Sustenance

Here in the Northeast Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow so we have a little more winter ahead before Spring wakes up. If you’ve been following along you know I am recovering from a ruptured brain aneurysm. If you’re new to this blog, I am now in the 6th month of recovery from this. I spent many weeks in the hospital and many months in rehab before being  able to come home.

Memory was significantly affected. While much seems to be returning, there are things that remain fuzzy or cloudy. Things one might think you could never forget, like the death of loved ones.  Alas, those tender moments of deep sorrow needed to be retold and relived.

Recently I was looking at a site I follow, Gratefulness.org, and came across this question to ask myself in their “Practice Space”: “What memories sustain me?” The word “sustain” jumped at me. What keeps me going?

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I think it caught my attention for two reasons. Firstly because of the targeted loss of some memory, and two, because thankfully I retained/regained many powerful memories. A whole line-up of memories fell into place as if on cue. As I reflected on those memories I came to the train of thought that wondered how this played into the mindfulness concept of being present in the moment and not wandering back to the past or longing for the future. The past is over and the future is unknowable.

Working with this I began to see that while I did not try to linger in or relive the past, I had walked that path once and the experiences and people I met challenged me to grow and to continue along to discover what was up ahead. I value the lessons of those experiences and now, as memories, they do continue to have a profound effect on the person I am now.  I am now most certainly different from the person I was then. To my mind the memories are significant because they reflect events that did in fact mold this person I am now.

These stories that are now memories were significant in me developing into the person I am today and have been incorporated into posts on this blog. You can read of few of them here:

Sounds of Life,   About That Box of Photos Under My Bed ,  Every Single Day,  

There are other posts as well that contain stories about my memories and how they influenced who I grew to be.

To be clear, there are memories I do not share because they are not happy ones and I do not see how my sharing them would be of value. At least right now. There are no deep, dark secrets, but there is profound sorrow, the endless lingering and looping of the “What If?” thoughts and questions and a few embarrassing moments too!

Blogging presents an interesting conundrum: what is okay to share and what is not?

As I sit here now writing this I am focused on healing and recovery. There is some awareness of learning and transformation,  but much of my focus is only on physical and emotional healing.  I have come to understand how some things in my past, now memories, built up and created the person now delegated with this task of lifting “me” back up and dusting off my shoulder before sending me forward.

I have found myself in positions where I have been confused and scared. I have experienced pain and hurt. Because of the aneurysm there I things I do not remember. With my family by my side I made it through all of it and while my body is still weak, some thing in my heart and soul is ready to burst forth with new growth and blossoming. Something almost sacred, that was seemingly born and fertilized from this difficult medical event.  The sign posts along the way towards recovery and healing asked “What memories sustain you?”

There are too many to list but the common thread is that they are all so different. There are memories of being loved and nurtured as well as of being worried or afraid. There are memories I would just as soon forget as well as ones I am sure I could never forget. “Good” or “bad/painful”, each one was part of the construction team that built the person who is writing this. Without each part of the story, each memory, I would not be who “I” am. Yes, “I” would still “be”, but “I” would not be the “I”  am now.

So, as I meander along memory lane in the hopes of reaching my destination of “Healed”, I take comfort in any and all of these memories. Turning each one over and over again like a newly received gift. Each one a part of the mystery puzzle that manifests as Kathryn. Along the way I do not need to linger long on any one memory. Instead I only need pause to take in the view and then, looking forward, take a breath and continue one foot in front of the other.

Memories are a little fickle in general. If I am honest with myself I generally discover that while there may be memories I would just as soon delete from all files, they are also, if I am being honest, a tangential piece of a “good” memory. The place of origin did not begin as something sad or painful, it usually was the result of diverging from the path intended. This is a long, round about way of saying I am trying to make peace with this aneurysm. Each day I work to give my body the time, space and support it needs to heal and to allow the aneurysm to be a short term visitor in my life, not a boarder who needs tending to.

Would you like to share the things that sustain you?

 

 

 

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The Opposite Of What We Want

I’ve been out of the hospital and home now for a little over two months and I really want to be able to say that things are going well, but honestly I have to work on making myself believe this on a daily basis. This is not intended to be a pity party, just a snapshot of what my recovery is like. Not surprisingly, it is hard work physically, mentally and emotionally. And while there has been progress and improvement, each day is filled with therapists, doctors, exercises, tiredness, frustration, aches and pains and way too many medications. While I do improve and get stronger, I still have a feeling of “stuck-ness.” I can’t drive. I’m not allowed to cook alone. Can read but do not remember what I just read when I turn the page, can draw and, if someone is around, play board games.

