More than satisfying, breakfast was a faith lesson. It was also about communion, as it satisfied my hunger and that of the adorable interloper who nicked what I didn't finish (I was done).
I became quiet, waiting for a word. I waited, far longer than I believed I’d need to, and then it came. Self-care was a commitment I tried making to myself.
"I am living in the same circumstances, but my perspective has changed. A sad collection of leftovers, or a healthy, elegant breakfast. The difference? I saw possibility, abundance, and adventure. I was filled with gratitude. All it took was creativity, and a cast iron skillet."
Daily, I proclaim that I matter. I declare that the love I pour into the world is love of which I am equally worthy. I am releasing my desperate grip on the toxic martyrdom that backs me into corners and is entirely of my making.
I love to cook. I love being able to create what I desire. More than satisfaction, making homemade requires presence. I cannot be distracted. I have to be in the kitchen, paying attention.
Whenever I am forced to slow down, I collapse. I remain vigilant, though. Let's be clear....yes, I saw that, and no, I won't forget it.
I Almost Forgot it was Thursday 1. Hooray for me. I did 31 Days. It wasn't the grind it was last time because Discipline. 2. I gave myself a week off. Now it's book proposal writing time. 3. I'm in a transitional season, and no, this isn't my idea of fun. However… 4. Imposter Syndrome …
I jumped, praying that the ground would rise beneath me, or at least that mmt winds would erupt. Either way, I did not fall.
Requiem; Here and Gone I've said often, my grandmother lives in me. In many ways, I am more like my mother than my Granny, but Lucille lives in me. I Love Fiercely It was always clear to us that we were sheltered. We were bathed in the glow of her pride, the warmth of her …
Instead of imagining all that could go wrong, let's celebrate all that is already good.