Category: Sunday Letters

Last week, for the first time this winter, we got a couple of inches of snow. Enthralled by the beauty of it, I grabbed my camera and headed for a nearby nature park, one of my favorite haunts. I was walking through the pine forest at the edge of the lake and had just stopped to take photos of a stand of young pines when, to my surprise, a woman appeared from behind me.

We exchanged a few words, discovered we were of like minds, and traded phone numbers. Each of us left knowing that we had met a new friend. Maybe you have had one of those encounters, where you meet someone and feel at once as if you have known them forever. This was one of those.

I’m delighted to have a new friend. I had an open space in my heart, waiting for one.

I have been thinking about friendship lately and what a gift it is. When I redid my office bulletin boards a couple weeks ago, I posted photos of my closest friends so I could gaze at their faces when I’m thinking of them. And I think of them daily.

Then yesterday, while I was browsing through some old files, I came across a little tribute to friendship that I’d written over a decade ago. I called it “Pal Power,” and I thought it would be nice to share with you today. I hope it will stir you to think about the friends who have enriched your life, and who do so today, and what they mean to you.

So here it is, “Pal Power:”

When it comes to adding some light to your days, few things have the power of a pal. You know, the kind who has spent a heap of days with you, seen you in all your moods and loves you anyway.

Pals know the real of you, beyond all the faces you wear. They know when to move in close, to hold you up, to speak hard truths.

They know when to give you room. They back you with their faith and trust when you step out in new directions.

Pals bathe you in their laughter, delight in your stories, applaud your triumphs, and celebrate your moments of joy.

And they’re there for you in the hard times, too, their words full of encouragement, their hearts full of understanding. They remind you of your strengths and slip you little handfuls of courage to get you through.

They dust you off when you fall, and laugh with you while you sort out your lessons, and never stop cheering for you, no matter what.

What greater ease, what more joyous comfort does life offer? Whatever the fates may bring, when you’re blessed with a worthy companion, you are blessed indeed.

Wishing you friendships, old and new.

Warmly,
Susan

Back when the year was first turning into 2023, I was thinking about what I might want to focus on accomplishing in the year ahead. I had a whole list of small-to-medium sized projects already jotted down, but that’s an on-going process. It’s how I get things done. I was looking for something different, like a guide word, something I could aspire to incorporating into my life or to expressing.

The idea occurred to me that in addition to writing down three things for which I’m grateful each night—something I’ve practiced for 3-4 years now—I could make a note of something I learned during the day. I didn’t decide actually to do it. It was just a thought that danced through my mind from time to time. And then, one day this week, I realized I was, in fact, learning things. So I guess the question, “What did I learn today?” adopted me, whether I adopted it or not.

I kind of like it. I like that it’s just going to hang around and wink at me from time to time.

I don’t have to make any rigid appointments, I can just respond to it as if it were an old friend who drops in for a chat from time to time. It has me on the lookout for things I’m discovering so I’ll have an answer when it asks me what’s up.

I’ve caught myself having imaginary conversations with it. It sits across the table from me sipping tea, a relaxed smile on its face, casually saying “Make any new discoveries?”

“Well, yes,” I answer. “Now that you ask, I discovered that it’s fun to notice what I’ve discovered. And on another level, it’s interesting to see how my thoughts are going in a new direction, how I’m getting little hints about a new insight that’s sliding toward me down the timestream. Oh, and I learned that I’m getting better at paying attention to my intuition, to taking action on my creative impulses.”

Did you ever do that? Take stock of what you were learning as you tumble through your days? It opens up a whole new level of self-appreciation, I tell you. It wakes you up in a whole range of ways. All you have to do is ask yourself from time to time what you’ve discovered recently, what you’re learning, what you’ve learned. Until you check it out, you have no idea! You’re marvelous in ways you completely overlook.

