As some of you know, every Friday I post a short video on Instagram created in Nature from Nature’s inspiration. I used to ponder and plan, then enter Nature to find the imagery that would support my planned message. True to Mother Nature as messenger in Her awe-filling magical way, what would happen is I would enter an outdoor space with a preconceived idea; Nature would decide there was a better thought to talk about. Now, when I am outside on Fridays, I ask, what is our message today?

Blueprints for a Hope-Filled Life is following a similar path this time. Instead of having an idea or theme and then finding a picture or pictures to support the message, I began with a picture and am letting the message(s) reveal themselves as I write.

I will start with a quote that crossed my path by Kahlil Gibran. Trees are poems the Earth writes upon the sky. I love to stand at the base of a tree and look up through the branches and leaves into the sky. I’ve even been known to provide a tree-hugging assignment in a class I teach. (Smile) Based on my own tree-hugging experiences, of course. (Smile).

I remember as a little girl standing at different trees in our yard eager and determined to climb them. Some I couldn’t, their lowest branches beginning much higher than my capability to reach a limb and hoist the rest of me up.   Others I could, at least to the first branches. I don’t remember looking up once I successfully climbed into a tree.  I remember a feeling of being home in their outstretched arms, nestled safely inside the shelter of their leaves.

This quote by Kahlil Gibran elegantly expresses the beauty I see when I look up and into and through the outstretched branches of a tree. Poems the Earth has written onto the sky.

As Collin’s Dictionary defines a poem, a piece of writing in which the words are chosen for their beauty and sound and are carefully arranged. Collin’s defines a poet as a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression.    

The Earth the poet, the trees the arranged beauty and sound on sheets of the sky’s blank pages.

Alice Osborn, author, editor, and poet writes poetry teaches us how to live. Poetry is like the Windex on a grubby car window – it bares open the vulnerabilities of human beings so we can all relate to each other a little better.

For us, the “readers,” as we behold the trees in all their shapes, heights, and uniqueness. No two trees exactly alike, even a stand of pines lined up like twins, quadruplets, or sextuplets. Individuality still abounds amidst the identicalness as pine trees.  Or oak, walnut, cherry, apple, willow, birch, redwood. And the extensive list could go on.

Much like nationalities and cultures throughout the world. Individuality abounds amidst the commonality of being human in the forests and wooded acreage of French, Dutch, Vietnamese, Jewish, Australian, Italian, Nigerian, American, Irish, Japanese, Yanomami. And the extensive list could go on.

The extensive list could go on with all the classifications and labels we have given to identifying as a specific tree in the forest of humanity. Toddler, teenager, millennial, baby boomer, elderly.

Entrepreneur, “high-potential,” “Straight-A student,” CEO, Executive, “Fast-Learner,” Professional, MBA, PhD.

Or Veteran. Minority. Survivor. Patient. Downsized. Unemployed. Underprivileged.

Retired. Majority. Child. Parent.

One of my favorite talks courtesy of TEDx is by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, The Danger of a Single Story. The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.

And of course, as you know, I love life stories! (smile) 

What if we entered the woods, not to compare the mighty oak in its regal height to the maple sapling just starting to grow?

What if we stood at a tree base, looked up into the outstretched branches filled with leaves, and saw a collective poem of diverse beauty instead of a mass impediment and blockages to the sunlight?

One of my favorite quotes (and you know I have many!) is by Anothony Douglas Williams. When I look into the eyes of an animal, I do not see an animal. I see a living being. I see a friend. I feel a soul. Though I do this imperfectly as the human being I am, this is how I strive to view humanity. When I look into the eyes of a person, I do not see [only] a person…I feel a soul.

One of the individuals I am privileged to coach shares her wisdom often. We are losing our ability to be humanity.   

We are losing our ability to connect eyes to eyes, ears to ears, heart to heart.

To feel, in the vast forest of a thick wooded land, we are still seen, heard, and valued for our part in the whole.

We are challenged to look past the descriptors of our doing as humans to see the souls of who we are that show up each day.

In that dance of grace between opposites is something else the trees whisper. We don’t need to try to fit into the forest. We already are a part of it.

Just like the Friday videos in which I enter Nature unaware of what message Nature has, I didn’t know where the picture of this tree would lead.  It seems to have wanted to speak, we are more than we initially see.

