This past weekend, I attended a women’s retreat led by prior retreatants. The setting was nondescript; the content, however, was overwhelming. Each leader shared her journey from early memory to the present. Painfully honest, one by one the presenters spoke of life challenges, of mistakes made and suffered, of miracles experienced or awaited.  

      I knew nothing of the retreat before attending and went only because of a friend’s encouragement. As I sat uncomfortably on the cold metal chairs, listening to one speaker after another, I had a single recurring thought: this is real, very real. And, this realness opened my heart wide to the collective journey and the choices we each face.
 
      The day after the retreat, I co-hosted a BlogTalkRadio show called Aspire to Inspire with author John Howell. It is one of the many shows offered through the Rave Reviews Book Club. This particular monthly program focuses on an inspirational quote and considers various interpretations. John and I talked about the following Dr. Wayne Dyer statement:

      In a universe that's an intelligent system with a divine creative force supporting it, there simply can be no accidents. As tough as it is to acknowledge, you had to go through what you went through in order to get to where you are today, and the evidence is that you did.
 
      John began the discussion by sharing a personal, life-changing accident, and I spoke of my father’s loss of his arm. If you have a moment, I invite you to listen to this short exchange. Curiously, the quote had been selected weeks in advance of the retreat, and yet it addressed the same topic: our individual and collective journey, the choices before us, and the love that upholds all.

      With the turmoil of political noise surrounding us, it is the real responses to challenges, to accidents, that have the power to evoke awe. Don’t you agree?  And with awe, I am moved into hope and the possibility of peace. Do you find the same to be true?

We begin and end our day with horror stories from around the world. We cannot escape the apocalyptic messages of destruction on social media or newspapers. If you are like me, you  struggle to make sense of a world gone awry.

My desk is cluttered with notes, but against its back wall are photos of people who have lived well and in doing so, have made a difference in the lives of others. When I despair, these inspirational folks remind me of all that is possible, and all that is good in life. Recently, I added another to my hall of fame: Shu Harris.

A few years ago, Shamayim “Shu” Harris lost her two-year-old son to a hit and run driver in a blighted area of Detroit. As she mourned, a dream emerged – of what she could do for other children.

​Against all odds, she decided to transform her neighborhood into a self-sustaining community.
 
“We need to stop blaming and just get things done,” she said. “At some point people must get the power within themselves to do things for themselves and their families.”
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If you read about Shu's project, I think you'll find her vision contagious. As the story spreads, foundations and individual donors have stepped in to help her realize her dream. The unfolding results are nothing short of miraculous.
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One person and a dream…

I listen less and less to political pundits, to their promises and their blame. I'd rather follow the trails of hope that people like Shu are creating. If you google her, you'll find pages of links about her and what she is doing. Clearly, I'm not the only one inspired. As you explore, you may also notice an online paper HopefuHeadlines.org. ​It's become a regular read for me........

​My husband and I just celebrated our tenth anniversary. How we met always evokes conversation, for it was as though it was meant to be. This past weekend, we talked again of our first meeting...for another encounter took us back to then. 

My niece had posted an article on Facebook about a priest who had helped her in years past. She had found an old newsletter, which resurrected tenderness and thanksgiving. My husband and I read with interest, because this priest had married us, and we had tried unsuccessfully to find him. The article included a phone number; we called, and to our surprise, Fr. D answered.

We learned that he had left California shortly after our wedding, and had settled deep in the heart of the beautiful Ozark Mountains, in the tiny town of Center Ridge, Arkansas. We decided to visit the next day.

With a population of less than 400 people, it’s easy to miss Center Ridge as you drive down Hwy 9. Had we not had our GPS, we would have been one of the many who do just that. There are no billboards or common conveniences; in fact, the only facility is a non-descript little restaurant called the Bucket List Café, which is not obvious from the road. Most folks stumble upon it accidently, as did we.

Down a graveled road, around one turn and then another, is the small church at which Fr. D served. Nestled among tall trees, an American flag flies high along with an Italian flag. We soon learned that the church was founded by a group of Italian immigrants, who settled there more than a hundred years ago.

We arrived in time to join the community for Mass and were introduced fondly as friends from California. And then the announcement: Fr. D explained that he was leaving within days for his new assignment in the Northeast. His words seemed to silence time itself, for other than the tears that welled, no one moved, no one spoke.

After Mass, members of the parish told us of the tornado that took homes and trees, of family struggles and lost dreams, and as we listened to one and then another, we realized that we were accepted as part of the community – because of Fr. D.

Saying our goodbyes and driving back to Missouri carried sadness we had not expected, but as we crossed the Buffalo River, and traveled through breathtaking mountains vistas, our hearts were lifted. We had not expected to make this trip, but it was meant to be.
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Often I am reminded of Wayne Dyer's claim, “In a universe that's an intelligent system with a divine creative force supporting it, there simply can be no accidents.”​