I have brought my big city fear to the lakeshore.

The thought drifts through my mind as I sit on the dock, the moon a semi-orb of golden light above me, one half dark, one half light. Clouds scuttle in front of it, drifting effortlessly across the night sky as silently as the thoughts drifting through my mind.

I have brought my big city fear to the lakeshore.

I sit in the dark and feel the silence. I hear the water lapping against the wooden rungs of the dock. I hear the autumn breeze whispering through the trees.

I let fear drift away like a leaf undulating on the water’s surface, bobbing along in the water’s pull, moving further out of sight.

Fear is like that. It visits in moments of quiet. In the dark. It lives buried somewhere within me, waiting to rise up and disturb my peace of mind.

I visited with Brenda Missen yesterday. She’s the writer I mentioned meeting Friday night. I read her book over the weekend. Tell Anna I’m Safe is a ‘can’t put it down’ kind of read. A thriller but more than that, a deep psychic journey into the fears, and promises, that live at the heart of our being human.

We talked about fear yesterday. About living in the wilderness, alone, along a lake. Brenda feared bears and then, she took herself into the woods. Alone. With just her canoe and dog. She made friends with her fear. Bears are now her companions on the trail. Silent, mostly unseen sentinels along her journey.

Brenda doesn’t lock her doors. She doesn’t fear.

I admire her. Not fearing. I admire her willingness to simply explore. Her inner being. The world deep within her. To not fear the journey. To simply be open to discovery.

Sitting on the dock, alone, late at night, a few pinpricks of light far along the shore, far in the distance from other cottages where the occupants still rest by the lakeshore, I realize…I know too much fear. I want to let it go.

What is this fear I feel, I ask myself? Where does it arise from?

I come back to the house. Climb up through the dark woods without the aid of my flashlight. My eyes have adjusted to the dark. I am comfortable finding my way without the aid of artificial light. I let my senses guide me.

Your fear is man-made. It is of your history, the ever present voice within me whispers. Let it go.

The others have gone to bed. The house is quiet. I close the door behind me. I choose to not lock it.

C.C. is sleeping when I crawl beneath the covers. I close my eyes. My mind imagines the unlocked door. It is hammering at my senses. The door is unlocked.

I beathe.

Yes it is.

People don’t lock doors here. Far off the beaten path. Tucked within the forest. At the water’s edge. People don’t lock their doors.

And in the city, it is important to lock the door. It is a statement of not letting fear enter. Of stating unequivocally, my home is my sanctuary. Fear from out there has no place to enter.

Here. Where the wind whispers through the trees. Where forest meets lake and stars shimmer in the night sky and clouds fly by unimpeded, there is no separation of out there and in here. There is only nature. Our nature. Your nature. One world. One planet. One people. One nature.

I breathe into the quiet of the night. C.C. sleeps on. I close my eyes. I close my thoughts to fear and welcome in the night.

I let it go. I let my senses guide me to that place within where fear slips out beneath the unlocked door. Out into the night.

There is nothing to fear but fear itself, said Winston Churchill in the darkest nights of World War 2.

There is nothing to fear but my thinking, I remind myself in the night and let thoughts of my fear drift away.

I slept soundly.

Letting go of fear makes a difference.

I jumped into the lake yesterday. It was cold. Freezing actually.

Fall has wrapped its colourful arms around the lake, streaking the trees with golds and reds and auburn leaves not yet ready to fall. Every morning the colours appear a little more intense, a little more vibrant as the cool autumn nights remind the trees of their seasonal habit of embracing the world in brilliant hues.

And the water cools.

It’s about 16 degrees Celsius now. 61 Fahrenheit. And the air is no warmer.

But I had to jump in. It is a ‘commitment’ I made last year when we came — that every day, regardless of the weather, I would swim in the lake.

In my head it seems like a good idea. In actual fact, in the doing, I’m not so sure.

But a commitment is a commitment and so… I jumped in.

C.C. came down to the dock with me. He’d turned the steam room on so it would be hot when I got out, walked down the sloping trail through the trees to the water with me as I talked myself in and out of the water. 

