Dear Readers, hello!

I would like to ask you the same question I asked a stranger recently. What is one thing you do that brings you joy, not work related?

(smile)

And then I will offer you the same sentiment I gave to this sweet individual when he replied anything sports. 

Good, I’m glad you have [fill in the blank with whatever you answer]! Because your joy matters!

Doing things that bring you joy matters!

Recently I was paused at the stop light of a busy city intersection, cars preparing to or actually turning left, right, and two lanes heading straight, in all four directions.   As I sat stopped several cars back from the intersection, I was also observing those holding signs requesting someone’s generosity. One particular individual was smiling as he walked up and down the sidewalk, displaying his brown cardboard sign with his hand-written message.  Unlike others also walking the sidewalks, the largest letters of his sign didn’t request financial assistance.    His sign read, please at least give me the finger.

An individual who simply wanted to be seen. He was choosing that even if how he was seen was unfavorable, at least he had still touched another life.

I ponder how many people noticed this gentleman. I am choosing not to put energy towards wondering how many people act on his message. I hold intention that people pause and look long enough to see his smile and be positively impacted by it. Like I was. And am.

A couple of days ago I stood waiting for the airline ticket agent to call our boarding group, when my ear began expanding to hear the conversation taking place next to me between an elder woman in a wheelchair, the woman with her that I learned was her daughter, and the two gentlemen ready to assist them to their seats on the plane.   I listened to the joy, pride, and love in the elder woman’s voice that she has been married sixty-five years. When one of the gentlemen asked her if she still loved him, without hesitation she replied absolutely.

Then I heard the purpose of their trip. The elder woman’s son was asking his sister to bring their mom to him and to hurry. That the trip they had planned the next morning needed to be moved to as soon as possible. He didn’t know if he would make it until they arrived if they waited to leave the next day.  The specifics not shared but the reality that a son and brother were dying was present as we all stood in this space waiting for the flight.

The plane was delayed in reaching our next destination by approximately twenty minutes. I heard the daughter inquire with the flight attendant what their connecting gate was and how long the travel from our arriving gate to where they needed to go. A gracious inquiry with only a slight nervousness in her voice, focused more on knowing a plan of action in her tone as she engaged in dialogue with the attendant.

When we began deboarding, the elder woman and her daughter were in front of me and as we reached the doorway, the daughter turned to the flight crew and thanked all of them for their help. Gratitude flowed from her being. If I didn’t know the part of their story I did, I would have thought, such kindness.   Knowing their story, I was inspired by their graciousness and how they were flowing with a travel that I could only begin to imagine what feelings were present every step they were taking.

They exhibited a light in the presence like the gentleman with a smile and a cardboard sign in his hand.

It is always choice, isn’t it? In how we choose to see. Others around us and our own stories.

And now for those of you who are starting to connect to the characters in The Creases Now Speak (smile), let me introduce you to Bian.

Thank YOU. Thank YOU for being the readers YOU are. Because of you I am inspired to keep listening to a story that is finding me.

-Christine

The Creases Now Speak

Bian

Mỹ named her first born child Bian, pronounced Bee-Anh. In Vietnamese, this girl’s name means secret.

When Bian was six or seven, she asked her mom why she chose that name, Mỹ cupped Bian’s face gently into her palms, and whispered you hold the secret password to my heart. Mỹ then took one of her palms, cupped it around her daughter’s tiny hand, and placed it between her breasts. Speaking her favorite nickname to Bian, Người quý giá của tôi, my precious one, many think the heart is on the left side. It is here, in the center.

Mỹ then gently turned Bian to face the window. Leaning close to Bian’s left ear, Mỹ went on to say those branches represent the movements of life. Life delivers and you must choose. You will make choices that move you left of your center, and right. Know this, my daughter, if you always place love as the center in your choosing, you will not be wrong. All branches make that tree whole.

As Mỹ wrapped Bian in a hug, Bian felt her mom’s wet cheek. As your grandfather once told me at your age, always choose well. Người quý giá của tôi, may you always choose well.

Bian recounted this memory as she sat in the three-season porch overlooking Lake Michigan, cupping the mug of warm tea between her palms, preparing to watch the sun rise. This was Bian’s favorite way to begin each day, a ritual she had been doing since the home attached to this three-season porch was only stud walls on a poured basement. Her husband Andrew laughed at her when she insisted on driving to their dream home construction site every Saturday and Sunday for her sunrise tea.