Smiling at you, I wish you a week of amazing discoveries.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by John Paul Edge from Pixabay}

I came across a beautiful quote today, from a brilliant Italian architect, engineer and archeologist who lived in the late 1400’s. His name was Fra Giovanni Giocondo, and his counsel about living in happiness rolls across six centuries to us today.

“I am your friend,” he said, “and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not got. But there is much, very much, that, while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. Take peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.”

Think about that. “No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today.” There is no other life but the one unfolding around us right now. And this life, this moment–if we look into it deeply enough, if we are awake and fully present within it, and sense how far it extends–holds everything: All beauty; all grace; all goodness; all truth. Right here, right now, perfection abounds.

“No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant.” All that hides peace is our warring against what is, our wanting it to be otherwise. The moment we exchange our warring and wanting for acceptance, peace descends.

The faults we perceive, in ourselves, in each other, in the world, truly are but shadows. And it is we ourselves who cast them, with our storyboard judgments and beliefs. But once we learn to set aside our criticism and our theories about how things ought to be, and to open our hearts instead, seeing what is before us with clarity and love, the light of joy shines through.

And it’s all right there, within you, within me, within us all, for the taking. Take heaven. Take peace. Take joy.

Warmly,
Susan

I have two bulletin boards above the desk here in my office. Over the passing months, they have become cluttered with notes and reminders and photos to the point that they’re screaming at me to DO SOMETHING! It sort of feels like it does when you realize that you really, really need a haircut.

So I added “Re-do bulletin boards” to my Do/Projects list. Meanwhile, I’ve been looking at what’s there now, mining for the gems in the clutter. One of the notes I noticed this week was a list of “The Nine Choices for Happiness,” which are the chapter titles of the book How We Choose to Be Happy. The first one on the list is “Intention.”

Because it’s the first week of the New Year, I thought about all the resolutions that people made at the year’s dawning. A resolution, I thought, is the same as an intention, except you declare it more forcefully, maybe stomping your foot or clenching your hands into fists as you say it.

Either way, I hear that most of them “don’t work.” And I’ve noticed that fewer and fewer of us even bother making them any more, as if turning over a new leaf is an outmoded fashion. It’s not. And I feel kind of sorry for all those discarded resolutions. Somehow we bought in to a belief that making one was like waving a magic wand; it would instantly empower you to move in a whole new direction in your life. Nope. That’s not the way it works. The intention doesn’t make things change; it nudges you to do it.

We also mistakenly think that intentions will kick in automatically the moment we create them for ourselves. But things only become automatic when we repeat them over and over until we do them with hardly a thought. An intention could only be automatic if we were already doing what it asks, and of course we aren’t. We just want to. In fact, We want to so much that we intend to. Beginning now. And intending is an excellent beginning.

It’s a tricky one, though. We declare our intention with so much fervor that we’re sure it will leap forward, grab our attention, and ignite our will power at every fork in the road. And then the doggone thing floats out of sight like a wisp in the wind and doesn’t drift around again for a while. We put a lot of hope in that intention, and a lot of good it did us, we say when we remember it. That’s the tricky part. We can make up all kinds of excuses for not reaching out to pull that intention back to us again. We guess we weren’t meant to succeed. We guess intentions don’t work. We forget why we wanted that in the first place. We decide it doesn’t matter.

That’s the kind of thinking that gave rise to the old expression that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Hell is exactly where defeatism takes us.

But imagine you’re outdoors on a lovely, sunny day when you spot a little feather floating by, right at eye level. It looks so bright and appealing. Imagine that you reach out and gently cup it in your hand and draw it toward you where you can get a good look at it. That’s what you need to do with good intentions that drifted away.

Now that it has your attention again, let it tell you about the possibilities it carries for you and about how relieved and alive you’ll feel if you let it guide you. Then figure out a way to keep it around where it can smile its encouragement to you on a regular basis. Write it on notes, or on your calendar. Name a pebble after it and carry it in your pocket. Find a wallpaper to represent it on your phone.