“Do I really want to do this?” I asked him as I stood at the end of the dock, my towel robe still tightly wrapped around my body.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s your idea.”

I pondered. Felt the cool breeze against my cheeks. Dark clouds scuttled across the sky in the distance, edging their way closer to the sun.

“I’d better do it before the clouds block the sun,” I said.

“If you’re going to do it, do it soon. I’m getting cold,” he replied.

I pondered some more.

I’d had to buy a new bathing suit the day before. I’d forgotten mine at home. And, while this is a secluded bay, there are still houses scattered along the shore. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give them a display of me au naturel!

I stood and contemplated my commitment.

Seriously? I wanted to jump into the lake?

And then I thought about the exhilaration. The feeling of being totally, completely alive that first shocking dash of water ignited in my being. I thought about the laughter. The sputtering and gasping. The screams of exultation.

And I thought about how the day before I hadn’t jumped in, and how I felt disappointed. Saddened. Like I’d cheated myself of an experience I enjoy – no matter how much I mutter and murmur about it.

I like feeling totally, completely alive. And jumping into freezing water makes me feel totally, completely alive.

“I know it won’t kill me,” I said to C.C. “And when I get out, I know I’ll feel awesome.”

He laughed. “It’s up to you.”

I dropped my robe.

And leapt.

The water crashed into my body. My skin sang out from every pore it’s displeasure at this sudden immersion into cold.

I sank quickly to the bottom. Sputtering. Spurting, eyes wide-open, Ipushed off from the silky mud at the bottom of the lake. Pushed upwards.

My head broke the surface. I screamed in delight.

C.C. stood on the dock and laughed. “You gotta see your face!” he exclaimed.

I screamed back. “It’s cold!”

I flailed my arms about. Made a couple of half-hearted strokes as if to swim out into the bay.

It was cold.

Very cold.

I switched directions. Paddled desperately back towards the ladder at the end of the dock. Scrambled up the metal rungs.

C.C. stood waiting with a towel outstretched to envelop me.

It was good.

Very, very good.

Sometimes, the decision to jump isn’t about holding back, it’s all about letting go.  Like the words of a song I heard the other day on CBC by an Indie group named, “The Stars”. “Hold on when you get love. Let go when you give it.”

I had to let go of shore to get into the water.

I had to let go of disbelief to let love fill my heart.

Earlier that day I’d spoken to my eldest daughter about jumping in. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said. “Nobody’s telling you to jump.”

And that’s true. I don’t. And no one’s forcing me to leap.

And still, I wanted to. I wanted the feeling of letting go.

And so… I debated. I hemmed and hawed and then realized, it’s not about having to jump in. It is about wanting to. It’s about doing what brings me joy. What ignites my passion, my sense of aliveness. What gets my heart beats pumping wildly in the rapture of now.

Life’s like that. Sometimes, the biggest difference we can make is to simply jump into the flow. Leap from the shore and cast off our fears and trepidations. Let go our hesitations, our mind chatter, our doubts and simply jump.

I jumped into the river yesterday. It made a difference.

I’ll be jumping again today.

PS – this is a cellular internet access and very, very slow. Hence, why I’ve not posted any photos. I’m going to take my laptop into town later today to see if there’s a coffee shop with free wi-fi. I’ll keep you posted. 🙂

I am in sitting by the window looking out upon the boreal forest of the Canadian Shield turning red. Seriously — I don’t know if this is the boreal forest or not – but I sure do like that term. Such poetry in its words.

And uneventful, effortless flight. A drive in the darkness beneath a star strewn sky and C.C. and I are here, by the lake, settling in, communing with eachother, nature and the quietness of the world around us. No traffic noises. No street scape sounds. Nothing but the silence of forest and the sound of rain dripping from the corner of the eaves and off of tree branches.

There are heroes everywhere on the journey. From baggage handlers to counter clerks and flight attendants and pilots. From ground control and air traffic control and all those who make it possible for us to fly effortlessly through the air. From those who work on creating these marvels called jetliners, to those who ensure every nut and bolt is screwed in tightly to ensure safe travels, there are heroes everywhere on the journey.