I have lost a certain kind of freedom and I miss it. I feel as if my body has failed me, or if that is too strong, at a minimum it has left me feeling let down and disappointed.

As I search for some comfort and reassurance to cradle me while I try to patiently regain my perceived “being-ness” and independence, I grab on tightly to the love of my family and friends and sometimes the sentences and thoughts in the books I try to read. Reading is now a slow, uncomfortable process, but I read and search for threads of hope and healing and do find comfort on occasion in the words and thoughts of others.

Today this jumped off the page and into my ruminating thought process: ” The wisdom that took longer for me to acquire, through direct experience rather than being told so by someone else, was never to assume that trust always lines up with desire. The offerings of the holy are often the opposite of what we want. They don’t sort for our willingness to receive them. They’re abundantly bestowed, like them or not.” (Magic in Plain Sight by Patricia Heavren.)

I interpreted this to mean is this: I was being “offered” something ‘holy’. Within that however, is the message that the universe is not concerned with what I might want or desire (health, strength, trust). There is no concern as to whether I would like to have an aneurysm. Rather, it was “bestowed” upon me with no concern for my thoughts. The “Holy” saw things differently than I did and had determined I needed to be presented with something I had to work on unwrapping patiently in order to figure out what it was.

“On a fundamental level, everyone plays with the swing of seeming opposites. Advancing and returning comprise an ageless dance with infinite expressions. Everything emanates out and eventually returns home again. It’s the breath and essence of all life, an ever-flowing, sacred change of direction by the One.” (Magic In Plain Sight) So, was I being called to move towards some ‘sacred’ change of direction or something else? Geeze…..this is a lot to process, to ponder. Why on Earth would this be so? All of this would seemingly be the opposite of what I wanted in my life!

There was no place for me to go but inwards.  The only path before me was to try to see, in the quiet spaces of my heart and mind, my true Being. To see what was there, even if it appeared to be hiding or a little bit out of focus. As I kept reading, Patricia revealed a piece of the puzzle, the magic and value of ordinary things: “….one of the early clues that vast intelligence and enormous heart are ever-present in ordinary things, a kind of living wisdom that can take a lifetime to recognize and appreciate, if ever.”

‘Living wisdom’ concerning ‘ordinary things’. I am in no way suggesting that an aneurysm is an ordinary thing. It is scary and serious and dangerous. Perhaps what is ‘ordinary’ for me in this bumpy, restless, time of my life is understanding that my body and spirit are held together by a desire to live. Held together by the threads of unfailing love that cradles and comforts me. Was/is this a call for a sacred change? For me? For my loved ones, my friends and family? What was the living wisdom I was experiencing? How was I to understand what this was and turn it from something I resented to something I could appreciate and value?

There have been teasingly small glimmers of understanding, but like the child blowing on the fluffy seeds of a dandelion flower, scattering them into the air, these glimmers just danced away like sun sparkles on water and the scattered dandelion seeds. Pretty and awe inspiring, but gone quickly. Never to be regained or held on to. Ever fleeting and temporary.

So now I am trying to give positive meaning to something scary. Why? Because I have “lost” so much time. I have missed making beautiful memories and instead have frightening memories and emotions. I am not able to just let all this “be”. I have to find a way to make sense out of some thing that is medically cold and straight forward, and shift it towards some thing that has value and purpose. Otherwise these months will remain “just” lost time. Ultimately the outcome will be determined by the path I take and the destination I choose to pursue. Of course things will appear that I haven’t foreseen or planned for, like an aneurysm, but what else can I do? Stop? Stand where I am, not moving? No thanks. I’ve successfully climbed too many personal mountains to give up or doubt I can get through this.

In quieter moments when the view is not clouded with sorrow and worry, I do see a open path towards healing and growth. Along this path are turn outs where I can pause and refuel and take time to be aware of the “living wisdom” of “ordinary things.” As I gaze  ahead I sometimes feel I am walking among those “ordinary things” and they come into view and focus. The sacredness of the “living wisdom” is always before me with its hand held out and open. Illuminated in the glow and softness of hope and trust. For me, hope is soft because it has to be pliant and pliable, not hard and anchored. Ordinary and sacred might not seem like they go together, but really they do.