Suppose you actually do that. You pick something that you want to do, to make a part of your usual way of being, something that you imagine will make you feel more alive, more purposeful, more at peace. You invent a reminder of some kind to keep your intention top of mind. Then what?

Well, for one thing, your intention will begin to guide your choices. It will sit right up there on your shoulder with your good angel and whisper in your ear with reminders. And that’s a lot. Even if you don’t follow its guidance, it will have called your attention to the fact that you have a choice.

You can give your intention more power by taking time to daydream about it now and then. You can nurture it by asking yourself affirmative questions about it, such as “Why am I seeing so many ways that I can be more . . . ?” or “Why is it getting easier to . . . now?” Just ask yourself the question from time to time and see what answers float up from your mind.

I’m going to keep that list of choices for happiness on my bulletin board when I redo it. And I’m going to post a word or two there to remind me of my intentions for the coming year. They inspire me. And what better way to begin a new year than to feel inspired!

Wishing you delightful, focused, good intentions, and an inspired New Year!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Eliza from Pixabay}

Well, first and foremost, let’s share a New Year’s toast: “May this brand new year be the best one yet, for each and every one of us!” Happy New Year to you, from my heart.

I got a wonderful present this week from a Facebook friend, Nanda Jurela, who shares her insightful wisdom on her blog. The gift was what she called an “enlightening motto” that she had heard a few years ago. It says, “You can’t embrace what is trying to hug you while holding onto yesterday’s junk.”

I’m adopting that one myself, thank you, Nanda.

Imagine waking up every day of the new year wondering what hugs will come hoping for your embrace! They could come dressed up as anything. They could be any color, or shape, or size. The only thing they all have in common is that they’re filled with goodness and a very particular fondness for you.

Personally, I’m going to make a mini-poster to hang on my bedroom wall where I’ll see it as I step out into the day: “You can’t embrace what is trying to hug you while holding onto yesterday’s junk.” I suspect its junk is all that stands between us and genuine joy. I’ll remind myself, too, that even one minute ago can be “so yesterday.”

I’ll be sharing my thoughts about “genuine joy” over the coming weeks, and about things that serve to invite more of it into our lives. What better way to begin than to practice noticing life’s little reminders that it’s on your side and just waiting for you to take its assurance that you are so dearly loved–even when you’re a mess!

The hugs are always there, you know. Go around expecting them to pop into your world at any moment. Chances are, if you think about them during the day it’s because one is trying to get your attention. And all you have to do to grab it is to let go of yesterday’s junk!

It might come as a thought, as a hope, as a new possibility. It might fall across your path as something you hear or read or see in the sky. It might come as a silver lining. A person could bring it, or the mail, or an elephant. Hugs can wear any costume you can imagine, and a bunch of them that you can’t. But every hug life gives you—never, ever forget—comes especially for you and is exactly what you need. So do remember to say thanks. Then be on the lookout for the next one. And the next. And the next.

May you go through the year with open eyes. empty arms, and a peaceful heart.

Happy New Year, my friend.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay}

There’s something daunting about settling in at my keyboard to share some moments with you and then realizing, as I begin to type the date, that it’s Christmas!

I’m stunned. Do I need to be especially profound or something? Oh my! What does all of this mean?

I sit perfectly still, unable to form a single thought. My awareness is wholly caught up in the present, in the data my senses convey–the warmth of the room, the lamp’s golden light, the soft holiday jazz drifting through the air. From somewhere near the center of me, a stream of affection spirals into my awareness carrying images of dear ones, far and near. And the magic of the day wraps around me and sinks into me in glistening whispers of peace.

I like what I wrote about it yesterday, this most amazing moment in time: Its light touches us. Now each of us gets to decide how we’ll respond. “Who do you want to be in the light of this new day?” What a delicious question for morning to bring! It’s among her best, I’d say. “What will you do in this new day’s light?” What a gift!