Think about it. At noon we leave a city at the foot of the Rockies. Fly across prairies that reach out to the horizon, across lakes and forests to land five and a half hours later after a stop-over in Toronto at Canada’s capital city, Ottawa. A rental car organized — they didn’t have the mid-size we’d reserved so we opt for a Mustang instead of the only other option, a Suburban.  We drive through darkness and here we are sitting by a lake in the morning light filtering through trees turning green to red beside a gun-metal grey lake that ripples in silent waves beneath equally grey skies. And it is beautiful.

Think about it. For us to travel so far countless people played a role in our journey. Unseen hands that service and direct and ensure our travels unfold without mishap. And should a mishap happen, unseen hands that smooth out the ridges where travel and the uncertainty of the future meet.

There are heroes everywhere on the journey and today, I celebrate them.

And, I celebrate a writer named Brenda Missen. I met her last night at the pub where Charles and I stopped to grab a bite to eat on our way to the lake. The manager at the Wilno Pub kept the kitchen open late for us — he is a hero! Brenda was sitting at the bar visiting with the waitress. I over heard her mention, “my book is still touching people. I’m still getting requests from book clubs,” and, in the course of chatting with our waitress, a laughing comment to her friend at the bar, I discover her name, Brenda Missen.

“You wrote a book about a woman who went missing and was killed by her partner. She was your friend,” I exclaimed when I heard her name.

She looked suprised. How do you know me? she asked.

I heard you interviewed on CBC, I told her. It was the Monday of the September long weekend. I was driving back from Saskatoon and there you were, travelling with me as I crossed the prairies.

Wow she said. That interview must have been a repeat of an interview I did almost two years ago. It’s the only time I was interviewed on CBC.

And we chatted and were astounded by the linkages in our lives.

Brenda’s book, “Tell Anna She’s Safe” is told as a fictional account of a woman who goes missing and whose best friend searches for her. It’s Brenda’s story but not really. It’s really the story of a woman she knew, Louise, who fell in love with a man in prison and who disappeared one day in April 1995. She’s recounted it as fiction — but there is much truth in the story-telling.

And there she was, sitting at the bar on a Friday night when we happened to stop in on our way from Ottawa to the lakehouse where we’re staying for the next week.

I bought her book. “I happen to have some in my car,” she said.

We’re meeting up this week for coffee.

Brenda Missen in a hero. She wouldn’t let the disappearance of her friend go unnoted. She wouldn’t let her story die.

I am off today for ten days surrounded by the reds and golds and umber of autumn leaves falling in eastern Canada. C.C. and I are catching a noon plane to Ottawa and then travelling 2 hours west to Barry’s Bay where we will spend the week by the lake.

I am happy.

I am worried.

The timing is not the best. In fact, it probably couldn’t be much worse. A website launch for Calgary Counselling Centre set for October 1. Organizing for National Depression Screening Day — both the Day itself and a morning breakfast co-sponsored with the Calgary Chamber with the Mayor and various dignitaries in attendance and a panel of 3 speakers set to kick it all off– yup. really bad timing.

But… this is an annual trek for C.C. and me. A week with dear friends in their summer home along the lake. A week to kick-back and just be in the presence of friends — good times, food, conversation, wine. They’ve got a dinner with their neighbours planned for us, a day of traipsing through art studios during the community Art Walk. Boat rides. Reading. Relaxing. And, oh yes, keeping up with my emails and such.

It cannot be avoided. Taking my laptop so that I have access to my Counselling Centre desktop. It is important.

When faced with a choice, decision or opportunity always choose in favour of your passion — and my passion is to do my best. In this case, my work at the Counselling Centre takes precedence. I can’t ignore it — too much rides on ensuring the events go off without a hitch.

Choosing to feel stressed won’t help. Choosing to let anxiety override both my holiday plans and my decision to stay connected to the office won’t make me feel better — in fact, it will just make me feel worse.