I believe the sun and the leaves are also whispering.   When you look, what do you hear and see?

I will leave you with this last quote for reflecting and pondering.

Trees exhale for us so that we can inhale them to stay alive. Can we ever forget that? Let us love trees with every breath we take until we perish. -Munia Kahn 

Though I anticipate history began for Deer and me before, my awareness of our history started in the Spring of 2011 the first time my feet stood at the end of a trail, I willing my body to override my mind as it grumbled, I really have to run?!!! Ready, set, about to go when a single file line of several Deer ran perpendicular to me across the trail.  

When Deer crossed my path, I was vowing to honor my commitment.  Two friends, a triathlon, and my yes, I will pledge.   I also stood at that trail embodying my familiar self-imposed pressure that if I didn’t go through with it, I would need to be ashamed of myself.    

Not from my two friends, but from a colleague at the time who I knew would not let me “live it down” if didn’t complete this mission.  He had been trained to complete the hardest of missions.  He was an exceptional triathlete.  By asking him for a triathlon training plan, there was no way I wasn’t going to start moving my body in a run.  So, I stood in that historical moment preparing to build the mental and physical fortitude to run 3.1 miles.

In that dance between opposites, Deer offered gentleness, compassion, and determination while I danced with harshness of self in doubt and judgment.  My awkwardness met their gracefulness.   I accepted their determination; I was running as a task to perform. I was in a push and move mode, not trust and embrace mode.  I was trying to sternly do.  Deer were messaging softly be.

I was about to start running, frightened and uncertain of my capabilities.  The deer were modeling my feelings as they ran past me, in fright and uncertainty of my sudden appearance in their home.  The deer were also showing me that once I ran with my fear into the thicket of my narratives, I would find calmness with my history.  Just as their run into the brush became a nearly silent calm walk that I could no longer hear them doing.  

A dear friend recently shared with me about a group of treasured lifetime friendships she has.  One of the top things she loves about the bond is the history that they share.  A history that isn’t just their friendship but is the stories each of them have lived individually with highs and lows, good times and challenging ones, certainty and uncertainty, joy and grief, doubt and faith.  Their individual stories integrate into a collective history of support, belonging, and empowerment.   

I marvel at and love how life lays out steppingstones to follow, bringing a message that resonates, and then brings another after that to take us deeper into contemplation.   A few days after this conversation with a friend, I was in a meaningful conversation with someone special about time and how I feel that time softens and her grace-full wisdom that as time goes on we are offered the opportunity to look back, observe, and see how what we experienced fit into where we are now.   

Deer continues to show up for me at the “right” times.  When I’m in a plank workout on my rebounder (trampoline), digging deep with my breathing through the muscle “burn”, Deer walks into view of our French door nudging with their determination message and also be gentle with yourself reminder. 

They still appear at the start of a hike or run, or when I need a reminder to be compassionate with self or others.  Deer greets me from a few hundred feet away as I walk out our home door, our eyes locking.  I say hello, namaste, thank you for visiting today.  They respond with a slight wave of the tail, further eye contact, and then calmly, slowly, they turn and walk away.

And of course, if you read December’s SHED post, Deer have been there to affirm the shedding process I was going through shedding my inner beliefs. 

Deer and I have a history.   I was filled with self-doubt when Deer crossed my path that first time I ran.  The doubt not only about running.   I was doubtful of me in many ways.  I had been moving out of depression, regret, and grief.  I was as far away from self-compassion and gentleness with self as I was ready to run a ¼ mile. 

Over time, as Deer patiently and determinedly kept showing up, 3.1 miles became 6.2, then 13.1, then 26.2, 33.5, 50.  As time passed, doubt and the memories that had initiated the doubt softened.  The gentle graceful visits of Deer became my gentler running steps.  The narrations for each of us – the little girl, teenager, young adult, and middle-aged adult – became an integrated history, the purposeful experiences that all played a part in the chapter I am now living.

Very recently I ran a trail marathon in the “hills” of Catalina Island (California), “hills” my affectionate name for mountain terrain.  In the last few years, as time has softened a feeling I needed to run like Deer, I have fallen in love with mountains and the parallel to life that traversing elevation teaches.  Hiking up steep switchback grades and back down teaches me valleys are temporary and trust that the summits will be reached! 

