What Love Does

'Trust' is such a gift.

And when it's not there, we usually insert controlling behaviors where trust would have been if we had it.

When we do that -- that 'acting controlling' thing -- we're living reactively to the emotions, fears and paranoia that mistrust brings.

Living reactively isn't freedom. It isn't peaceful. It isn't loving

to ourselves.

We've been given a spacious place. A place where there is one 'yes' after another. A place that is 'for us' -- where everything works together for our good. A place where we can create and thrive and be happy.

It takes trust to live there.

And the prayer I've been inspired to pray over the years as I journey from certain places of mistrust to that place of rest is to say, "I trust, but I don't trust. Help me where I don't."

Love hears.

Love illuminates.

And Love heals.

Every place where we see we're trying to control a person, place or thing, could be another reason to condemn ourselves but that's not going to serve the cause of freedom in our life so, let's try something new:

Let's look at the controlling thing, not as yet another reason to condemn ourselves but, as a signpost that reminds us, "Oh...I just need some love here..." and appeal to the Source of Love and Trust for the obstacles in us to be cleared away so that the spacious place can be revealed.

There's a passage that calls to me, "The blessed man's heart is secure with the trust of God's love."

I call the 'blessed man': "The guy who gets it."

I want to get it...even more in my life.

God knows what's broken, why it's broken and how to fix it.

Because God is Love and Love knows how to heal 'un-love.' That's its very nature so, how could it do something other than its nature?

I don't know that it's really about how much work we have to do to get there -- though many of us have worked very hard -- as much as how much work God does to bring us to the place where we can finally receive that love and trust.

Life is a journey of healing for some of us. About our flesh and mind aligning with the perfect spirit within us.

We can begrudge that journey or we can live it, with full embrace to the finish line.

Accepting ourselves and 'what is' as God unfolds the mystery of who we truly are in a world where we've been focused on 'what happened to us.'

It's in that 'what happened to us' story that we find ourselves out of sync with our trusting spirit and trying to take matters -- and people -- into our own hands.

That controlling/mistrust combination isn't working.

Because we are so much more than what happened to us. And our spirit knows it.

This is the time of our return to the spirit: The one that trusts and loves and operates from that spacious place -- where our whole being 'sighs' with the relief that comes from letting go and resting in the trust of love.

Sigh...

May you continue to be encouraged on the journey to that spacious place.

You're not alone.

Love is with you.

And yes, it's worth saying again:

Love heals.

♥

What is Wax Made Of?

Was in Balboa, heading back to the car after a great island walk with my girlfriend. I think we covered every topic from kids to new sneakers (I finally got new ones after 8 years of shredding my Asics to bits) to marathons (no, I'm definitely not running in one...new sneaks or not) to in-laws, to spirituality

all in the matter of 2 1/2 miles.

I love friends who you can talk to about practically everything AND lose weight at the same time.

Works for me.

Almost to my car, I saw a father on his bicycle standing in front of a candle-making shop with his son who seemed about 12, who was straddling his bike right next to his dad.

The dad was talking to another man about the weather or something while the son was looking in to the window, intently watching the women make the candles when I heard the question,

"What's wax made out of, Dad?"

I slowed to a pause waiting for the answer because I thought, "Wow, that's a really good question...."

You know it's one of those 'primary color' questions: "What is 'red' made of?" and stuff like that.

But the dad kept on in his other conversation, not answering his son. (Which by the way, reminded me of the time my then, 5 year-old Seth, started doing some relationship math in his head while strapped in his car seat, 

"Mommy has a mom. Daddy had a mom. That makes them my grandmas.  Their mom's had moms and those would be their grandma's..."  

and he kept going, muttering under his breath and counting on his fingers in a way that made sense to him, when he called out with his little lisp:

"Momma?  I came out of you and you came out of your mom and she came out of her mom....so, where does God come from?"

I didn't see that one coming. I exhaled and raised my eyebrows, peeking into my rear-view mirror at that cute little curly-haired kid whose eyes were wide-opened and waiting.

I was about to pretend I didn't hear him quite right and ask him to repeat himself (something I admit, I sometimes do when I want a nano-second more to think of an answer -- or wait for the ground to open, which ever comes first -- when he did a little 'a ha!' gasp and called out,

"Oh! I know!