I hope you know that I’m wishing you the very best as the year draws quickly to a close. I’m looking forward to traversing the coming days with you. Great challenges lie ahead. What a privilege to live in such momentous times!

I won’t keep you. I just wanted to send a Christmas hug, and to share a quote about the holiday from Mother Teresa that nicely sums things up for me as well. “It’s Christmas,” she wrote, “any time that you let God love others through you.”

To those of you who celebrate it, Merry Christmas. And to everyone, wishes for peace and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

“I pretty much hate everything at this point!” Those were the words a childhood friend posted on Facebook last night. Earlier in the day, I had flashed back to a scene from my days at the clinic and saw the faces of the staff this time of year. They all looked so tired. The season comes with so many demands on our resources and time and so many tugs on our emotions.

I rarely comment on posts at Facebook. I visit once a day to post one of my nature photographs. I figure it gives my friends a brief respite from their cares. But these words were from a childhood pal, and I couldn’t help but respond. “It’s the Bah-Humbug Bug,” I told her. “It’s going around. But just you wait. In a little while, when you least expect it, a beautiful whisper of peace will float in.”

I didn’t say it as a hope or a wish. It was a statement born of my many, many years of experience with this holiday phenomena. The stress of it, whatever shape it takes, eventually peaks, and an unexpected peace sets in. Maybe because we’re too worn out to hold up any barriers to it anymore, I don’t know. I just know that a moment comes around this time of year when you’re blessed with the knowing that everything is okay, maybe perfect, just as it is.

I don’t know if you’ve been following the Little Pine story I’ve been posting here, a small chapter a day since the month began. But I think today’s chapter is relevant and worth sharing, even if you’ve already read it online. So here it is, my Christmas present to you. Sink into a quiet space for a moment, and enjoy . . .

The Angel of Peace and Joy

By the time Little Pine finished sharing his day’s adventures with his mother over supper, his eyelids were drooping.  “You’ve had quite a day, Little Pine,” his mother said.  “In fact, your days have been full of amazing happenings since the Festival season began.  Your young mind must be working hard to understand all the things you have experienced.”

“That’s for sure,” yawned Little Pine.  “All those bears and their stories, the choir music, the hugs, and then meeting the real Santa Claus and having him name me ‘Prince Little Pine, Ambassador of Friendship.’”  Little Pine rubbed his eyes and yawned again.  “I mean, it’s been wonderful. But it’s something else, too.  I don’t know the word for it, but it sort of freezes up my brain.”

Mother Pine rubbed Little Pine’s back and said, “I think the word is ‘overwhelmed.’  But don’t worry.  You’ll get it all sorted out in time.  And you’ll have wonderful memories to enjoy.”  She picked up his empty soup bowl and said, “Why don’t you go to bed early tonight.  Sleep is often the best remedy when our brains are working to put things in place.”

Little Pine didn’t argue with her suggestion at all.  He washed up and settled in for a good night’s sleep with his mother’s kiss on his forehead and her wish for sweet dreams in his heart.

He fell asleep right away.  At first he dreamed a dream where all the week’s images danced like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  But then he drifted away into a beautiful starlit silence, filled with nothing but a deep feeling of peace.  If you could have seen him then, you would have noticed a soft, sweet smile on his face.

He had been floating through the velvety peace for quite some time when a glow began to fill the space.  It grew brighter and soon, in his sleep, he was seeing the vision of a beautiful angel.  “Greetings, Little Pine,” she said.  “I am an angel of Peace and Joy, and I bring a message from the Yes to you.   This message is for your heart, which is pure and full of love.  Do not be concerned whether your mind remembers or understands it.  Your heart will know its meaning and be at ease.”

And with that introduction, the Angel of Peace and Joy spoke these words:

“This peace you feel is the breath of the Yes,
holding your sorrows and your joys
in balanced measure, enfolding them both
in Its love.  And the Light whose return
you celebrate on your Festival Day–
although, in truth, it has never left you–
is the breathing of the Sun behind the sun,
an emissary of the Yes, fostering Life
in every form and place and season
in the unspeakable name of the Yes
and through Its infinite love.