His laugh echoed adoration for her. As if she needed any further proof of his love, it was because of her husband that Mỹ was now occupying one of their guest rooms. Or maybe it was time Bian called it her mother’s room. Mỹ had been staying with them for eight weeks now. As Bian set her mug on the end table next to her and placed her right palm at the center of her chest, she felt that knowing current course through her body that Mỹ’s stay would be permanent. The forms of her stay would change, but Mỹwould not be returning to her own home.

Bian watched the brim of the sun’s orange and yellow hat start to rise. She sat exhausted as she watches the sun’s promise of a new slate in which, this coming evening, she would be able to create and splash with colors from this particular day in her life. Her mother had taught nothing was meant to be held onto, so Bian didn’t keep a journal, nor did she keep many photographs.   But she did keep a secret art studio that only Andrew knew about. Her children thought the windows they could see from outside were simply part of the master bedroom.

Each evening Bian reflected on the day, and then painted. She didn’t keep every picture she made. It is enough for her to express her gratitude and love for the day she had been given, and then let go. She stacked the used paper in a small bin, unused side up, and then once a month, when volunteering at Lurie Children’s Hospital, Bian would give the bin to the volunteer coordinator who made sure the paper along with crayons and markers were available for young children fighting not to lose innocence against the enemy of terminal disease.   If a child were to look closely at the painting on the other side, they would see the words you can and you are loved.

The words Bian repeated continually to her cousin, Binh. Before he would teach Bian the truth of her mother’s words. Nothing is meant to be held onto.

Bian watched the cheeks of the sun now reach eye level with the horizon and she wondered. It was a more restless night for Mỹ. A symptom of her early stages of dementia,  Bian heard her mom cry out no, please don’t, followed by deep sobs. When Bian hurriedly entered her mom’s room, and rushed to her bedside, Mỹ opened her eyes, cupped a palm against Bian’s face and softly said “my secret child. You gave me life he tried to take. As quickly as she had been sobbing, Mỹ closed her eyes and began snoring.

What did her mom mean you gave me life he tried to take?

Bian grew up the oldest of three in a small village in Vietnam. She thought about her two younger brothers. Both obedient, respectful, hard-working. They adored her mom. Neither of them had given her mom rebellious attitudes. Both took good care of Mỹ before Bian and Andrew brought her to the United States a couple of months ago.  

She thought about her father. The kind and humble man he was. She was certain he never hurt Mỹ.

Who is he that her mom spoke of in the night? Why did her mom cry out please don’t?

Bian watched the sun’s full face looking back at her.

Should I pursue this? Or let this go? Bian pondered as she heard her mom’s words that were placed permanently in the center of her chest. My precious one, may you always choose well.

Dear Readers, it is great to connect with you again!

May at least one word or sentence you are about to read be the words you most need or want right now.

I thought before the next character in The Creases now Speak introduces herself to you, I would start with a little inspiration from my favorite place and from the residents that live there that give me mine. Nature. (smile)

This past Friday I had the privilege of a special friend introducing me to a love of her life so that I would then be blessed to gain a second special friend, named Smokey Joe. A beautiful – or more appropriately I should say handsome – horse. Among all the meaningful moments shared with both of these wonderful souls, my friend talked about one of the many gifts we are given in a horse’s presence.   We learn how to be in the now. Calmly. Quietly. Simply. Instinctually.

As I stood next to this majestic soul, intending the congruence in my heart was earning Smokey Joe’s trust, my friend shared that the Heartmath Institute has declared horses can sense human hearts up to four feet away. I knew from the institute it is up to fifteen feet away for humans to humans. I found myself tingling with a magical sensation as I stood letting my hand be the grooming brush strokes on Smokey Joe’s neck to think that he was sensing what was in my heart as I stood within this four-feet parameter next to him.

When Smokey Joe’s muzzle and my cheek met and stayed connected for a few seconds, I relished the powerful communication that can take place without words. Two souls, vastly different from each other, giving each other one of the most sacred gifts we can give. Trusting each other with our hearts. All the way to the literal congruence of each other’s heartbeats.

A few weeks ago, I had another opportunity to hurry outside to see if I could assist a winged friend. I wonder what the Heartmath Institute has researched regarding the space for birds to sense our hearts. My new little friend might say inches. (smile) 

I am reminded of a movie I watched recently. Unfortunately, since it was one that I drifted in and out of as I tried to fall back to sleep in the middle of the night, I didn’t catch the title of it, but I did follow the overall message the movie was conveying.   Those details less important than the last lines of the movie.   Did I really have an angel helping me? I believe I did. I heard the whisper of wings.