He came from his grandparents!"

Worked for me and plus he was 5 and it was cute so I just let it be.)

And it made me wonder if the dad really heard his son's question and just kept on chatting another chorus of "How great is this California weather?" instead of turning to his son and saying, "Wow. No clue. Good question, bud. Let's find out."

Heck, I almost wanted to do that. Take the kid in the store and go, "Let's go ask!"

I do that with my kids and their spirituality. I think I'm still bruised from being force-fed theology so, I try not to do that with my boys. They ask me questions and I answer from my experience instead of telling them that they have to believe a certain way or God won't love them. I refuse to teach my children that terrifying message.

It confused me too much -- all those answers. I have much more peace living in the goodness of God with my questions than in the fear of God with the wrong answers.

I need to do that more in other areas -- all areas, probably.  

I love that sense of wonder and the honest question of that little boy today. It compelled me and opened me. I felt more vulnerable, more human...and divine...in the space of his seemingly silly 12 year-old's question.

Rumi said 800 years ago, "Sell your cleverness and purchase bewilderment."

Today's a great day to trade that, "I know it all-ness" for a little "I wonder-about-it-all-ness." Today's a great day to enjoy a little more curiosity and awe and a few more question-asking moments than answer-giving moments.

Okay, maybe that's just my personal message for today. As I'm on this two-month full-time journey to healing, I think I'll take a few more moments to pause and to peer

and to ask.

"Curiosity is one of the great secrets of happiness." -Bryant H. McGill

And happiness is a great part of health.

I'll take it. And I wish it for you, too:

So...

"Happy, curious, question-asking, bewilderment" day to us all....

Sending love and peace,

Stacey

*Oh! And if you want to know what wax is made out of, click here: 

http://answers.ask.com/Arts/Crafts/what_is_wax_made_out_of

Cracked Heels

They were a mess. Dark, stained with deeply lined crevices painful to look at.

No matter what I did.

No matter what lotions 

or soaking

or primping

or massaging I did,

there was no changing the way my heels looked.

That's what happens sometimes when you have an endocrine issue. It shows up on your feet. And I, the 'Queen of Flip Flops' wasn't happy because it was ugly.

And I wanted to make the ugly go away.

"It's an inside-out job," my friend Laurie said. "You gotta take care of it from the inside."

Yeah, but the inside takes true work and time. I wanted the easy way out. Can't I just scrape it off or put a chemical or something?

Nah. I knew I couldn't. I already tried that and it just came back.

There is no such thing as an 'easy-way-out' when you have inside-out work to do.

So, 17 days ago, I took on a juicing experiment: living on mostly fresh green juices to see what my body would do. I also committed to no/low media. And in the middle of it all I took on a more focused commitment to treat my health like it's my full-time job. Rock began calling me, "The CEO of Stacey's Health." Not really catchy and no ginormous salary attached but, I liked it and found myself standing up a skosh taller every time he said it.

My days are about juicing 50 ounces of things like look and smell like the lawnmower clippings from my gardener, then adding something sweet to it so that I don't pass out while I'm drinking in the blessed 'micronutrients.' Occasionally, I eat some food: An ounce of salmon, an arugula salad, a bite of a Rice Chex homemade bar for my gluten-free son. 

Well, that last one was yesterday and while I could have resisted, I didn't. 

 Sigh.

And, I'm walking. A lot. And doing jin shin jyutsu on myself. And yoga. And journalling. And gardening. And meditating. And listening to health gurus and other inspirational people like Michael Beckwith, Dr. Wayne Dyer, and my kids.

Yes. I'm listening to my kids. I mean, I usually listen to them, but I'm present to them on a different level. They are so brilliant.

And edible.

Oh and I'm 'tramping' -- that's what the boys call it (which will have to change in a few years, I know, I know....)

We jump on the trampoline to work my lymphatic system. They count my jumps and giggle at my squeals as I try to figure out how to go higher without peeing in my pants when my bladder makes impact with the gravitational force of all my weight (not telling) landing on something that's the equivalent to flexible concrete.