And here, in these woods,
you, too, are an emissary of love,
bringing joy to everyone you meet.
And so, I bring you peace.
For you, too, are of the breathing
of the Yes, and deeply loved.
May peace and joy dwell in your heart forever.”

And then the angel faded into the night sky, and Little Pine slept in its velvety, star-sparkled peace.  And when he awoke in the morning, his heart was filled with contentment and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Sonja from Pixabay}

No part of existence escapes the shroud of mystery. Try to get to the end of anything, and all you’ll find is that there is no end. But exploration is the great adventure, and I suppose we’ll keep looking for whatever it is we hope we’ll find. Answers maybe. Some pot of gold. Whatever it is, from way, way down this long, long road, the mystery pulls us. Irresistibly.

Sometimes, some of us–maybe all, I don’t know–become aware of some piece of the mystery. It floats into our minds and quietly hovers there, right on the periphery of our awareness. It’s not so much that we think about it. It’s more like we feel it, the way we might feel the level of humidity in the air or the quiet hum of some distant enduring sound.  It’s kind of like being in love. It’s nothing you can explain. It’s just unmistakably there.

Anyway, this year the Great Mystery of the Season has captivated my mind. According to my personal traditions, I think of it as “Christmas Season.” You might call it something else, or nothing at all. Whatever it is, I find myself stopping in my tracks as I get glimpses of its power. It touches us all, regardless of who we are, at what station in life, or what views we hold. 

We can’t escape it. It’s a time when out-of-the-ordinary things happen. We do out-of-the-ordinary things, and think out-of-the-ordinary thoughts. We entertain old memories and dream new dreams. 

The season carries an energy of anticipation; we sense that something significant is about to occur in our lives. We want to be ready for it, whatever it is, to be at our best. Yes, we urgently want to be at our best. And yet how far away our best can seem, despite our ardent efforts! Still, we carry on, the mystery irresistibly pulling us toward some secret promise that it holds.

And so the season unfolds, enveloping us all. And each of us responds in his or her own way, riding its currents, sensing that somehow, beneath all the bluster and noise, a deep mystery flows, and it hints that it offers a wondrous, unspeakable peace.

Let yourself sense that. Take a moment now and then to breathe, and to feel the depth and power of this time, its energies touching us all. Let the wonder of it fill your mind, and the love it holds wash through your heart, and, just for a moment, let yourself be at peace.

Warmly,
Susan

Every year about this time, the bear in me—who firmly believes we should all be curled in our warm dens now, dreaming undisturbed until the berries are ripe—wakes with a start to a sea of colored lights and incessant merry music. She snarls. She knows from past experience that it isn’t going to end soon. There’s no rest for bears in sight. She’s not fun to be around at all.

“There, there,” I croon to her. “We’ll just have to make the best of it. Let’s go a walk in the pine grove for a while. That might do us some good.” My inner Grumpy Bear grudgingly agrees, and off we go.

Once we’re in the woods, surrounded by the towering trees, my bear goes wandering off somewhere. The day is sunny and cold. The lake at the edge of the pine grove is still, as is the air. For a while, I stand motionless, aware of the texture of the trees’ bark, of the thick carpet of needles and leaves beneath my feet, of the taste and fragrance of the air.

I walk on the edge of the grove, skirting the lake. I smile when I see the nursery up ahead, a patch of the forest on the lake’s edge where a dozen young pine trees grow. I’ve been watching them for years, and I greet them with joy as I near. I remember that the holly tree is just beyond them, and a wave of nostalgia rolls over me. I’m in the land of Little Pine. This is his season.

I wasn’t going to revisit his story this year. My files were lost in a technical failure. And besides, thinking of Little Pine made me think of my friend, Kimberley, whose teddy bear collection starred in the photos in one of the books. Sadly, she passed away a year ago, and I miss her, and I miss Little Pine, too. He was accidentally cut down a few years ago, the summer after I’d written the third year’s story. It broke my heart.