As I sit here writing there is a cat in front of me making those little cat cooing sounds that I interpret as sighs of contentment. The snow is dripping off the roof and has become the background music for the dance of the birds that flutter and vie for positions at the feeders. These are ordinary things during the days here on Turkey Hill Rd., and to me they are sacred events. This is how I see life in the days I am living. This is what “living wisdom” is for me…..taking the leap and creating a space and the time to see sacredness in the ordinary. And my path now is to walk this path of recovery and maneuver around the bumpy parts of discomfort and frustration, fear and loss, seeing those things as part of the sacredness. The sacredness that highlights the path so that I can see it more clearly and step with more confidence and determination. A sacredness that gives space for understanding some things may appear to be the opposite of what I believe I want/need.

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I may discover as I meander this path that the end ebbs and flows in front of me. First near and then further away. Maybe there is an end to the path, maybe not. Where would the “end” be? Maybe I’ll just come to a fork in the path and just continue to meander along in a different direction. This continuation might just be an invitation to see more expressions of the sacredness in the ordinary, and not just be a longer way that delays the arrival to somewhere I think I need or want to be. Just allowing the paths/journey to be the experience. The trail signs with arrows along the way direct me to “Be here now”.

I have not always enjoyed this part of the journey. There has been confusion, pain, loss and resentment. I lay my head on the pillow at night and silently lament “why is this happening?” I hear several  answers. “The medical reason is….blah, blah, blah” That reason offers no comfort. Another response is fierce love from family and friends that almost yanks me awake while wrapping me a tenderness and certainty that has no room for faltering or failing. The other response is softer and highlights the question to Mary Oliver’s offering: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Within that question is also the answer.
Mary Oliver links

So here I sit fingers tapping the keys, gazing out the window upon the grayness of the season. I am here. This moment is sacred to me. And I will continue to try to find the ways to honor the sacredness, understanding that I am being offered many keys to many doors. It is no concern where the doors lead but rather if I can discover which key opens which door. It is about walking through one ‘ordinary’ door after another with eyes wide open, curiosity pulsing through me, anticipating a meeting with sacredness.

So many of you reading this are part of this sacredness. With you by my side and in my life,you are the sacredness in my life. Your friendship and love illuminate my days allowing me see the sacredness in the ordinary, making my life and life experiences extraordinary. My family, husband, children, siblings, in laws, nieces and nephews, friends, all tether me to what matters, to what is sacred in this life. Your love and kindness nourishes me, sustains me, heals me.

Now I’ll close and move on to my physical therapy exercises and try to give space to allowing them to be the keys that just might open another door to something extraordinary. You never know!

Thank you for being the sacred parts of my ordinary life.

Sitting on a Bench

I went for a walk with my husband earlier this week. It was a glorious blue sky July day.

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Highbanks Park, Cols. Ohio, photo by me

Sometimes my hip bothers me, and it did on this day. So, I sat on a bench in the shade, facing a small stream, eyes closed. It was very quiet. Except for the sound of gurgling water. It was very still. Except for fluttering birds and scurrying chippies.

The setting, the silence and the alone-ness were a recipe for a little meditation.

I felt my feet planted firmly on the ground. Silence and stillness. I was alone.

I opened my eyes after a little while and listened to the quiet sounds of this place. I saw in front of me the pale purple of vetch, the greenness of leaves. I could smell the earthy scent of slightly damp soil.

An emotional wave of humility and gratitude washed over me. I was so aware of the gift of sitting there, on that bench, in that spot, with the trees and flowers and a singing bird there with me. There was nothing that could have been more complete. And as I sat there in the awareness of the moment, feeling small and insignificant in a larger world, I also felt a pang. There was an out-breath that seemed to release from deep inside of me the sorrow and sadness for Others. Those struggling in poverty. Those who struggle with addiction. The incarcerated . The misunderstood. Refugees. The people in Syria and South Sudan. People we make invisible because of fear or misunderstanding. Or simply because we are unaware.

It was a profound moment. It was a bit of a confused feeling. On the one hand I was so grateful to be in this calm, serene, safe place under a blue sky, feeling the warmth of the summer sun. On the other hand I felt guilty, uncomfortable. This is where I often find myself. This weighs on my heart and my soul. Why am I blessed with all of this when so many others struggle and suffer so unimaginably?