Hiking mountains requires presence.  It isn’t a race to the top.  Oh, some do race, but for me, the views on the journey are too awe-filling to rush up and down them.  Now, like Deer, I do not always run every step.  I pause, look the views in the eye, and then calmly turn and walk away. 

During the recent marathon, Deer communicated they were with me, still integrated in each other’s life chapters to create more history.  Their prints leaving me a path to follow of gentleness, compassion, determination, and grace.   Softly pointing

Be.

Edith Merchant was my great grandmother.   

I have very few memories of her.   When I do think of her, the first image I have is based on photographs that fill in what my mind doesn’t hold in recollection.   And yet.   When I reflect further what I remember is how I felt warmth when I was around her.  

I don’t mean warmth in the sense of how she may have scooped me up in her arms in a big bear hug or how I may have sat on her lap wrapped in a blanket.   I mean warmth as in the energy from the nature of who she was and how she showed up to others. 

I was in dialogue with one of my aunts sharing this sentiment about my memory of Great Grandma.  My aunt, who had many more memories and experiences because it was my aunt’s grandma, shared that Great Grandma was one of the most grace-filled individuals with people that my aunt has ever known.    

I felt chills in that way that our bodies communicate resonation when my aunt said that.  It is the warmth I felt with Great Grandma.   Her grace.  

As my aunt and I continued to talk, including me sharing how I feel that my aunt shows up with much grace to others, my aunt shared these wise words.  I guess, long before we realize it, we are drinking it into our souls how others are.    

We are listening, observing, and embodying the essences of those put on our paths. 

Every person plants a seed through how they show up on our paths. 

We may not even be aware how much we are drinking it into our souls.  

Or just how beautifully designed it is for those meant to show up on our paths.  

Exactly as they are.  

I am starting to ponder one of the dances us humans do, and how we tend to stay on one side of the ballroom instead of gracefully gliding across the full length of the room.  That side we tend to stay on is for choreographing a dance titled “IMPROVE”.  

Much movement accompanies the musical sounds and lyrics to the human internalization that we aren’t yet “enough”, and we seek that destination once we improve on X, Y, or Z or once something external “gets better”.  

There are also the very important dance moves related to improvements through learning from history so as not to repeat devastation and suffering and to break generational cycles of pain and trauma.    Spending time choreographing the “Improve” dance is not a bad thing.   

But do we miss some time we could spend choreographing “SAVOR”?

Do we ever miss reflecting on what we drank into our souls that we can enhance?

I remember a leadership development teacher several years ago who taught our class to identify one area we wished to improve on AND one area we considered our strength that we wanted to capitalize on.   Her point was two-fold.   One was that we should only pick one thing for each category (i.e. improvement and existing strength) so that we didn’t end up being masters of none focusing on too many areas at once.   And two, we tend to focus on what we need to do better and in doing so, what we do well starts to diminish.  

When my aunt shared about Great Grandma’s graceful nature in who she was, the resonating chills I experienced went deeper than connecting the warmth I felt in my memory of her with her being someone of grace.    I also felt myself shift from focusing on the generational pain and trauma I am striving to break the cycle of that I know was experienced on the opposite side of my paternal family through my father’s mother, and grandmother.  Through my other Great Grandma.          

I felt myself savoring that what I drank into my soul long before I knew I did was someone who would plant a seed to fulfill my soul’s yearning to grow in grace with how I showed up with people.   That when my soul entered this life with its plan for all that it desired to learn in this lifetime, a perfectly designed plan had been put in place.   My path would cross not only with exposure to the legacy pain and trauma so that the footprints I plan for others to follow will have stopped the inheritance of that suffering.    The perfectly designed plan would also include being exposed to a grace with life and people that could also fill my shoes and the imprints left behind. 

At the right time, when I was ready, I would be able to look into my soul and what I had drank in and begin to integrate both choregraphed dances into one beautiful dance called “LIFE”.  

I often hear the inner whisper from one of my most favorite books (that I think I’ve referenced before), “The Little Soul and the Sun”.    I have sent you nothing but love. 

Every person brought to our path, for a moment, a season, or a lifetime, are sent to us from and with love.   A perfectly designed plan for our beautiful dance called “LIFE”.     

As we drink the essence of others into our souls, so, too, others are drinking in the essence of us.

And now the question to ponder, what are we pouring?