And so,  I breathe into the moment and choose to take my laptop knowing I am committed to checking in every morning with the office and then be present to the world around me the rest of the day.

Sometimes, the choices we make need to be centered on creating harmony — in spite of the chaos and busy-ness. For me, that means accepting, it is important I fulfill on my commitment to the Centre and it is important I am present with C.C. and my friends.

which means, I choose how I turn up — with anxiety or with harmony.

I choose harmony.

So much better to create harmony in my life than discord.

So much better to be accepting of what is than to be consumed by what I’d wished it to be and isn’t.

I am off on a holiday this week. Being present. Being at rest is important. And, to be at rest I know I must be conscious of my commitments here. I have a great team pulling the final details together. And, I am responsible for supporting them as best I can to ensure they know — I am committed to their excellence too.

How I look at things always makes a difference.

Choosing harmony over discord is always my favourite path to making the difference in my life be one of grace and ease.

And… I’ll be checking in here, writing every day and sharing photos of the changing leaves and my awareness of the world around me — and the difference I see in every day. Tomorrow is Heroes in Our Midst and on Sunday, Jodi Lobozzo Aman from Heal Now and Forever Be In Peace will be the guest blogger — exciting times await! Hope you’re along to enjoy them too!

Namaste.

I awoke at 4 this morning. Wasn’t falling back to sleep so I got up and started working. Three hours later, I see how engrossed I’ve been!  I didn’t even realize so much time had passed.

Being engrossed in what I’m doing makes a difference.

I had dinner last night with my delightful and beautiful friend Kerry Parsons. As we chatted, Kerry asked me a question about when I am living from my authentic, or essential self, what is it that I do in the world? I create space for people to explore and uncover their own magnificence, I replied without hesitation.

I liked that answer. I liked that it felt so natural. And, I like the way it feels. What better thing is there for me to do in the world than to do that, I wondered? And I couldn’t think of a better response.

It’s an interesting question — What do you do in the world when you are living from your authentic or essential self. That place where you are filled with grace, ease and wonder. That place where you are aligned inside and out.  What do you do in the world?

Living the answer to that question is my life-long quest. To be ‘on purpose’, to be in my own magnificence means to awaken other’s belief in their own magnificence.

Several years ago, while teaching a course on self-esteem at the homeless shelter where I used to work, a man asked me, “How can I be a good man when all I see is what a bad person I’ve been?”

He was from the Sudan. Once a child soldier he had come to Canada for a better life and then found himself locked in the grips of homelessness, poverty, abuse. He was at the shelter to take a course that would provide him the tickets he needed to get a job on one of the oil rigs. And he didn’t like himself very much.

“Do you want to be that bad man or the good man who lives within your heart?” I asked.

“I want to be a good man,” he promptly replied. “But how can I forgive myself for the things I’ve done?”

“What’s in it for you not to forgive yourself?” I asked.

“I was a bad man,” he replied.

“What if I told you when I look at you I see a magnificent human being?”

He laughed and said, “I’d tell you that you need better glasses.”

I too laughed before replying. “My glasses are fine and regardless of what glasses I’m wearing, I see you as a magnificent human being. That’s my word — magnificent. You may have another. But I know that for me, I want us to connect through our magnificence, not our mediocrity.”

He nodded his head but his resistance was high.

I invited the class to close their eyes and imagine, just for a moment, that they were magnificent human beings. That they embodied the spirit and essence of magnificence. To sit up, breathe into, sink into, be, just for that moment in their imaginations, magnificent.

When he opened his eyes I asked him, ” Did you feel your magnificence.”

And he smiled a beautiful, radiant smile and said, “Yes.”

“Then it exists,” I told him. “Within you is the knowledge of what it means to feel and be your most magnificent self. Your job is to remember it and the best way to do that is to think about your magnificence and quit reminding yourself of your ‘badness’. To simply allow space for your magnificence to grow. It is within you. You lived it for that moment. Now, let those moments grow.”

