So, yeah, it hurts.
And there really isn’t anything you can do about it
except for let it be what it is.
Put it into God’s big hands and keep your fingerprints off.
It’s not yours to fancy up or fix.
Just don’t forget to love it.
Love it as a part of your seriously lovable life.
Imperfect and wobbly and juicy and hysterical
and raw and undone and intricate and lovely.
It’s yours. Be good to it.
Let go the ideal, the longing for certain and sure.
Let go the push, the demand, the rush.
And then love it.
Don’t leave your life untended,
like a dog turned out on a cold lonesome road.
Love it because it’s yours.
And when it gets overwhelmed, this life of yours,
don’t toss stuff and shallow comfort at it.
It needs your presence.
Just more of you stretched out on the ground with your face to the sky.
Slow down and stay.
It will love you back.
Somehow in the bustle we can lose sight
and step all over it like it’s something underfoot.
Start breathing again.
It’s your life.
Don’t chain it to a Hallmark ideal.
Live generously with yourself.
“You are worthy of great joy.”
(yeah, I made that up. but not really. i mean, you can read it, I believe,
in every leaf and twig and breeze and flower.
In every wink of light.
At least that’s what I think)
Much joy to you, dear one.
Just so much joy.