Or the step of hooves

Or the swoosh of a tail wag

Mother Nature’s angels everywhere to help us be in the now congruently with our hearts.

May an angel cross your path over these next couple of weeks until the next Blueprints for a Hope-Filled Life enters your inbox.

And now for the next person to introduce herself to you as the Creases Now Speak.

-Christine

The Creases Now Speak

Kaylen

Ever since he looked up the meaning of her name, Joshua has crooned to Kaylen how she is the keeper of the keys to his heart. Kaylen remembers Joshua’s response when she told him how her grandma would scoop her into a bear hug and sing a ditty referencing the additional meaning of Kaylen’s name – pure. My pure sugar sweet, there will be nothing you can’t achieve.  Perfect, my child, perfect you be. I love you so, my pure sugar sweet.

Joshua scooped Kaylen into his arms and whispered perfect, my wife, perfect you are to me. I love you so, my purely amazing wife who can achieve anything.

If only her grandma and Joshua were right. Kaylen was learning there are some things she can’t achieve.

Kaylen was born the only girl in the middle of five brothers to Kayla, a successful university president and Leonard, a successful pediatrician. Her oldest brother, Quintin, followed in their mom’s footsteps, education his path of success to his superintendent role overseeing a 115,000-student school district in San Fransisco. Her second oldest brother, Anthony, is a successful orthopedic surgeon in Boston, a career path he pursued after a knee injury almost prevented him from playing every sport possible, for this is his second love. Sports. You name it. Basketball, soccer, baseball, the new craze – pickleball.

Kaylen’s younger brother, Liam, is a successful general practitioner; he is part of a mission team who travels to poverty and health-stricken regions of the world. And Kaylen’s baby brother, Josiah – she really needs to stop referring to him as “baby” as he reminds her often – is finishing his master’s in psychology and counseling. He has been interning at a clinic in Minneapolis and has a full-time job waiting for him at the same place once he graduates. Josiah can’t decide between the four job offers he currently has.  He, too, is well on his way to success.

Kaylen is a physician, too. Women’s gynecological and reproductive health is her primary focus. Successful? She’s not always so sure.  So many of her patients long to become a mom, and currently can’t. Her compassion can only do so much when a woman is sobbing uncontrollably at another single line on a pregnancy test kit.

Kaylen learned at an early age that the word “successful” needed to be used when describing her parents and brothers. Kaylen has learned to look past the surprised looks she receives when she shares what they do professionally, those same looks that people believe they are keeping hidden in the words they are not speaking. Everyone is doing so well professionally, and you are Black!

Kaylen knows racism is prevalent. But she has never been one to focus on “isms.”  She follows the adage “see a soul” and noticing how someone looks is about seeing the vibrant hues of their clothing or the magnificent shine in their eyes. Which is what attracted her to Joshua the second she walked into her friend Lynette’s home for the birthday party Lynette was throwing for her husband Zach. Joshua’s emerald, green eyes that left her feeling she had just stepped into the tranquil waters of an oasis.

She isn’t sure how long it took her to notice Joshua’s skin was white.  Perhaps it was not until they were making love, when he kept looking at her naked body as if she were a precious jewel he would treasure with delicacy and reverence the rest of his life.   As if her body was pure. Flawless.

She can still see the way Joshua looked at her in her wedding dress as she walked beside her dad down the aisle. Those emerald, green eyes communicating “forever” before he vowed always. Kaylen and Joshua had an intimate wedding, a gathering of close family and friends. Or friends in Joshua’s case. His mom passed away when Joshua was sixteen, and he never knew his father. Joshua didn’t invite his grandparents.  I do not want rejection present at the best day of my life marrying the half that completes me” Joshua told her.

More important to Kaylen was honoring what Joshua was feeling so she did not try to convince him she was strong enough to handle rejection.   After all, she had been managing stereotypes designed to reject her all her life.

A few months after they were married Joshua introduced Kaylen to his grandma at a coffee shop around the corner from Kaylen’s practice. She liked Patricia, Joshua’s grandma. Patricia had been a stay-at-home mom; Kaylen admired – or maybe envied – this about Patricia. Kaylen looked forward to getting to know her better, until life arrived with other plans when Patricia suffered a stroke and passed away a few days later. That was four years ago.

Joshua’s grandpa Edward is in assisted living now, recently diagnosed with cancer. She sometimes wonders if Joshua will feel the time is right to tell his grandpa about her. Kaylen isn’t afraid of Edward’s rejection of her.  She is more afraid of her body’s rejection of one of her dreams.

