I tossed and turned through the night. My mind kept reviewing the book chapters I’d finally finished and submitted to my editor…

I opened into the pain I had buried, unearthed it, and released it. For me, I chose the path of forgiveness and letting go…

“I feel hopeful and I feel discouraged all day long” a friend shared with me the other day. Her words summed up a sentiment I’ve been hearing regularly in my private client practice…

“If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?” Rumi

Few of us escape being polished in life. Some of us may go through hardships as a young child, and it shapes the trajectory of our whole lives.

Are you going with the flow of life or trying to swim against it?

Going with the flow means letting go of how we think life around us should be and instead letting life unfold. Yet letting go is particularly difficult when we’re faced with upheaval,

Just turn on the news, and you will get a blast of fear and uncertainty. Both are prevalent worldwide right now because of Covid-19.

We are all connected, and we are all dealing with this coronavirus together. Some of us are even more attuned to this virus threat due to underlying health conditions, a current illness, or our age.

It was 1998, and I had been feeling stirrings in my gut saying that I was ready to leave my corporate advertising job. My heart felt restless. I had just been offered a management position that I dreamed of and wrote the job proposal for. Yet when I got the offer, the word “yes” would not come out of my mouth.

Jack was my first boss in the corporate advertising world, and back in the early nineties he was a master salesman, gifted manager, and wonderful sales trainer. I attribute my successful sales and marketing career to him. Just as my life has gone in a much different direction since Jack and I worked together, so has his. 

Not long after leaving my corporate job and joining my husband’s start-up internet company, I was sitting in a conference room, and next thing I knew, I was watching many sets of animal eyes floating around the room. I was not alarmed. I was curious. I thought, “Wow, what the heck is this?”

As a hospice chaplain, I’ve had the privilege of companioning hundreds of patients at the end of their lives. Each patient was a teacher and offered me unique lessons. But one lesson that I continually learned from these patients witnessed was that of trust—trust in the great unknown and trust in the process of letting go and leaving one’s body.

The doctors had told my-mother-in law, Karen Duncan that there was nothing more they could do for her. The last few weeks of her life were filled with peace and acceptance. She entered hospice care and lived out her final week in her home.

I have a vivid memory of the hot, sunny, Friday afternoon in July 2004, when she invited my husband and me to join her in her bedroom. At that time, Karen was still walking around, highly functional, and eating. We all sat down together on her bed.

Whitewater rafting in level III rapids in Costa Rica, I was thrown overboard. Despite my life vest, I was pulled deep underwater, and complete darkness surrounded me.

“This is it,” I thought. “I am finally going to die.”

This fear of death was familiar to me from my childhood facing cancer. And here it was again, front and center.

I don’t remember the exact moment that I turned to God and prayer, but I do remember what my first prayer was: “Please let me live to be twenty.”

I said it when I was eleven years old and going into the hospital for weekly chemotherapy treatments. I knew that I was living between life and death. I also knew that I wanted to live.

How are you living your life? Are you minding your mind? Are you living fully present in this moment or living in a state of near slumber? Strive to live openly and be aware of life’s beauty and time’s passage. This is what it means to be fully alive.

One day in March 2000, I was sitting in a conference room at my husband’s start-up internet company listening to my colleagues discuss how to design web pages. Suddenly, I looked up and saw dozens of pair of eyes floating around the room.

My beloved dog Lulu died suddenly in August. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. I held her in my arms after hearing there was nothing more that the vet could do. She was being kept alive in their ICU. I held Lulu closely and just moments before the vet was to give her a sedative to help her pass, she awakened, turned her head and stared straight into my eyes.

At age 10, life changed overnight for me. A childhood cancer turned my life into a series of weekly chemotherapy and radiation treatments. I spent hours in the hospital’s sterile, cold waiting room with kids screaming and crying, many of whom had lost limbs to cancer.

Days before my mother-in-law Karen died, she said to me sitting on the edge of her bed, “I am going to teach you about death and dying, I am ready and I am not afraid.” An accepting peace permeated the room with no fear or unrest. In her final hours, her breath became shallow and she gently let go of her life.

Who feels grateful for nearly dying? In a way, I really do. If I hadn’t been swept up in the rapids while whitewater rafting at age 35, I might never have found the life I’m meant to live.

A few weeks after being pulled from the river,

Living from the heart reveals your most true self.  Learn simple tips and use the Journey to Your Heart Meditation to unlock your heart and live more fully.