phoenix cards : : a gift for you
Oh, love. This is supposed to be one of life's most joyful seasons, right? But what if your heart feels ripped in two? What if all your old definitions have fallen away and you can't remember who are you anymore? What if you are scared, sacred, raw, real--all at once?
You're safe here. Here, we honor your undoing (how else can you rise from your ashes?). We honor you . . . exactly as you are. Here. Now. Weeping, laughing, somewhere in between. It's all part of your story. It's all part of your phoenix becoming.
If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram, you know I'm struggling through these holidays. After a topsy-turvy year (including the passing of a close family member two months ago), I'm often gulping with tears and unspeakable ache. We are relearning how to be.
“Projectile tears. Oh my. These storms hit but if I let myself dash into them full-force, grief pouring like summer rain, somehow the ache eases sooner. // Beloved, let yourself feel. Allow the ache and the sing. We are fully alive only if we make space for both our gutwrenching grief and our wild joy. We are heart-on-our-sleevers, truth-speakers, Love-believers. We are #thephoenixsoul”
You may wonder why I share these grief stories, why I reveal such an intimate pain. On the premiere of The Rob Bell Show, he spoke of the power of "me too." I strongly believe in this, the tender and real connection of sharing our vulnerable truths.
We all grieve. We all ache. We all heal (eventually, somehow). And if my words, my experience can help you (or you, or you) find a hint of hope, a glimmer of me-too? Then I whisper thank you. Thank you.
“Recent loss + traveling through the holidays = like walking a minefield. Memories woven through every light, every bow, every garland. I wrap my heart with each package, shaky hands on tape, shuffling past saved notes with her handwriting, gulping at all the “last ones” we didn’t know would be the last ones. We lean into celebrating because she would want us to, because we are still here, because we will not give up: but oh, it aches.
// Dear ones, are you carrying grief this holiday (recent or not)? You are not alone. I’m burning the candles, sending up prayers, hanging on and on and on for you and for me and for we. I know it hurts. I know we will heal. But right now . . . let’s just be. Together. (It’s enough.)”
