Today I had my first article published in an online magazine, Over the Moon, a site “where the divine feminine comes to party.” A little bit spiritual, a little bit mystic, all feminine, and very positive. I’ve enjoyed reading their articles and finally had one to contribute! It’s very personal, of course; I’m not sure how to do anything well if it isn’t personal. I delve into the intersection of faith, surrender, perfect love, and grief. If the word “God” has too many religious connotations for you, you can let it mean Spirit, Flow, Universe…the lessons are the same. I invite you in to the journey, and I hope it touches your heart.
Entertainment bombards us with the cult of superheroes. Sleek, specially-suited crime fighters with tragic origin stories, who’ve risen above their circumstances in service of others. Comic books spring to life, wish fulfillment from our childhood is play-acted onscreen. And why not? We love heroes. We want to be like them. We all want superpowers.
What if the heroine you are called to be is already within you? What if you already are endowed with the greatest superpower in the universe? It’s true. You have within you the nature of the Creator. Love is your superpower.
My Dad left us on Father’s Day, almost three years ago, due to cancer. In the brief months that led up to his departure, I saw love in action. Mom sleeping on the couch we set up in the living room next to his hospital bed. Hospice nurses singing hymns with us as we washed his aching and swollen joints. Mom’s faithfulness to her hope in a miracle. Her tender, tearful surrender to Dad’s wishes that we make no more heroic efforts. Only love can power such a painful transition.
Love lifted me up when grief changed the landscape of my life. Love let me cry my eyes out and seek forgiveness. Love carved a safe space of healing and whispered to my soul that every circumstance is part of a perfect plan, even if it feels like it’s falling apart.
We have been burning the midnight oil! Formatting hard drives, tech walk throughs, countless phone meetings, a two hour VFX consult with our amazing team in Australia, finding critical wardrobe pieces, making original props, locking last minute crew members, and buying extra toilet paper for the house we’re using as our location! 😉
We’ve got a lot left to do and it’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.
When things get too insane, I think about why we’re doing this. This is for the ones we’ve lost. This is for your friend, your Dad, my Dad, your grandson, your Mom, your Grandma. This is for the ones we didn’t get to say goodbye to. And, it’s for those of us who survived.
Yesterday on our way to Seattle’s Northwest Film Forum to pitch this project, we suddenly and unexpectedly hit our funding goal and screamed and yelled on the streets of Capitol Hill!
Thank you to our amazing supporters and backers who make this dream reality!
Before we all get too comfy and while there are still 43 hours left, let’s talk about s t r e t c h goals.
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About a month before my Dad died, we were watching the sunset from my parents’ back deck. Golden skies melted over fields of spring wheat, their ten acres disappearing in rolling hills down to the darkening trees. With the last of the warm light on our faces, he said to me …
I found this again recently, and it sent a dagger of breathlessness through me. He was so right. He *is* so right. We don’t know the hour of our departure. If we did, wouldn’t that make every sunset worth soaking up? If you agree, maybe you’d like to share this.
Tell people what we’re doing here. We’re soaking up the beauty and glory for the dark times.
I didn’t go blonde, but I did eventually start writing this story, and I capped it with an ending I think he would be proud of.
A little beauty, a little magic, a little glory.
Grieving out loud.
I always used Twitter for fun chats and a quick way to share info, but suddenly it also became a way to capture a life changing experience in a few phrases.
My Grandma, on my Mom’s side.
I keep missing her.
I keep missing her as in, I’ll think of her, and then realize a piece of my life-puzzle is gone, a piece out of my Christmas can’t be found, error message 404.
We see our future like the definition of a line: it has a definite beginning point, and extends infinitely. Intellectually we know we’ll die one day, but it’s always way out there, both for ourselves and for others we know. It’s difficult to recategorize someone as from now on, only existing in your past.
No memorial is planned. So this is mine.