 For Zach and Grace.
Two Mothers Days ago, you gifted me the SUP - Stand Up Paddle board. On the first warm day, I got out on the Lake to have some new adventures. I assumed that the goal and expectation of paddle boarding was to stand. I was worried about how others viewed me and figured they were judging. Deep down I knew my real goal was to achieve peace on the Lake. Worrying about standing wasn’t bringing me peace. Lately, my overall mantra to myself has been, “Do Things You Are Proud Of.” Early on, there was one morning on the Lake I told my self - “Your goal is not to fall.” I went a couple hours standing up on my new board and was proud of my self. But as I neared the shore, my legs gave way and I sunk in. I breathed in and out a big sigh as I bobbed back up to the surface. My instinct was to get right back up, but that day I embraced the water and my new perspective. The water felt good and I was actually grateful I fell. It was a soft landing - I let my body be embraced by the water and floated peacefully for a while. My mindset changed and I experienced the Lake at a new perspective - lower and immersed. I was proud that I fell. I did the thing I was afraid of and it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t cold, I wasn’t embarrassed, I felt proud of my self. I had an experience that I didn't plan and was grateful to have been rerouted. When I was on the Lake the other day, I saw a guy with what looked like a hang glider riding on a paddle board. He was trying to catch the wind, bending his legs, bouncing. He would glide along pretty fast and then suddenly totally wipe out. He didn’t skip a beat - he just got back up to go again. There was an older lady wind surfing. She had all the gear and had clearly done this before, but her sail kept falling into the water, and sometimes she’d fall in, too. She got back up and to go again. I saw a young boy whose dad was treading water and let him have the board to himself. He watched his son run off the paddle board and leap into the water. He was having fun with falling. Falling on purpose. He got back up and did it again and again. We are all floating on this watery earth trying to get our balance. Young or old, naive or experienced, we are all falling down again and again. It might be because of something we did, but there are always other factors involved. Falling can be humiliating and maddening or you can look at it differently. Falling is part of The Experience - it’s expected. Falling means that you are doing and trying. Falling is something to be proud of because it means you are in. it. - you are gaining experience and learning. When I saw those people fall in the Lake, I thought they were amazing. I was cheering them on inside my head— they were brave enough to be out there and badass to keep going. Mistakes are the best thing to happen in art and in life. I hope you see your falls and fails in a different light - that they are a part of your life lessons - guiding you to grow, to take a new path and new perspective. I hope you can forgive your and others mistakes, be inspired by them and see that we are all on this Lake together. I hope you find peace in your standing and your falling and be proud of both. I love you. Beauty is Everywhere. - Mom
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 Walking the long route to the Lake, I rolled up my jeans and sat at the water’s edge. My feet let out a sigh of relief as I dipped them in the cool, smooth water. Shortly after I settled into enjoying the view, the surface of the water changed and waves began to lap in. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed what I thought was a squirrel about three feet away, but that didn’t seem right.
