some time to explore Bella Grace’s Spring Issue! It is filled with all things lovely and has so many refreshing suggestions to reset your spirit! As always, it is an honor to write for my absolute favorite magazine in the entire world!

Happy Spring my darlings! Here’s to new beginnings!

Elle

2.28.21 Somedays

I have several friends who suffer from chronic illnesses, and honestly, I hurt for them in a place I can’t feel, but feel nonetheless. So this is for you my brave warriors. This is for the days your body becomes a cage to the spirit within you that knows peace is waiting for you someday. I love you. I hear you. Carry on precious … one more day … one more hour … one more breath if that’s all you can commit to. This is not all – you are more, and nothing, not even this pain can make you less. For you, dear ones, are made of beyond. Until then, I bless you for enduring now. I would be lost without you, and I thank you for not letting me get lost. 

Somedays

Somedays are dangerous things

they tease and taunt

and ease and haunt

the imperfections of our current state

of being

of wanting

of waiting

And on days like that …

the Somedays 

when the magic of stardust and wishes call

when the perfection of heaven echoes in the loves we lost

when the sea and the sky brim at a capacity greater than any earthly ambition

my heart aches with a craving I can’t satisfy

at the freedom I see

but don’t have

at the wonders of when

but not yet

at the whims I imagine

but can’t

make

real

Some days,

when Someday comes

my skin feels too tight

and my tears fall just right

and living 

is heavier

than it seems it should have the right to ever be

because beauty is in the eye of the beheld

and I wish to be held

by something lighter

than gravity

Someday

Reflections to Consider

1. Who do I know that might be depending on “Someday?” 

2. How can I make today worth their struggle to stay? 

3. What words, quotes, poems, or songs might I cover them in?

4. If I were to pray for them, what would I say? 

5. What wildflowers, free and blooming might inspire their view of today? 

6. What memories could I share to remind them of better moments in time? 

7. What does hope sound like? Smell like? Feel like? Look like? Can I catch some to share? 

8. If I visited, what activities could we do together where we were equal and free? 

9. What movies and books define our relationship? What else could I add to a care package that would enable and empower? 

10. What are ways to love them purely, as they are, and were, and will be … without filter or flaw? How can I show them that they are still them? And I am still me? And we are still us?