Some folks read these blog posts and contact me with comments like, “I’m sorry you’re so sad.” These thoughts often don’t feel good and they do make me feel sad. But the feelings tell me I haven’t shut myself off to or given up on caring, on feeling, of being concerned for others, of wanting others to be lifted out of pain and suffering. I’d rather experience the sadness than have no awareness, thoughts or feelings about these things. Sometimes people say, “Just turn off the news.” Nope. I dial it back sometimes, but not off. I don’t want to be dumb and blind to the realities of the people on this planet. I want to be informed. To understand. I want to know so I know how to help. To learn. To grow. To learn what needs to be done to heal.

Healing and transformation are possible the moment we accept the actuality of things as they are—good, bad, or ugly—and then act on that understanding with imagination, kindness, and intentionality. This is not easy or painless, by any means, but it is both an embodiment of and a path toward wisdom and peace.” ~ Jon Kabat-Zinn

I do not accept that this is as good as we get as a country. There is much to be improved on. As a piece of the global puzzle and as a home land.

“What greater expression of faith in the American experiment than this; what greater form of patriotism is there; than the belief that America is not yet finished, that we are strong enough to be self-critical, that each successive generation can look upon our imperfections and decide that it is in our power to remake this nation to more closely align with our highest ideals? ” ~Barak Obama

All kinds of people and communities have to make a choice. To decide to do, to be, something different. Or not. To respond, react and act differently. Or not. We have to be unafraid rather than afraid. Or not. We have to ask questions and listen in order to understand instead of assuming we “know”. Or not. We have to figure out how to look outside of the box for new ideas and solutions. Or not.

In among all the struggles what are the common threads? What do we share with the people we fear, disagree with, hate? There has to be engagement, generosity and community building. We have to figure out what inspires us as individuals to act from a place of integrity even when it means going contrary to the status quo. And how can these circles of compassion widen? How do we, you, I, facilitate this?

I know I do not want to be afraid of anything simply because I do not understand or agree with someone or something. I do not ever want to feel I need to distance or separate myself because something or someone is different from me. With that kind of defensive behavior I run the risk of running back to and hiding in what is familiar, what is comfortable, what I identify with. I run the risk of being closed off. Of being constricted. And, in all honesty, I do these things. I am trying so very hard to be stronger than my fears, than my anger. But it is very, very hard.

It’s a tough job reining in all our identifications with the worries, the fears and the narratives our mind creates. Our expectations, judgement and opinions create divides that we give great importance and power to. All those things come from our biases, our lack of trust, our sense of protecting what we perceive is ours.

 Nisargadatta says, “The mind creates the abyss, and the heart crosses it.

What could we be without all the crazy, worry filled, fear based ideas that come into our minds and our lives? What would it be like if we stopped separating ourselves from others and Nature? What would happened if we nurtured our fundamental awareness and being that realizes the connected-ness in life rather than the isolating, separated-ness that sometimes happens in life?

Wisdom is knowing we are all one.
Love is what it feels like.
Compassion is what it looks like.”
Ethan Walker III

We really need to get to the point of healing, bridging the abyss, regaining the power and force of being connected to others and other living things. Of cradling Earth in gentleness and respect.

This force of separateness grows fear. We claw at and grab in attachment, to things, ideas, places, power. We become constricted, grow defensive, ambitious, and territorial. We protect things that cause us to feel separated from, better than, more deserving of, entitled to. We work to bolster and protect these things, forgetting to look up and around. It is seen in religion, in politics, in National pride…..it manifests as jingoism, racism, intolerance, aggression, repression, oppression….

If we stop. Just stop. What whispers to us? What calls out to us? Who are we? Who do we want to be? What is our true nature…?

Do we find ourselves standing at the place that is common ground for each one of us? All of us? The shared Earth? The need for the fundamentals required for a healthy life: food, water, shelter, medicine, clothing. The human need for love, both in the giving and receiving of. Companionship. A sense of belonging. A sense of purpose.

So, how do we inspire ourselves and others to work towards this? To walk away from apathy, isolation, separateness, our sense of correctness/ superiority?

“…we must also inspire, because inspiration is how we motivate action.”  Ian Reifowitz

Please share, please tell me: What inspires you? What calls you to action? What bridges do you want to build?