And how Joshua might feel when he learns she is not successful after all. That she has found something she may not be able to achieve. Maybe it is time she accepts an “ism” in her life. The realism that she may not become a mother.

Mila lay in the tall grasses just as her mom had instructed her to do the first time she told Mila not to follow her. Though Mila was getting used to the long stretches of time on her own in the wilderness, she wished she still wasn’t too little to explore the woods and fields like her extended family did every day.

Soon little Mila you will get to walk the paths your descendants made for you, well-worn trail systems created for your exploration and your safety. It won’t be long until you are beside me dining on beans, corn, and alfalfa.  For now, my precious one, focus on accomplishing three very important things.   Staying hidden, growing your strength, and fine-tuning your instincts.

You have amazing gifts my dear Mila. Long ago before you were born, and before I was, and even your great-great-great grandmother, several generations ago, our kindred human souls walked this Earth and when they asked Great Spirit what us light brown creatures were, Great Spirit replied “they are the keepers of compassion, gentleness, and grace.  Call them deer.”    

Great Spirit will use you to deliver messages. Your natural instincts will tell you to move or appear somewhere. It will be Great Spirit orchestrating an important encounter.  Follow your urges, my beautiful Fawn, and you will fulfill the great purpose that is your destiny.

The little girl knelt by the creek in prayer, asking for the Great Spirit’s help. She had come to the creek for a ceremonial burning, to let go of her attachment to things that had been holding her back from embracing new beginnings. As the things she burned returned to ashes and dust, she sent her prayers up in the air with the smoke that she would be shown how to listen, trust her intuition, and embody gentleness and grace as she flowed forward, like the creek.

Great Spirit, it’s me, Esmerelda.  I let go to let come, releasing that which no longer serves me. My arms open wider to receive. Show me the way, Great Spirit. Send me one of your messengers to guide me. Thank you. I am grateful for your love of me.

Sage joyfully ran past the cabin. Moments ago, Esmerelda had dressed Sage in her collar, which meant one thing. They would be going for a run. Sage LOVED to run. She loved it because it was her innateness to do so. But, most of all, it was because running made Esmerelda happy, too.

The Great Spirit had given Sage the gifts of faithfulness, loyalty, unconditional acceptance, and protection, and called her dog. Sage was given two additional special gifts by the Great Spirit.  One was to teach humans how to greet every moment joyfully.  The second was when Sage was a pup and Great Spirit whispered you will be master in the sense of smell.  You will use your nose to find and point birds and other offspring of Mother Nature.

You will also be given the ability to sense human hearts. Soon you will meet a human, and as soon as she reaches out her palm, you will place your chin into it, look into her eyes, and you will know she is your student for life. Each time you sniff the nose of this human, you will know what she needs to be taught on any given day. Follow your natural instincts, and you will be fulfilling the highest good I am orchestrating.

Sage, this human is on a journey to learn the art of surrender as she grows into the adult I have planned her to be for humanity. She is willful, like you, and she longs to embody nonjudgment, also like you. I want you to be stubborn and I want you to be so focused on your instincts of smell that you tune out this human when she calls to you.

It will take time for her to shift her perception from you not being a listener to seeing you are messaging how to be still, listen, let go, and trust. As you point where your instincts lead you, you will be showing her the way to do the same.

Sage watched as Esmerelda held her burn ceremony at the creek. Sage sniffed Esmerelda’s nose. Sage remembered Great Spirit’s words follow your natural instincts.

At first Mila didn’t understand what had just gently bumped her hip as she lay still in the tall grasses.   She tried to remain motionless, trying to believe she hadn’t been discovered.  Again, Mila felt a bump, slightly pushier than the last. She opened an eye and ever so slightly turned to see a large dark brown living creature smiling at her, its tail rapidly shaking in some kind of gesture that seemed rather out of control to Mila.

Hi, I’m Sage.  Don’t be afraid.  I promise I won’t hurt you.  In a moment you will follow your instincts to get up and run away, which will be exactly what is meant to be. The Great Spirit led me to you today so that we could both be messengers for Esmerelda.

In a few moments Esmerelda will see me standing here but she won’t know what I am focused on.  Once you hear her call “no bird,” which translates to not bumping you with my nose, raise your head so she can see your ears. For several seconds, I am going to pretend not to hear her because today Esmerelda is seeking trust in following her heart, which I will be showing her how to do because I followed mine to you. She is also seeking gentleness and grace, which is what you will be giving her when she sees you.