It was squirrel sized, but a different creature all together with a long torso and cute as a button. The waves must have brought him up to the waters edge - his fur was matted down from his swim and his scruffy hair on his head was cock-eyed over one of his tiny, dark glistening eyes. He was just as surprised to see me and we both paused in disbelief - just staring at each other. He edged closer to me out of curiosity and I felt as though if I kept still enough, he would be the type to just crawl up onto my shoulder and nuzzle into my neck. I broke the spell by reaching for my phone to try and capture him on video but he sprinted, dove into the water and disappeared. I needed to know more. What was the creature that rode in on a low wave to my feet and only stayed for a few fleeting seconds? He had made me smile and I couldn’t stop thinking how magical he was. I googled “skinny lake weasel” and sure enough, “Mink” was a match. I scrolled though dozens of images of minks and although I know I made a positive identification, MY Mink was not there. My Mink was wet and had been having a fun time in the water. My Mink had a sense of humor, confidence, strong sense of curiosity and was looking for someone to play with. Unfortunately, I scared My Mink away before I could get to know him better. I never thought about minks. The only thing I knew is that Hollywood stars wore mink coats back in the day. If you’d ask me yesterday where minks live, I’d tell you they live in snowy forests with elk and eat red berries. Don’t assume you know about minks. "Soft, fancy, expensive" previously came to my mind. My Mink inspired me to think of other things instead. Now when I hear the word ‘mink’, I’ll know that they are semi-aquatic creatures that can dive 15 feet under the water to hunt for fish and frogs, are smarter than ferrets or cats and have webbed feet. I wish I could’ve spent more time with My Mink, as I think surely he has even more unique characteristics and personality quirks than the dull ones pictured on my lap top. There are Native American legends that portray the mink as a trickster. He is a flute playing heartbreaker whose story was told as a warning to young men: “Do not think to trifle with the affections of women or you shall be made smaller than you are.” There are spiritual explanations and symbolism as to ‘why’ a mink appeared to you: “Mink teaches attention to intuition and timing, keen senses, awareness and how to move in the emotional waters balanced with the mental world.” But for me, My Mink reminded me that there are still things in life to delight and excite me. At the Lake’s edge over the years I’ve been lucky to spot a mangey fox one sunny morning, dark snakes swimming on the surface, bald eagles flying over my head, blind muskrats scrounging on the beach and swans huddling together on the ice. When walking by the Lake’s edge I routinely just come across stinky dead fish, so when I saw my first mink, it was pretty thrilling. My Mink says, “Surprise! Let’s play, have fun, learn and stay curious. There is more to look forward to, let’s go!” I hope to see My Mink again. If not, I don’t know much about chinchillas….. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  A tribute to just a portion of the beauty and blessings I experienced in my three years working at the church. (Names have been changed).
Helen began working in a church office soon after a chapter of disappointment and loss. It was a new beginning for her and also for the congregation. The parishioners had also been through some drama which left them without direction or leadership. Some had soured and left, others were disheartened, there was disorganization throughout and a shadow lurked. Like the outdated heavy curtains hanging in Helen’s office, they needed to be thrown open - light needed to be brought in again. Reverend Mabel stepped in at the same time Helen was hired. She was a self-professed “Mary Poppins”, staying just long enough as a well versed interim to fix things up while a permanent rector was sought. Rev. Mabel had a short white bob, stern blue eyes and a generous, hearty laugh. She could tell Helen exactly which page in the Book of Common Prayer to use and also lent her a book on Sedona’s vortexes. She brought communion to the sick and dying and Helen came to find out she was also a shaman who studied the history and healing of labyrinths. She had the strength to jack up her own car to fix a tire and would attend week long retreats to hone the delicate skill of painting icons. For everything there is a season - a time to be born and a time to die. Helen was scheduling funerals more than they both expected. Rev. Mabel would meet with the families beforehand and be sure to include their joyful, inspiring stories in her homily. She encouraged lengthy coffee hours afterward where friends and family could share stories of the person who made a mark in their lives. Rev. Mabel said again and again, “Stories are a way to keep their memory alive.” While Rev. Mabel was a stickler for accuracy in creating worship and funeral bulletins with Helen, sometimes a phrase was repeated or a hymn was off by a number. By the time they noticed, eighty had been printed and she would tell Helen, “Mistakes are natural, they will have to forgive us.” Her main goal, after all, was bringing light and love back into the church and that’s just what she did. Her sermons were full of hope, and her faith in the parishioners was evident. They would eventually see that they, themselves had the strength, skills and answers all along to move forward. She’d say, “My job is to love them - to remind them to love.” Parishioners who came by to drop off a donation