**Readings from This Week

Your Life, Your Journey

” Do Shaol, Do Thuras”

The Irish phrase “Do Shaol, Do Thuras” means “Your Life, Your Journey.”

Many years ago I was handed a box by my step mother. My father had recently passed and she was transferring this box of family photos, history and information on to me. I was to become the keeper of this information. Inside there was the history of our coat of arms, copies of patents, invitations to award dinners and events, wedding invitations, old telegrams, newspaper clippings, strange piles of marketing flyers…..some things I knew what they were. Other things, I had not a clue. Pictures of people were mysteries….no names, no places listed, no dates. No connection to be made. Just faces looking back at me.

I realized I could either throw the box and it’s contents out, or get the information organized and keep it safe. I made a decision to protect the information and unwittingly dove head first into the world of genealogy.

This past Christmas my daughter began talking about a family trip to Ireland. We had been talking about doing a “big” trip somewhere. My now decades old foray into genealogy saw Ireland as a solid contender as a destination. Northern Ireland in particular was at the top of the list. And a sleepy town in County Down called Portaferry became one of the highlight destinations.

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Portaferry, Co. Down, Northern Ireland. June 2017. Photo by me.

The venture into genealogy has been a true journey for me. Past history has become living history. I have felt at times as if my ancestors were walking by my side on this journey.  Each story uncovered about these family members put them in a spotlight for me. As I have gained perspective on their lives, my life has gained some perspective too.

Your life. Your Journey. My Life. My Journey.

“Walking. I am listening to a deeper way.
Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.
Be still, they say. Watch and listen.
You are the result of the love of thousands.”
~Linda Hogan

Genealogy is sometimes fickle. Information exists sometimes, but not always. Oral history is sometimes proven, but not always. People with the good-intentioned desire to make connections sometimes make them up, ignoring dates, places and more. Brick walls are at every corner. Angels appear out of nowhere with a missing piece of the puzzle. Genealogy really is not a single person’s journey, but a collective effort at finding and piecing the puzzle pieces together. DNA testing helps but only if there is a living male descendant.

Exploring the past, I have been able to get as far back as the mid to late 1700’s in Portaferry. This was the first place I could connect my maternal 4x great-grandfather, James Vance, to.

There is no DNA proof. There are no birth or census records yet found in Ireland that connect him to Portaferry. The church he most likely was affiliated with there was destroyed in a massive storm, along with any records. There are Revolutionary War records where he indicated he “was from” Portaferry, Ireland. There are American records that record Portaferry as his “home”. There is only one place in the world called Portaferry.

Capture

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Scots-Irish history supports the reason for his family’s journey from Scotland to Ireland in the 1600’s, and then eventually to Pennsylvania in the mid 1770’s. Oral history from family supports this also.

So Portaferry became a family destination. (And I am ever so grateful my family agreed to this)

We are bound to our ancestors and to those who made us,
whether we want to be or not.
What matters is what we make of what we are.”
– Kate Elliott

Upon arrival in America both sides of my family eventually settled in parts of Pennsylvania. My son lives there now and when we go to visit I find myself looking out the car window, watching the scenery fly past. Questions loop around as thoughts: What thoughts did they have leaving Ireland? Did they know where they were going…have relatives here already? How many family members did they say good-bye to? What few things did they bring with them? What was it like for them to see the Monongahela River and the rolling hills of PA? Did it look like home?

Those questions arose again as I walked on the ground and streets where this Scots-Irish ancestor of mine most likely walked, Portaferry. In talking to a town historian there he said, “Portaferry wouldn’t have looked too much different land wise…it’s the same now as then. What you see now is what he saw then.”

 

 

There was great power in that summation for me. A connection to the past. My eyes saw what he saw. The water. The hill. The windmill. The castle. The tower across the water. The forceful tide flowing in and out through the Narrows everyday. The Irish Sea in the distance. All that was the same, then, as now.

I was looking at what he saw everyday.
I saw what he saw.
I was standing where he stood.
I was walking where he walked.
It almost felt like we could walk together and reminisce.
Share a memory.

Political and religious persecution were no doubt the motivating forces in James Vance leaving Ireland. He was part of the last of the five large waves of Scots-Irish to leave Northern Ireland for America in the 1700’s. Up to a quarter of a million Scots-Irish were estimated to have emigrated across the Atlantic from the north of Ireland through the 18th century (with an even greater amount following in the 19th century). Shortly after he landed in Philadelphia he enlisted in the fight against the British in the Revolutionary War. His grave in Greensboro PA has the Rev War marker next to it. He served under Captain Reading and Col. Chambers and fought in the battles of Germantown and Monmouth. He was with Washington and Lafayette in Valley Forge.