It is within each of us. This place of magnificence, beauty, perfection, authenticity. Our essential nature. It is within each of us.

It’s just in the journey of life, we forget who we are born to be as we try to make sense of the world around us.

But it is always there. It cannot leave. It is our truth. It is us.

I thought about my response to Kerry last night and knew — that is what I want to do in the world. To always inspire people to recognize their magnificence and live it.

What about you?

What’s your true calling in the world?

How do you plan on making a difference, today, tomorrow, everyday? What gift are you willing to share with the world so everyone  can see your light shining. Are you willing to connect with everyone around you from your place of magnificence? Are you willing to let letting go of all that would hold you back from letting your true self be seen and known?

Try it… you might like it!  🙂

Namaste

I went to a play last night. It was a brave and courageous production. A moving story of human drama unfolding. Theatre Calgary’s production of Next To Normal, Music by Tom Kitt, Book & Lyrics by Brian Yorkey, is visually stunning and compelling. It is the story of a woman and her family’s journey through her bipolar disorder. Filled with moments of discord, frantic action, blissful excesses, dark depressions, Next To Normal was one of those events where saying, “I’m really enjoying it,” didn’t quite cut it.

It’s hard to enjoy mental disorders. It’s hard to say, “That was fun!” when what you are witnessing is very real, challenging and true for so many.

1 in 5 Canadians will suffer from a ‘mood disorder’ such as depression in their lifetime with 2% of all Canadians experiencing bipolar disorder.

It doesn’t seem fair. But then, a mental health disorder isn’t about fairness, because depression, bipolar, schizophrenia don’t discriminate. They don’t care about age or sex or size or faith or social status. A mental health disorder doesn’t care ‘who’ you are, it just cares that you are under its control.

There is no fair in a mental health disease.

I once dated a man who was bipolar. I was madly in love with him. I met him 3 years after the end of my marriage. He was the first man I loved after its end. We dated for 2 years and lived together for a year and a half. He was incredibly charming, witty, funny, energetic, smart.

When he was up.

When he was down. Watch out. In those moments that could last for weeks, I was evil incarnate. I was woman and I was bad, wrong, not fit for man. I tried to make it work. I tried to be compassionate. Caring. Kind. And then, I tried to be invisible. Quiet. Unseen.

It took a toll on me, and my daughters who also adored this man who in his ‘upness’ made them laugh incessantly. In those moments, he was the father figure they had never had, the one who heard them, saw them, recognized them as miraculous beings and helped them believe they were capable of anything.

And then, the dark moods would hit. He would hide in our bedroom for days on end, sitting beside the fireplace, reading, sleeping, never getting out of his pajamas. He was fastidious but in those moments of darkness, he couldn’t care less if he shaved, showered or changed his clothes. He couldn’t care less.

At the time, he didn’t have a diagnosis. That came later. After the tears and the pleading for me to stay, after the fights and the anger and telling me to go. After his diagnosis he went on medication. His moods evened out, but I was already gone.

I wonder sometimes if I hadn’t spent that time with him, would I have been so susceptible to the abuser. Would I have been so invested in someone else telling me how amazing and wonderful I was? I met the abuser just a few months after the ending of that relationship. And, while I told myself I was emotionally stable, I don’t actually believe I was. There had been too many moments of his words piercing my skin, inflicting pain deep into my heart for my emotional and mental well-being not to have been adversely affected.

There is a difference though, between the words of that man I once loved and the abuser. The man I once loved had a mental health disorder that drove him into despair. He didn’t want to nor mean to hurt others. He just couldn’t see or feel or know what he was doing when the disease was in control.

The abuser… well, let’s just say he wanted what he wanted because that’s what he wanted and what he wanted was all that counted. Let’s just say, it wasn’t that he enjoyed hurting others, it’s just, he didn’t have the capacity to do anything else because lying, deceiving, manipulating was who he was, always. And there were no drugs, or even therapy, that could keep him from being who he was.

