Sometimes water follows a winding route, but it always find its way out.
Sitting down to write today's post, I wondered if I had really already written it when I posted about what I had learned from the turning points in my life. Looking at the book I noticed that I had bypassed Level 1 entirely: cleaning. So I went and handwashed a sweater. And then I sat down to write. And then I went to have a shower. And then I decided I was going to write about something that's really important to me and a little hard to share.
So, I sat down again to write about the pivotal moment when the boy next door ditched his hockey buddies to teach me how to ride a bike. I was going to write about what it means to feel important, how I've learned that that's not just okay but actually great.
And then here's what happened. Here's how the water found its way out through my tears today.
I was sharing with you this story:
Sitting down to write today's post, I wondered if I had really already written it when I posted about what I had learned from the turning points in my life. Looking at the book I noticed that I had bypassed Level 1 entirely: cleaning. So I went and handwashed a sweater. And then I sat down to write. And then I went to have a shower. And then I decided I was going to write about something that's really important to me and a little hard to share.
So, I sat down again to write about the pivotal moment when the boy next door ditched his hockey buddies to teach me how to ride a bike. I was going to write about what it means to feel important, how I've learned that that's not just okay but actually great.
And then here's what happened. Here's how the water found its way out through my tears today.
I was sharing with you this story:
"I remember it so well. The boy who lived next door had promised to teach me to ride a bike after school. I walked out our front door and saw him playing with his friends. And then something I just couldn't believe happened. With complete enthusiasm he said, 'Sorry, guys, I've got to go. I promised to teach Jamie how to ride a bike."
And in sharing the story, I remembered his smile and the ease with which he walked away from what he was doing to come help me, and I realized for the first time how deeply my dad's gruffness at being interrupted informed the wonder of this moment. And I cried for little 8-year-old me who had learned that she was an interruption instead of a joy. And I'm thankful to that little boy for showing me it just wasn't true.
This month I'm exploring Denise Linn's Soul Coaching with an inspirational group of bloggers at The Next Chapter: Soul Coaching.
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