I posted a photo earlier that I took of a sky filled with dark storm-tossed clouds and light. I wrote about how the sky tries to wake us from our dreams with such drama, to remind us that we’re in a real world, that we’re alive.

Isn’t it something that we have to be reminded! We live in a world of stories and dreams that flow past so fast we can hardly keep up with them, let alone remember that they’re stories and dreams. That’s why nature creates drama from time to time. A thunderclap here, a bolt of lightning there, a color-drenched sunrise, a little bird’s song. Anything, just to get our attention, just to give us a chance to remember that we are alive and real and right here.

Sometimes, when I wake suddenly from my own daydreams and imaginings, I feel a little disoriented. But I have a wonderful little practice that immediately centers me. Want to know what it is? I call it “The Three Questions.” And it’s just that. I ask myself : Where am I? Who am I? What was I doing?

Say those over and over to yourself a few times. (Where am I? Who am I? What was I doing?) Then tuck them in your pocket for when you need ‘em. They’re especially good for multi-taskers and dreamers. And if you’re both, God bless you. Anyway, memorize them. Try them out for fun. You’ll get hooked. They work that well.

The reason I wanted to share them is that being present is such a powerful, exquisite experience. I collect ways to remind myself to be awake, aware, and appreciative. It’s kind of a hobby, one of the tools of the Joy Warrior’s trade. I’m taking the liberty of assuming that you, too, find value in being aware of being in the present. It’s where everything is happening, after all. For each of us, it’s the very center of the matterium as we experience it. It’s the place and time that we think of as real, the only place and time when we can choose and think and act.

“Where am I?” I ask as I snap awake from a dream. “Oh. Here. Writing my Sunday Letter to my dear friends.” That answers who I am and what I was doing, too, without my even having to ask. I remember that I wanted to tell you that I’m only two weeks away from the finish-line in my 100-day challenge to add daily to these pages. When I started it, I thought of it as rolling up a love letter, sealing it in a bottle, and sending it into the world to land wherever it was meant to land. I still think of it that way, as the act of creating a love letter to send out into the world. Every day it teaches me something new. I hope you’ll drop by from time to time to take a peek.

Try those “Three Questions,” hey? They’re kind of fun. You’ll see.

Wishing you a most glorious week.

Warmly,
Susan

This is the week that the clocks leaped ahead and the first flowers of the season burst on the scene. Spring has come at last, and I am downright giddy over its arrival. A small crocus opens in my garden. Along the roadside, the first coltsfoot beams up at me. A robin arrives to sit in that tree, right there.

I don’t know why—for a lot of reasons, I suppose—but I am deeply moved by all of this. Maybe it’s the contrast with the ice that was so recently here. Maybe its the emergence of color and birdsong after a long night of darkness and silence. Whatever the cause, I am moved by these small graces, these restorers of hope.

It’s not that life doesn’t place stars in the darkest nights. We’re never without at least pinpoints of light. And I clung to them all throughout the winter, believe me, and gave thanks that they were there. But now! So suddenly, it is spring, and I am overwhelmed with the world’s overnight transformation,

Maybe it’s a sign, I say to myself, smiling at how I reach for the wisdom of superstition, Maybe it’s like waking to find yourself inside a giant, luminous rainbow. How would that be for a sign?

I stand in the warm sun listening. The birds are returning, and from the creek such a chorus of frogs! Small graces. Priceless ones.

I lifted layers of oak leaves from the flower gardens and pulled out the tiny weeds. The soil smelled moist and rich, and the thick, green sprouts reaching up from it stood eager and proud. I think it wouldn’t hurt to put out some hummingbird nectar this week. You never know. They might fly in and need a good drink.

Sometimes I stop in my tracks and look around in wonder. “I get to be here,” I whisper to the spring air. “I get to be here.”

And so do you! I wish you Happy Spring, my friend.

May small graces bless your week and fill your heart with gentle joy.

Warmly,

Susan