On a recent road trip to Ferndale in northern California, I drove over the Cascade Range, through the redwoods, and then turned left at the Pacific Ocean.
Stepping into a new season of life can be exciting and breath-taking and dream-engineering: Graduation. That job you’ve always wanted. A new love. Your first house. A much-anticipated baby.
There was the statement that resonated with me: “If we’re not content single, we won’t be content married.”
Mirriam-Webster says this about thrive:
Thrive: verb \ˈthrīv \ 3 : to progress toward or realize a goal despite or because of circumstances.
Thriving doesn’t mean we’ve put closure to something and we no longer allow ourselves to feel sadness or pain in our difficulties.
Rather, it’s taking our story and our memories and our hard places with us and stepping back into life while we still have breath.
Photo by Anton Darius | @theSollers on Unsplash
There is this delightful notion from Douglas Pagels:
Some of the secret joys are not found by rushing from Point A to Point B, but by inventing some imaginary letters along the way.
Armed with a Chai tea and a map of the Fruit Loop, I rambled through beautiful farmland past vineyards and alpaca ranches and warted pumpkins with Mt. Hood standing guard in the near distance.
Photo: Marlys
Today is my husband, Gary’s, birthday. It’s also our wedding anniversary. If cancer had not stolen him from me, we would be celebrating forty-five years of marriage.
In Fredrick Backman’s novella And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer, a young boy asks his grandfather a question about his grandmother: “How did you fall in love with her?”
Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash
Consider this thought from Jim Rohn:
Only by giving are you able to receive more than you already have.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said this:
No member of a crew is praised for the rugged individuality of his rowing.
That’s because a crew needs to be in synch; to pull together at equal strength. Connected. Coordinated.
I live in a beautiful little guest house on the side of a hill overlooking a valley to tall mountains across the way. The guest house is not my own place, but it is home.
Photo: Marlys
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