A few minutes later Great Spirit smiled as Mila ran into the woods, Sage ran to Esmerelda, and Esmerelda looked up into the clouds with a big grin on her face as she said out loud thank you for the answered prayer.

Hello!

Two most important questions to ask.

How are you?

How have you been?

Feel free to send me a message letting me know. I truly do care what your answer is, and I would love to listen to what you wish to share.

Let me now say, happy summer! Officially, that is, now that June 21^st arrived, drove away rather quickly, and July has sped on in! (smile) I do hope this finds your summer is providing you some relaxation and play!

I debated which to share this time. Another fictional character. Or for Nature to speak. I decided Mỹ would wait to share her story with you. This week communication would come from Mother Nature.

Perhaps I am about to sound redundant with my next words, and yet, because I know gratitude begets more gratitude. Thank YOU for the time you give reading Blueprints for a Hope-Filled Life. I appreciate YOU!

Wishing you a wonderful start to your July!

-Christine

BABY WINGS

I left home when I was between one and two weeks old.

No, contrary to your initial reaction, I wasn’t taken.   Not kidnapped, nor an intervention. I was not living in unsafe conditions. My parents are good and loving. Very protective, actually. Quite diligent in their watch over my siblings and me. We were well fed. They acted as the roofs over our heads at all times.  Our parents built a very safe, secure, warm, and nurturing home for all of us.

Even as I was strong in my determination that it was time for me to leave the comforts of my dwelling, I relished how my mom hovered in the shadows, ensuring my initial start on my own didn’t find me and Harm looking each other in the eyes.  

It was simply time for me to go.

I don’t remember exactly when I left home, but hey, a one- to two-week-old shouldn’t need to remember specifics, right?  

It is a family trait of ours. Most of my cousins and older siblings chose to leave home at the two-week mark after taking their first breaths.

I guess you could say I am an early bloomer. I think some use the phrase “early bird” and have even gone so far as to say the early bird catches the worm.   Just so you know, I prefer gathering seeds and berries. I’m not much into catching worms.

But anyway, something in me felt the urge to take a leap earlier than our natural tendency as a brood. I came to that edge. You know, that place where it is decision time. Some call it a crossroads. Others, a threshold. At the rim. On the verge. That place where one’s life force is whispering go for it, jump, fly. At the same time the body and mind are collaborating to keep the wings close to one’s side.

Is that your head shaking slightly in a bit of disbelief that we consider it normal to leave home at such a young age? Do you perceive I am a fine weaver of tales, a gifted fabricator of storytelling if I also tell you that all of us in my family are born two weeks after we are conceived?

I thought so.

Since I have now brought you to a threshold in which you are wrestling with discerning if I am speaking fiction or truth, let me give you one more important detail about all of us who quickly fill our parents’ home with newborn cries and just as quickly leave our parents empty nesters. 

All of us, my siblings, my cousins, my parents when they were our age. My ancestors. Every single one of us is born blind. We push our way out of darkness, feeling a touch of cooler air hit our warm naked bodies while we feel safely embraced in another form of warm darkness. A place where we can stretch out our bodies. Our very quickly growing bodies! For before we are fully aware, our souls are already prepared for leaving home in the very near future.   Our bodies begin following our soul’s lead as soon as we say yes to life.

It is quite something, I must say, to begin life from a space not larger than ¾ wide by one inch and ultimately take a leap into limitless space.  The wise elders in my family tell me that is the essence of Nature. Of all that is. They are not wrong.

One only has to follow my travels to know the wisdom the elders speak. When I pause, perched at a chosen summit looking out into the horizon or when I scan the vast view below feeling the sun on my outstretched body. Or when I am preparing to call it a day and I look up into the Milky Way, grateful at the ability to see.   (For yes, our blindness is only temporary. By the time we decide to leave home, our eyes are a leader of the way.) 

Without limits, a vast spaciousness. Filled with immeasurable color. Perhaps I notice the color because of the darkness I initially knew, but never forget.  My ancestors tell me some have long believed we embody darkness. They speak to me of others who believe our essential representation is of magic and mystery. Of the ability to guide new beginnings empowered with wisdom.

Like taking a leap into uncertainty shortly after one has gained one’s ability to see.

As I stand in the vast vibrancy of greens, gazing up at trees that appear infinite in their height amidst the equally boundary-less radiant blues above me, I know all who came before me are right.

Limitless. Magical. Mysterious.

Grateful that I am who I am, one who intimately knows that darkness is part of a whole but is not the whole thing. When following one’s soul that whispers go for it, jump, fly, it becomes an unlimited magically colorful life.