Both these men made a difference in my life. Through them I learned, after the fall, how to stand up and be true to me, no matter what is happening in the world around me. I learned to hold onto myself, regardless of how fiercely the winds blow. I became my ‘I’ in the eye of the hurricane. I became my own control at the centre of my mental health.

I went to a play last night. I was moved. To laughter. Tears. To thoughts of my own mental health. To recognition of my own well-being and good-fortune.

I am one of the 1 in 5.  I was once severely depressed, suicidal. Today I’m not. I got help.

We’ve got to check up on our mental health.

You you can check up on yours on October 4 through National Depression Screening Day — an online test for depression. It’s anonymous. free. Easy. Just go to http://www.calgarycounselling.com and follow the links. No one has to know.

Yet, isn’t that part of the problem? The fact we don’t talk about our mental health?

Maybe if we did, we’d make a bigger difference in the lives of the 1 in 5 Canadians for whom mental health is not a bed of roses.

Look way up!

I am walking to a meeting downtown when I spy the nest. Tucked up in the higher branches of a tree that pokes its head up from a circle of earth in the concrete of the sidewalk, the nest is empty. The mama bird has flown the coop and so have her chicks.

I think about hope. Faith. About holding onto a dream and a belief that if you do the right things, take the right steps, build your nest in a tree above the earth to keep your chicks away from predators, all will be well.

And I think about life.

About the fierce instinct to survive that comes into play the moment the umbilical cord is severed and we must breathe on our own. How our lungs fill up with that first gasp of freedom and we cry out. In fear. Shock. Relief. Joy.

And I think about growing up.

About our desire to fit in. To fill in the gaps behind that first breath. Our need to find our place, where ever it may be and stay the course. Take the journey. Be on the path of life, no matter how dark, narrow or deep it may be.

For the almost six years I worked at a homeless shelter, I told the crowded room where I was speaking on behalf of the United Way of Calgary and Area yesterday, I never met anyone who said, “When I grew up I had a dream. I just knew. I wanted to be homeless, or an addict or an abuser and every step of my life, from birth to now was taken with that goal in mind.”

Homelessness. Addictions. Abuse. Violence. All those things that tear our homes and hearts apart are not a dream. They are our worst nightmare come to life. We don’t take steps to end up in homelessness, or to become an addict or to abuse our children. We take steps to hide our pain, confusion, anger. We take steps to keep going away from what we don’t want to feel or see or know. We take steps to keep moving forward and as our options narrow, as we find ourselves without resources or mired in an addiction we never meant to hold onto, we find ourselves lost.

Which is why, I told the group of people gathered together to kick-off their corporate United Way Campaign, we must create a net to catch people. We must work together to ensure that when people fall, and fall they will, there is someone, something there to catch them, to hold them up, to give them hope. To lift them off the street.

I saw a nest on a busy downtown street yesterday and I wondered about the mother who built it. I wondered if she knew the dangers of the city. I wondered if she realized that the fall from the branches wasn’t far, but it could be deadly.

And I wondered if anyone was there to catch her babies when they left the nest in the hopes of flying free.

As you go about your day today, look around you. Check out the potholes, the crumbled bits of sidewalk, the obstacles that could trip up unwary travellers. Look into the eyes of the panhandler, the woman pushing her cart laden with belongings. Look deep into their eyes and ask yourself, “Are you just like me? Did you once dream of flying free?”

No one dreams of homelessness or addictions. No one dreams of sleeping under a bridge or in a cardboard box. No one wants to walk away from their home, their belongings, their life because it’s a fun and exciting. They do it because they have no other option. They do it because they believe leaving the past behind is the only direction they can go to find themselves somewhere else.

And when that somewhere else is the street, hope dies, dreams crumble and they are lost to the numbing truth that all their best efforts lead them here.

We cannot change the path someone took to get to the street. We can change what we do to support the work of those committed to helping people lost to the street find their way home.

If you’ve never shared a dime to help someone on the streets, try it. It might set you free to making a difference in ways you never before imagined.

This year’s United Way Campaign is in full swing. Let’s give what we can. Let’s do what we will and let’s make a difference because… we can. Make a difference. Together.