And I make my bed.

And feel guilty and unworthy of spending this time on me.

And then, spend my time talking myself down of the ledge of that insanity.

The critic in me wants to tell me how I was worth more when I worked 90 hours a week and made nice money. When I was the the person more able to give and take fun vacations and bought my husband his dream Selmer Mark VI 1969 saxophone.

How 'life' would be better off without me if I would just let this unhealth run it's course -- then, it could leave behind the dead, heavy weight of me and move on, unencumbered by me and this autoimmune disease.

But the critic doesn't stop there: Then, it wants to blame someone else -- to make me the victim in a different way. Blaming my husband for stressing me out, or genetics for giving me the DNA, or my childhood for all the pain or the insurance company or incompetent health professionals who missed things when they were more treatable.

And on 

and on

and on....

And I remember Eckert Tolle's words, "If you hear two voices inside of you, remember: One of them isn't real."

So, I journal.

Taking those those thoughts, as wonky and wack-a-doo as some of them are and I honor them by giving them a place, a home if you will, on a page in this dimension. And I honor me by getting them out of my head where they imprison me.

The space clears. I sigh. And suddenly, the world where I felt guilty for being alive and such a burden, I now feel grateful for being alive and having such opportunity.

Nothing changed and yet everything changed.

At night, Rocky tucks me in. Something he's been doing for the better part of 25 years. He will touch my skin (and tell me how unbelievably soft I am) bless my head and all it's crazy thoughts and then, sit at my feet to rub them while we chat about the day.

He tells me about his job and I tell him about my inner work and most of the insane musings in my head.

A few nights ago, he interrupted my daily report:

"Holy crap, Sta....look at this!"

He tried to show me the bottom of my foot but I'm not Gumby, "Youch! Hold on, let me do it." And I grabbed my foot, pulling it up closer to where I could see.

"Do you see it?!" My husband was so excited, "Look!" He pointed, a la Vanna White, down the expanse of my size 11 foot.

How could I miss it? Pink, soft skin where cracked, bleeding heels used to be. "It's those micronutrients, Sta! Just like the video was talking about! Whoa...."

He was awestruck.

And it made me think: All those years, I've wanted the quicker fix on my feet, my life, my finances, my weight, my health, my spirituality, my whatever...where I just wanted to put something topical -- some healing salve to make it all better...there was a different commitment required; an inner work or as my friend, Laurie had said,

"An inside-out job."

I'm seeing that now, and again. (Love learning the same thing over and over...) Not fully there to the revelation, still only been a few weeks and I've got many miles more to go but I can see it better: What it's going to take and yes, now, I can even see what's helping -- and the difference the work is making.

It makes me 'sigh.'

I sigh a lot these days....

I know I could spend my life looking at the sky for a sign or something big like that but I don't.

Because it's amazing what you can see and learn, if you're willing,

from a couple of dirty, ugly

cracked heels.

The Pause

Today, my 7 year-old had a soccer game.

Which was nothing short of miraculous considering it poured like crazy (thunder included) the last two days.

I thought, for sure, the only way we were going to play today was if the sun shone all night to dry things out.

Even though it didn't the field was perfect today. Go figure.

It's been interesting watching Seth play.  He's this natural athlete who can do all these fancy maneuvers with the ball and plays a mean 'street' game of soccer. But as soon as we put him in the structured, "Play this position" "Stay on this part of the field" it's like his instinct for the game went away and now he's moving in unnatural ways.

As proud as I am of him, it's still awkward to watch. I know he's just not in his natural rhythm so, he's holding back. Makes me a little sad because I know he's such an awesome player if he wouldn't focus as much on all the new rules.

Today, a lot of the best team players were still on Easter vacation so, Seth played the whole game and lots of different positions.  He was running so hard for so long that I felt out of breath just watching him.  

At one point, near the end of the game, despite being down by 4 goals, I watched my son working hard on defense to keep the ball from getting in the goal. He was kicking and guarding and all this stuff, doing such a great job and right at the moment when he was about to take the ball and run with it, a kid from the other team fell 

and fell hard.

The play was still going on. And it was intense.

