A lot of paper was ripped in the past four days. And with every tear, I pray that something in the world was stitched up.
I flew to Denver last Thursday. It was the fourth trip I’ve been on in a month. This spring has encompassed another country, another county, another state, and all different kinds of amazing events and people at every stop.
The three events scheduled for this past visit flew by, but not without moments to pause, to meditate, to share, to laugh, to rip, to cry, and to heal. I met over 30 women this past week (and even more up north in Modesto) who are longing to find depth, connection, and growth in their communities and with themselves.
(centerpieces for the event at Big Valley Grace Church in Modesto)
A trend is emerging at these workshops of women being reintroduced to the right side of their brain: the creative, intuitive, fluid and often ignored or undervalued side. Through ripping up magazines, finger painting and throwing “normal” structure out the window, we began to breathe a little easier, deeper, and truer together — all at different rhythms, but side by side nonetheless.
It wasn’t without rules though.
“Rules?” You might ask, “I thought perfectionists were trying to recover from those?”
These were different:
- No comparing
- No advice giving
- You don’t have to share
- No apologizing for yourself
Imagine a room full of women with permission to be who they are in that moment. Not having to worry about what the woman next to you thinks of you. Not using your energy to give advice, but just be with each other. Not having to apologize for crying or not doing your hair or talking for longer than 30 seconds.
(St. Francis Retreat Center in Colorado Springs)
Walls started to crumble. In a brief few hours, we were able to see women wrestling with transitions of all kinds come into a safe place. Emotions bubbled to the surface that had been numb and one woman found her passion to dance.
Each person was nothing short of a miraculous presence on their own individual journeys of healing.
(miracles in denver)
I find myself back at the homestead today; jumping back into feeding chickens, ripping out fava bean plants, checking the soil, and making homemade soup from the leeks that are finally ready. It took them eight months to lift their green stalky arms to the sky and stomp their white feet deep into the earth — growing two ways at once.
(a few of said leeks)
And as I pulled them from the ground, I was ever so grateful for the time a growth process takes. Whether it’s growing a plant, writing a book, grieving a loss, anticipating a change, or finding yourself deeply loved, the processes of life all take time and I’m so glad I got to spend this time with these women the past month.
Thank you for your hearts.
Thank you for offering a hand.