 

 

After the war James joined with a group of German immigrants in a business endeavor with Albert Gallatin (who later became Secretary of the Treasury under Jefferson and Madison) establishing the first “Glassworks” in New Geneva PA. The name Albert and Gallatin, as well as the German given and surnames of the glassblowers (seen on the marker below), became intermingled with the Vance family as friendships developed and marriages took place. Thinking back to when we visited Gallatin’s home, Friendship Hill near Port Marion PA, I realize I had many of the same thoughts and emotions I experienced in Northern Ireland. At Friendship Hill I saw the same things James would have seen. I walked the same path James would have walked on. I stood in a room James would have stood in, looking at he same furniture he sat on. I could imagine him greeting his friend Gallatin. Family history tells of Lafayette and James embracing warmly in Gallatin’s living room.

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Statue of Gallatin, his home, James grave and marker from the Glassworks where James worked.

Eventually James married and settled down to raise a family. Two of James’ sons became well known potters in a flourishing pottery trade in New Geneva PA. When his sons moved to Cincinnati they continued with their pottery work. Their sons, James’ grandsons, lived there and designed and built steam powered paddle boats in Cincy that ran up and down the Ohio River. Their children, James’ great grandchildren, grew up to build buildings that are still standing in Columbus Ohio.

These individuals left a mark on history.

Several years ago my family visited what was my great-grandfather Vance’s farm in Columbus Ohio. Now part of Highbanks Park, only the land remains. The buildings of the farm, then state of the art, and the house, with greenhouses and a swimming pool, are gone. Still, we walked the trails. We walked on land my mom walked and played on. The same land her father walked on. And the same land her grandfather walked on. We saw what they saw. My children stood on the banks of the Olentangy River. The same river their grandmother, great-grandparents and great great grandparents stood by.

 

 

Genealogy isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I never would have imagined I would spend decades searching for little clues of history that would weave together a rich tapestry of stories and adventures. I never would have imagined the information would lead me to a small, sleepy town near the Irish Sea in Northern Ireland.

“Do Shaol, Do Thuras”. “Your Life, Your Journey.”

It was James Vance’s life. It was his journey. And it is my life. But my journey includes his journey.

Do Shaol, Do Thuras”

Each one of us are the result of the love of thousands.

What matters is what we make of who we are.”

All this is infused into the making who we are. Whether we know all the history or not, we are the result of the love, the joys, the struggles and sacrifices of our ancestors. Of course it is our life and our journey. It also is our life given to us through the life and journey of others.

What matters is what we make of who are—-drawing on and respecting all the snippets, remnants, blood and DNA of those who came before us. Add to that all the combined experiences we’ve had, with all that is at this moment. Standing here. Now. It has made us who we are.

All of this grounds me somehow. What written history I can find about my ancestors on both sides of my family is that they gave to others. They lifted others up. They adopted orphans. They worked hard. They were teachers and ministers. They bailed people out of Depression era debt. They literally raised churches. They built boats that aided commerce and travel. They built stores that served people and communities. They tanned hides and sewed shoes. Some built furniture while others were self taught itinerant doctors who knew the how to combine medicinal plants into elixirs and ointments with healing properties. They built carriages and forged horse shoes. They grew flax and wove linen cloth. They were council members in the towns they lived in. They supported Women’s Suffrage. They carried bodies off of battlefields. They fought in wars and they resisted wars and fought for peace. They were regular people.

Of course there are a few characters too! We all have a couple. We have pirates, disposed ministers and a witch!

I am a richer person for knowing my family’s history. I feel a kind of connection to some of my ancestors.

It’s all a journey. A personal journey most certainly. But also a journey that began before we were born. A journey of others that led to us being born.

I’ve been fortunate to get to know James Vance as intimately as I have. To have stood where he stood. To have walked where he walked. To have seen the same views he saw. To have been in rooms where he sat.

“Walking. I am listening to a deeper way.
Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.
Be still, they say. Watch and listen.
You are the result of the love of thousands.”

Be still. Watch and Listen.

**Check out what I’ve been reading This Week