But my eye was on my son who stopped going after the ball for a few seconds and looked down at the other team's player to make sure he was okay.

My heart was so proud. Not for anything I had done but because of who I saw in him: A child whose heart is for people and cares when someone is down. I saw his nature -- the natural rhythm of his soccer game might not have been there the whole time

but the natural rhythm of his heart sure was.

The best part of the game for me? It wasn't his footwork or that great kick from the goal, or the good sport that he was when they lost.

Nope.

The very best moment of the game for me took place in that 

one 

little

magical

heartfelt

pause.

The Un-Comfort Zone

Some of my friends were posting this on Facebook:

It inspired me.

For as long as I can remember, I knew I was supposed to do something significant in this world: Something magical. I just knew it. And I've done a lot of deeply good things, leaving legacies in the lives of students and people we've counseled in our business and ministry times...I feel good about that.

And I have a husband and kids -- which is very satisfying to me. I have no delusions of grandeur from some grave need to be known or liked; famous or whatever -- you go through enough health situations and the fluffy stuff of that tends to get burned away at a pretty quick pace -- so, I'm not talking about that.

I just always knew that I was destined for something else, too.

I've gone through circumstances that would have leveled some people permanently (and at times leveled me, temporarily) and I kept coming through with a refined perspective on life, a closer communion to my Creator, and a deeper connection to humanity.

I don't think that makes me a better person, trust me. I just think that it's clarified that there's something I'm passionate to share.

But the last few years of dealing with some health stuff that has left me reeling in more ways than I want to share, the clarity faded in and out and I let myself get into some habits of distraction that haven't really served me or the bigger picture that I have.  

So, each time I saw this image recently about 'The Comfort Zone' it hit me:

"It's time." 

Honestly, it's hard sometimes to think about choosing a temporary discomfort -- after already having so many years of personal, physical, emotional and spiritual discomfort -- for the sake of a bigger vision with greater impact.

It's hard to think ahead when you've gotten into a habit of just trying to make it through the day.

And at times, because the suffering was so great, wishing that you wouldn't.

And it's hard to talk/write about these new steps for fear that telling about it is taking the tangible treasure of commitment and turning it to dust, only to fall through your fingers...again.

Does sharing a vision at the beginning dilute it's power and strength?

Is it more susceptible to miscarriage in it's earliest development and like the mother who waits 3 months to tell that she's pregnant, should I wait to talk about this?

I wonder, would it be better to say nothing and just keep it private until this season has sturdier legs underneath me.

Until it isn't so fragile with its newness...

But, regardless of whether I press 'publish' on this particular article or not, the truth is that it's time. Time to do something different to get different results (those platitudes torment me sometimes like the Barney theme song).

"Nothing changes until you do."

"You'll change when staying the same is greater than the pain of change."

"A year from now, you'll wish you started today."

And on and on and on...

My girlfriend, Rachael, said to me the other day, in a dreaming kind of way, "What if you could just focus on your health as your full-time job? For like, two months?"

I thought about it -- I have to do it any way but I do it resentfully because I keep wishing I were better or different -- two of the most self-defeating, uninspiring thoughts, btw...

Two months of focusing on my health? Well, that kind of dedicated focus alone would push about a million buttons inside of me.  I sat with Rachael's words and the Comfort Zone image in my head...

Other voices popped up, too: The critical voice of people in my life who don't understand, but think they do --  who just tell me to take a pill or suck it up or have more faith or whatever.

There was a voice that was louder though.

I talked to my husband and told him, "It's time." He nodded.

He'd been saying this for months. 

I can tell it's time because it came without pressure or guilt but with a great space that filled with a "Yes" inside of me.

So, forgive me if you can't find me on Facebook or it takes a bit for me to return a text, phone call or an email -- those are the 'comfortable' things for me.

And so I'm doing some things that are making me very uncomfortable right now in a few significant areas.

I'm now in that world between two worlds: Between "The Comfort Zone" and "Where the Magic Happens" -- that big, black, blank space that has no title for it...

"You're traveling through another dimension...a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination..."

Yeah, it feels pretty Twilight-zone-ish but I think for now, I'll just call it:

The "Un-comfort Zone."