This piece was previously featured here.
Stories brought me here. Tapestries, quilts, smoke signals, folklore, rope ladders, dusty dirt roads, Ozark rivers. All stories. All woven.
Handed down in chipped tea cups, dented pie pans, found arrowheads, swaying porch swings, and arthritic hands.
I am a collector of stories. Of words. Of images, heart, mettle. Of vast truths. Of things that turn my face away in anguish. Lost paths. Of figurative needles and stitches that mend. Of birdsong at dawn and found four-leaf clovers. Of brokenness and healing. Of Nature and Spirit and The Divine and kindness and kindred souls. Of gauzy half-truths held with dirty fingers. Of builders and dreamers and lullabies sung to colicky babes. Of home and family and falling apart and coming back together.
I share these stories because they are my truth. I share them so I can connect with a Goodness so much larger than myself.
Sometimes I try too hard. I try to force words or images before they are ready. Before I am ready. And The Universe, well, She chuckles as She watches me plunge my hands below the surface to grab at them before they are finished growing.
I am not a patient person. But I have found that the less I try to grasp the truth with hard fingers, the more likely it will come. It is trust that I have had to develop in my intuition and my own potent knowing.
And we all have that - the knowing.
That pull in our gut.
It will serve you well if you will let it.
Promise.
So I give you permission to stop trying so hard. Here - I am handing it over right now. If what you are doing isn't working, if it isn't filling your bones to the marrow with joy and grief and passion, then you are emulating someone else's story. Crack open your own chest instead and look inside. The hard part lies in doing that work - the honest soul work. Sharing our vulnerable, imperfect selves.
You know those things that scare you? The ones that make you bite your lip, that punch you in the gut? Those are the stories that need to be shared. Like no other.
Posts about the lovely and beautiful are good (hey, I'm just as guilty as anybody else), but they aren't soul-filling. The perfectly planned shot of a recipe? The fabulously decorated living room without laundry piled in the corner? Beautiful, yes. With purpose, yes. But if we are being really honest here, let's just go ahead and admit that those moments are often staged. Nobody's life looks that good all the time.
Bring me rawness and vulnerability and a healthy dose of humor any day. That's what I am drawn to - your honest-to-Moses-beautifully imperfect moments.
Because not all stories are good. How could they be? I don't know a soul who hasn't faced loss. Or hardship. Yours just happens to look different than mine. And that is beautiful - that is the moment I want to clasp your hands in mine and say, "Yep, gorgeous soul - I've been there too and I'm going to love you through it."
Am I always the queen of vulnerability and honesty? Nope. Sometimes Life brings me things that cause a folding in, a time of withdrawing. But I do my best to be as transparent with my words and my images and my connections so that I can come back to that place when the time is right.
Because this - this is what I firmly believe: I put my work out into the ether based on trust. My goodness, how many times have the right words or the right image so beautifully found me at just the right moment? Too many to count. And I have to trust this pull I feel so deeply in my belly. I have to trust that each time I fill [this space] with stories or images - the ones from an authentic, honest, vulnerable space full of good intent and love and support - that those stories will hopefully manifest into whatever it is your heart needs in that moment. It's about trusting and collaborating with The Universe. It's about sharing stories that are understood on a cellular level, a nodding of the head, a tightening of the throat with emotion, a cool brush of fingertips across a fevered forehead. It's about sending you love and hope and encouragement and support and sometimes a loving kick in the pants. It's about knowing you are loved and valued and important.
And even if I never meet you in this lifetime, I pray that you know your worth and that your stories are heavy with truth that the world needs. That you'll fight for your story. That you'll lay a hand on your belly, feel the fear of putting your vulnerable truth out there, and do it anyway.
Do it anyway.
Because I need those stories. To water and nourish my own soul.
Just as you do.
Stories brought me here. And stories keep me here.
Handed down in chipped tea cups, dented pie pans, found arrowheads, swaying porch swings, and arthritic hands.
I am a collector of stories. Of words. Of images, heart, mettle. Of vast truths. Of things that turn my face away in anguish. Lost paths. Of figurative needles and stitches that mend. Of birdsong at dawn and found four-leaf clovers. Of brokenness and healing. Of Nature and Spirit and The Divine and kindness and kindred souls. Of gauzy half-truths held with dirty fingers. Of builders and dreamers and lullabies sung to colicky babes. Of home and family and falling apart and coming back together.
I share these stories because they are my truth. I share them so I can connect with a Goodness so much larger than myself.
Sometimes I try too hard. I try to force words or images before they are ready. Before I am ready. And The Universe, well, She chuckles as She watches me plunge my hands below the surface to grab at them before they are finished growing.
I am not a patient person. But I have found that the less I try to grasp the truth with hard fingers, the more likely it will come. It is trust that I have had to develop in my intuition and my own potent knowing.
And we all have that - the knowing.
That pull in our gut.
It will serve you well if you will let it.
Promise.
So I give you permission to stop trying so hard. Here - I am handing it over right now. If what you are doing isn't working, if it isn't filling your bones to the marrow with joy and grief and passion, then you are emulating someone else's story. Crack open your own chest instead and look inside. The hard part lies in doing that work - the honest soul work. Sharing our vulnerable, imperfect selves.
You know those things that scare you? The ones that make you bite your lip, that punch you in the gut? Those are the stories that need to be shared. Like no other.
Posts about the lovely and beautiful are good (hey, I'm just as guilty as anybody else), but they aren't soul-filling. The perfectly planned shot of a recipe? The fabulously decorated living room without laundry piled in the corner? Beautiful, yes. With purpose, yes. But if we are being really honest here, let's just go ahead and admit that those moments are often staged. Nobody's life looks that good all the time.
Bring me rawness and vulnerability and a healthy dose of humor any day. That's what I am drawn to - your honest-to-Moses-beautifully imperfect moments.
Because not all stories are good. How could they be? I don't know a soul who hasn't faced loss. Or hardship. Yours just happens to look different than mine. And that is beautiful - that is the moment I want to clasp your hands in mine and say, "Yep, gorgeous soul - I've been there too and I'm going to love you through it."
Am I always the queen of vulnerability and honesty? Nope. Sometimes Life brings me things that cause a folding in, a time of withdrawing. But I do my best to be as transparent with my words and my images and my connections so that I can come back to that place when the time is right.
Because this - this is what I firmly believe: I put my work out into the ether based on trust. My goodness, how many times have the right words or the right image so beautifully found me at just the right moment? Too many to count. And I have to trust this pull I feel so deeply in my belly. I have to trust that each time I fill [this space] with stories or images - the ones from an authentic, honest, vulnerable space full of good intent and love and support - that those stories will hopefully manifest into whatever it is your heart needs in that moment. It's about trusting and collaborating with The Universe. It's about sharing stories that are understood on a cellular level, a nodding of the head, a tightening of the throat with emotion, a cool brush of fingertips across a fevered forehead. It's about sending you love and hope and encouragement and support and sometimes a loving kick in the pants. It's about knowing you are loved and valued and important.
And even if I never meet you in this lifetime, I pray that you know your worth and that your stories are heavy with truth that the world needs. That you'll fight for your story. That you'll lay a hand on your belly, feel the fear of putting your vulnerable truth out there, and do it anyway.
Do it anyway.
Because I need those stories. To water and nourish my own soul.
Just as you do.
Stories brought me here. And stories keep me here.