Give. Act. Volunteer.

Yesterday, I was coaching in the Givers 2 room, a place I can be found every weekend the Choices program is held in Calgary. I love being part of the Givers 2 team. I love the connection, the friendship, the sense of being on purpose working together with others to create a space where miracles unfold — and that is the most important aspect of what we do. To be present, to hold the space and allow — nature, Love, hearts, the opportunity to breathe deeply into the wonder and awe that is at the core of our shared human condition.

On Sunday’s, the day always begins with a spiritual ‘stretch’. A one hour opportunity for everyone to explore what it means to be spiritual beings, what it means to be connected to a power greater than ourselves, or however that is known through our own individual experience.

The speaker yesterday was a man for whom life had dealt a harsh blow. Eight years ago, his beautiful son Cameron died on an operating table at the age of 12. Afterwards, when I asked Todd, who was the speaker, if  I could share some of his story, he graciously told me I could. His story was powerful and moving. It spoke deeply of his faith, and in hearing it, I was moved by the grace of God, and the power of the Universe. I was awed.

There is a process in Choices that takes people on a journey along a trail to encounter the people in their lives who have had an impact. For most of us, this is our mothers and fathers. In his journey, Todd also encountered his son, Cameron. Todd entered that path carrying with him the anger he felt towards this God who had taken his son.  He harboured feelings of ill-will for this Being who could do something so cruel and incomprehensible. He was mad. And then, Todd met up with Cameron by a waterfall. He was smiling. Loving. Joyful. And with him, around him, all through him God’s love shimmered. And it was then that Todd saw the truth. While he had been angry with God, God was not angry with him. God embraced him in arms of Love. He comforted him and held him close, just as he always does, said Todd. No matter how far we stray from God, God is always there.

And then, Todd read the letter he had written to God the night after his encounter by the waterfall. He read it out loud to the 200+ people gathered in the room yesterday morning and we were moved to tears. Compassion. Love. Sorrow. Joy. They flowed through the room, into, around and out of hearts opening to the realization that as Todd shared, we were all connected through the wonder of our human spirits’ journey — We are not human beings on a spiritual journey, said Todd. We are spiritual beings on a human journey.

“Our life here now is but a breath,” said Todd. And in his words, I breathed into the grace that tingled in the air all around. I breathed into the knowing that I and you and we are all of the same spirit, the same essence — beautiful, magnificent, delightful, divine. No matter our faith, colour, history. We are all the same.

Yesterday, I saw into the heart of ‘the one who breathed stars into existence’ as Todd described it, and felt my soul sing, my heart break-open and my mind come to rest in the grace of being part of this human race.

Yes. Incomprehensible things happen in this world. We fight. We kill. We squabble. We hurt ourselves and each other. We do not share our wealth so that all the world can eat or drink clean water. We do not open our minds through eyes of love to see our differences as the beautiful essence of what connects us all. We do not celebrate our divine essence and instead run away from the truth of being connected through our being human.

We forget. The miracle of our birth. The essential beauty of our divine essence. The essential magnificence of our being human.

We forget.

It is time to remember.

In the telling of one man’s story I remembered yesterday. And that is enough to make a difference today in how I approach my day. Stepping out from the darkness of believing, I do not make a difference, I celebrate all the difference we make when we breathe into the truth of our magnificence and soar.

Everything Tandy Balson does embodies the meaning of making a difference. From being a caring wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, to being a Big Sister, sharing her light through motivational talks to various audiences around the province and coaching at Choices, Tandy makes a difference. I met Tandy through Choices. In the rarefied air of the training room where miracles unfold with every breath, Tandy and I have stood side-by-side sharin what every coach is asked to bring into the room, Love.

Tandy is a loving woman. As today’s guest blogger she shares how important what we do is, no matter how big or small. You can catch Tandy shining brightly most days of the week at her blog, Time With Tandy. Do drop over to say hello. You’ll be warmly welcomed and will come away refreshed!