envelope to Helen in the office seemed to have wider smiles and there was a rekindled warmth throughout the building. Gatherings and groups multiplied and laughter vibrated down the hall. Rev. Mabel’s work complete, and off to her next church in need, she gave Helen the gift of being able to forgive her own mistakes and showed her the power of love and light in action. She impressed upon her the importance and healing power of stories. Deacon Connie had worked at an animal hospital, was a police chaplain in a big city and had owned an art gallery. Retired from all that, she had come to the church from out-of-state and immediately fit like a puzzle piece into the community. One day a bird flew into the building and was stuck in the coat room. Helen was shaken, but Connie was totally calm. She directed Helen to close the doors. She moved slowly and respectfully toward the bird and cranked open a window. It simply flew out. Connie made everyone feel like that bird - she would give all her focus to the one person she was with. When she found out Helen was an artist, she referred to one of her drawings in her sermon. Helen felt honored and told Connie of her wish to touch more people with her artwork. Connie urged the Church's Women’s Group to select Helen as their next speaker. Helen wrote her first speech for what would be her first one-person art show. Connie empowered Helen to flex her artists wings and share herself and her art with a large room full of people. Helen was able to further define herself as a capable artist able to inspire others and grow from that experience. Like most parishioners at the church, Connie was about twenty years older than Helen, but had a youthful spirit. Helen would bend over laughing as Connie recounted stories of her days as a police chaplain, using macho, police-type vocabulary you wouldn’t expect coming out of a petite, holy woman’s mouth. Her remedy for everything was a good laugh. Satisfied with her success in lifting Helen’s mood, she would always end their time together with, “You’ve got to activate those little endorphin-dudes!” After barely a year at the church, Connie was diagnosed with a fast moving cancer and was dying at home. Connie rang up Helen in the office one day. Helen picked up the phone and bit her lip to hold in a small sob. Connie had called simply to tell Helen that she wanted to have croissant sandwiches served after her funeral. Even then, she made her smile and laugh softly. Deacon Connie gave Helen the gift of encouragement and reminded Helen that life is short. Laugh and activate those little endorphin-dudes. Pamela, a long time parishioner, had been newly appointed as Senior Warden, a major leadership position in the church. Imagine the respect and admiration you feel for the mighty tortoise when you see it - head held high, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, years of experience and resilience under its impressive shell, capable and wise. When Helen sat with Pamela each week for their one-on-one meetings, she felt like she was sitting with humble royalty and under the warmth of the sun. Helen felt like she’d known her from another life. Pamela’s main super power was listening. You may think you listen with your ears, but the eyes are everything and when she’d listen to Helen, she felt Pamela knew her, too. Pamela had a way of putting Helen at ease so that she felt totally accepted and understood. As a kid, Helen loved an old moss-green velvet chair in the living room. The seat was wide enough to sit with your legs double-crossed. The back was tall and curved around to hug your shoulders. The velvet on the arm rests was worn down and soft. For her, being in Pamela's company, was like resting in that chair. They would share old stories, chuckle at coincidences and ponder life’s struggles. Work was creative and fun, brainstorming how to word church documents, forms and processes. When Pamela was asked a question by a parishioner, she was not quick to react. She would often pause long enough to respond thoughtfully with the answer that felt right. To Helen, it was a new way of looking at how to be respectful with your thoughts and words - not to rush, but to give someone your best. They spent a lot of time together and Helen would overhear Pamela talking to her husband. They had met as next-door neighbors, decades ago. They spoke to each other like adorable newlyweds, with a sparkle of joy and inside jokes. As Senior Warden, she put her whole self into preparing for a new rector to come at the end of the year and she did it all with dedication and thoroughness. Like an effective parent, she gave people in other leadership roles confidence, providing the information and inspiration they needed to succeed. Toward the end of her term, Helen was mulling over a difficult decision at work and Pamela’s response made a lasting impression on her. “Helen, whatever you choose, it will be the right thing.” Pamela gave Helen the gift of trusting herself. Pamela saw, accepted and appreciated her. Helen hoped to one day emulate Pamela's patience and wisdom. There were times in Helen’s life when she would look back and wish she had appreciated good moments when she was in them, but in the presence of those Three Wise Women, she knew. Back then, as all the women sat together around the ark sized conference table discussing the positive changes to come, Helen knew exactly how blessed she was to receive the gifts they gave her. Together, they had removed the heavy curtains, and Helen sat in the church office enveloped in light. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly |
AuthorHi, I'm Holly. 
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