But all around me, small pines were growing. I felt as if Little Pine’s spirit was filling the whole grove, spurring new pines to growth. Something in the depths of the grove caught my attention and I turned to see shafts of sunlight falling on a forest full of baby trees.

“It’s Festival Season, Susan,” I gently said to myself. “How can you not tell Little Pine’s tale? That is what you came here today to understand.”

When I got home, I poked through my remaining files to see if any vestige of Little Pine was hiding there. To my amazement, one of the three volumes had survived. And wouldn’t you know? It was the one about the bears, and the last bear that Little Pine meets in the story is a sweet golden brown one, dressed in red and white checked gingham and wearing a handmade heart pendant that says, “Free Hugs.” And to top it off, her name is Kimberely Kindbear.

So I’m posting the Little Pine story, A Beary Merry Festival Indeed, here on my blog, a chapter a day until Festival Day. It’s making me smile, and reminding me that kindness, and beauty, and wonder are all around us. All we have to do is see them.

It’s a magical time of the year. Be patient with your Grumpy Bear. We’re all caught up in the jingling of it. Just do the best you can, and keep an eye out for miracles.

Warmly,
Susan

I must have been about three when I dressed myself all by myself for the very first time. It was early in the morning and I listened at my bedroom door for my Dad to get his coffee. Once he did, I bounded into the kitchen, struck a pose, and yelled, “Look! I got dressed!”

I was greeted with laughter and applause, and my mother made an extra piece of cinnamon toast for me in celebration.

I thought about that as I sprinkled cinnamon on my oatmeal yesterday morning. Isn’t it interesting, I thought, how many memories are liked together by our sense of smell? I make “old-fashioned” oatmeal, by the way, not the instant kind. It has a hardier texture and keeps you fueled for a long time. I add raisins to mine while it’s cooking, and sometimes chunks of apple. And, because my great-grandmother served it that way, I top it with a pat of real butter, a sprinkle of dark brown sugar, and a small dollop of plain yogurt or kefir.

But I didn’t mean to talk about oatmeal. I wanted to share the joy my three-year-old self felt at her landmark accomplishment. She felt so capable and proud, so “all grown up.”

As I said in last week’s letter, I believe it’s good to celebrate yourself every now and then. When you get the hang of a new skill, or when you passed a test or completed a task even though you were tired and wanted to quit, celebrate it. Pat yourself on the back. Put on a smile and say “Good job!” Revel in your pleasure and satisfaction. Share it if you like—not in a boastful or arrogant way, but simply to spread your joy. Or keep quiet, and let what you’ve done speak for itself. But be glad about it, either way.

The holidays are barreling down on us now, and love ‘em or hate ‘em, they put pressure on us all to live up to some ideal, to be happy no matter what. They come heaped with memories, both merry and sad, contented or mad, with traditions and stories we embrace or reject. Some of us are compelled to gather with family and friends. Some of us are compelled to be alone. But for all of us, even those of us who pretend that “it’s just another day,” the holidays pull us out of the ordinary and create little flurries of stress. And each of us does the best we can in the midst of it all, and I want to say that doing your best, even when it falls short of your hopes and expectations, is reason enough to say, “Well done.”

I hope that as you prepare for the days ahead you will pause from time to time to take stock of your accomplishments, both the little ones and the spectacular, and to celebrate them. Celebrate how you met the challenges and came out on the other side, and you’re still you, only stronger somehow, and better.

Personally, I’ll be launching the holiday season by taking next Sunday off. If you get lonesome for me, you can always pop in here. I leave pieces of myself almost every day.

I’ll have a new Sunday Letter for you again in December. You bring the coffee. I’ll bring cinnamon toast. And we’ll just celebrate together.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by LinneaFlower from Pixabay}