The whispers of wind and my children’s voices, beckoning me to come closer and inhale. My heart and soul fill with beauty and laughter; with the sacred chance to be there. Right there. With all of creation whispering and screaming life in that very moment. I breathe in God and color and light, and the shouts of joy right then. What a sacred gift.
Sacred is climbing 2000 vertical feet of stairs with a friend, pausing to notice. The sacred gift of seeing what’s behind us, what lies ahead, paying attention to what our bodies are telling us and laughing. Sacred is the simple being of companionship. The text messages between friends and family, checking in on each other’s lives, the love and support that cover a thousand miles. These are sacred treasures.
Sacred is the mending of damaged hearts after my fit of throwing corn against the stove. I saw the fear and uncertainty in their eyes and hearts; yet the honoring of the raw and messy emotion we all felt throws the need to wonder if we are safe to be who we need to be in our home right down in to the dirt. We are dirty and messy and real here, and to me it’s a sacred space I wouldn’t trade… for anything.
The coffee in a cup, warming my hands as I sit in silence on the deck or sharing time with a friend. Kisses and hugs from my not so littles anymore, treasured gifts, howling laughter, deep and difficult conversations, the secret longings in my heart for romance and love, the taste of wine on my tongue, raging moments, butterflies in my stomach, the hummingbird’s zip and tears slipping down a cheek. These are all sacred in the moments that hold them, and are worth my full attention and recognition. They remind me I’m living fully alive in this beautiful and sacred life.