Sometimes You Just Need to Show Up

Guest Blog by Tandy Balson

Making a difference is something that many of us aspire to.  In fact, several years ago, when asked what title I would choose for a book based on my life, I answered “She Made a Difference.”

We think that we must do something big, something noteworthy, to make a difference.  In actual fact, sometimes all we need to do is be present.  This is something I have learned firsthand over the years.  The last few years I have been a mentor with Big Brothers Big Sisters.  This is not their regular program, but instead is spending one hour a week, during the school day with a student.  We don’t do school work, we just spend time together.  It seems like such a simple thing.  Other than getting her out of class for an hour, am I really doing something that impacts her life?

Usually we play games like Yahtzee or dominos.  Occasionally we bake something.  There is limited sharing but the relationship has become more familiar and now includes some laughter and teasing.  She doesn’t give me a lot of details of her life and I don’t probe.  Questions tend to shut her down.  We’d been together for a year and a half and it still didn’t feel to me like we had a great connection.  My schedule was changing and it wasn’t always possible to meet every week. Maybe it was better for her to have a new mentor, one that could not only be there every week, but could connect with her on a deeper level.  I told the mentoring co-ordinator and the school counselor of my decision.  When I told my mentee, the response was totally unexpected.  She fought for me!  She told the powers that be, that she would rather see me every other week than someone else every week.  A bond had been built that was stronger than I had realized.   The rules were bent to allow this match to continue.

A meeting with the co-ordinator recently let me know that my showing up, giving her my time, had indeed impacted this girl’s life.  I sat with tears running down my cheeks as I was told of ways that I had made a difference in her life not only for today, but to be carried into the future.  It seemed like such a little thing, spending an hour together.  Other than her birthday and Christmas, I brought no gifts.  That’s where my thinking was wrong.  The gift I brought was the gift of myself, of caring enough to be there and spend time with her.  The gift that she has given me is showing me that it doesn’t take grand gestures or huge sacrifices to make a difference.  Sometime all you need to do is just show up.

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Thank you Tandy!

Tandy’s Blog:  www.timewithtandy.com

It was a week filled with encounters with people of the hero kind. People doing their ordinary tasks in extraordinary ways.

And it was a week where a great man died. Former Premier of Alberta, Peter Lougheed, passed away on Thursday, September 13. He was 84. Mr. Lougheed was responsible for my once being a card carrying conservation, working to support a Progressive Conservative in his bid to win a seat a seat in the provincial legislature. He was responsible for my pride in this province. My belief in the power of each of us to have a voice. He was a statesman. A man of integrity. A man of vision. And he is gone. His heart quit beating its fierce tattoo, but his legacy continues.

Peter Lougheed was a hero and his light shines on.

Yesterday, I sat on a United Way panel to talk about Youth and the work the United Way of Calgary and Area does to support the agencies working with youth and the work they are doing to ensure youth have the opportunity to grow up to be all they can be.  From Heather Innes, the UW moderator and Kiran Kadavil, the UW team member responsible for Community investment work with youth and Andrew Tse of the Calgary Boys  & Grils Club, I was in brilliant company.

Heather Innes, Kiran Kadavil, Andrew Tse and people who put into action UW campaigns with such enthusiasm and commitment — you are all heroes.

Running a campaign is no small task. Organizing speakers is one part of the undertaking that can be daunting. Adyam Sendek is charged with just such a task, and she is undertaking it with grace, learning the ropes as she goes and shining a light on the chaos that happens every fall when the UW campaign kicks-off.

Adyam Sendek is a hero.

I love music and, when I get to be in the presence of performers who shimmer in the brilliance of their musical expression, I bask in the reflection of their light and know it is true. We are all connected. Last night at their concert in the Jack Singer Hall, Deva Premal/Miten connected us all through their music and song. They connected us through their warm, engaging smiles, their encouragement to sing out loud, to stand up and be one. And, they connected us through the mantras they sang with such grace and ease I floated into bliss without ever leaving my seat.

Deva Premal/Miten and their flutist, Manose are heroes.

And… to give you a taste of the brilliance of their performance…