Author: Susan Minarik

“You never know, when you get up in the morning, what the day will bring.” That’s one of my pet sayings, and it proves itself true over and over.

Sure, for the most part our days unfold more or less the way we expected. So much so that sometimes we find ourselves longing for a break in the routine. “The daily grind,” we call it, as if its sameness wears us down.

I think that’s why life gives us a jolt now and then. “Surprise!” it says.

It keeps us from getting rusty.

I forget what movie it was, but one of the main characters was this wise old Native American man who was considered a sage in his community. He had an easy going manner and you couldn’t help but like him. If I had to describe his attitude toward life I’d use one of my favorite descriptors: He lived with divine nonchalance.

I think of that as a kind of faith, a trust that everything is as it should be, whether it’s what you wanted or not.

One day he decided it was a good day to die and he went off to the mountain top to offer his life to the Great Spirit. He performed his ritual, burned his herbs, did his chant and stretched out on his sacred rug to wait for the Great Spirit to take him.

But it seemed the Great Spirit had other plans. So after a day or so of waiting, he made his way down the mountain to return to his tribe. “What happened?” one of the men who greeted him asked.

He shrugged, and with a little smile said, “Sometimes the magic works; sometimes it don’t.”

I never forgot that. Despite our best efforts, sometimes the magic doesn’t work. And when it doesn’t, the best you can do is shrug, smile, and carry on.

“Good Mmorning, Little Friends,” I sing as I scatter sunflower seeds on the rocks beneath the lilac bush. “Here’s your breakfast.”

Minutes later, they came . . .

It was a fine feast, and a good time was had by all. Especially me.

See that stop sign at the base of the hill? That’s where the side road merges onto the truck route that runs past my house. I love the view from here, and today’s winter hues especially please me.

Just behind that stop sign you see a group of dark pines. The road swerves behind them and climbs a hill. Above that dark stand of pines, up past some bare treetops, you see the tops of three more pines. They aren’t really pines; they’re spruces. And these are three of the six that border my house. I call them my sentinels. We have a decades-long history.

Here’s two of them, dancing for you:

From their very top branches, you can look east and see the two roads merging. Up the hill behind my house is the remnant of another road that used to join the main one. They formed a stretch of a trail that, a hundred years ago, ran between New York and Chicago. These trees and my house have been here all that time. Double that time if you want to know the whole story.

They tell me my house used to be a stagecoach stop. I know one of the men who lived here before me was a blacksmith. A friend showed me where he’s buried, pointed out the remains of his brick oven down the hill on the other side of the road. Said the old guy was a student of the Bible, could quote it to you all day long.

He probably had an interesting perspective of things. He saw life through a far different set of lenses than any of us wears today.

Like him, the trees have their own unique way of understanding how they fit into the where-and-when of their lives. The passersby on the road below them each have their own. Just like you and me.

I like the way that looking at things from different points of view broadens you, lets you see things in more depth. It kind of makes you feel richer somehow, doesn’t it?

My friend and I agree. Big things are ahead, maybe harrowing things. And we had better be ready. They’re going to require all the love we can let flow. Every ounce of it. Every drop.

That’s what we’re here for, after all. To be conduits for love.

(You already know how. You’ve always known.)

But being humans and finding ourselves in a most strange world that tosses us into all sorts of roles and stories, we tend to forget that we came here to be a channel where love could flow. Right now is the time to remember that and to clear out anything that gets in its way. Let it flow. Full force. No matter what.

(Oh, and just in case you need reassurance or reminding, it feels awesomely good.)

You don’t have to be right or to prove anything. That’s a good thing to know. It’s better simply to be kind, to be present and kind. Besides, as that Jeff Peterson dude says, “Truth is always learned; it’s never told.”

It’s the old thing about leading a horse to water. Once you get to the stream, the best thing you and the horse can do is to stop on its grassy banks, relax together for a while, feel the breeze, smell the smells, maybe tell each other stories, share a laugh or two.

Works every time.