It’s time for this blog to DIE.

Frankly, I’ve lost all interest in self-improvement.  Ha.  Well, someone’s in a spunky mood.

Naw, I just like being dramatic.  It’s not exactly like that.  Let me explain…

In order for me to move on, I need to stop revisiting the same blog place.

I like to look at it as…I fixed my house up all nice to move, and now it’s been sold.  No point in trying to hide in the new owner’s basement (awkward).


Speaking of me personally, I’m still very much alive.  In fact, I could say that I’m more alive than I have ever been.

I haven’t changed my need to express myself creatively and I need to write, so I’ve transferred my affections to another blog.  See?  I told you I’m moving…

Forwarding Address.

So please feel welcome to come on over to my new blog…there’s an update there you won’t want to miss if you’re a follower of this blog.  After you’ve had a tour of the new house, you can decide from there if you want to hang out or if you are done with me because I’ve left the Marriage/Affair topic.  I’m okay either way, and wish you all the best.

Please find me at Pursued4Purpose

R.I.P.     persuaded2go

“VULNERABILITY is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.”
[Brene Brown]

Yeah, I know. I already used that quote in my last post on VULNERABILITY. So then…I guess it’s not a coincidence that after vocalizing my vulnerability, I caught a gust of wind holding seeds of Creativity.

Painting, more specifically. Surprise. I have a concept I’m working on that is both challenging & exciting. Bonus: The table is cluttered with the objects of my passion which keeps my perfectionism at bay. Possibilities are endless. Yellow flowers are blooming. The matcha is brewing.

And then there were the things I left behind in order to make more room for the latest and greatest expressions of life: Words.

Sigh. Dangling on their little nooses, they beg me to keep them involved. To not forget them. And I comply. Today it materialized in the form of Narration.

So I wondered: Do you sometimes narrate what’s going on in your head? I find it makes the mundane things a little more stimulating.

“Today I realized that I do that,” she said with furrowed lips in a voice of calmed wonderment.


This morning my 8-year old son and I happened to be brushing our teeth. In the same bathroom. At the same time. Then he decided that NOW would be a good time to have a conversation. Cool. Let’s do it.

“Sheke kumff jelwk jelkrjfemmmm,” He said.

“Meerrrrp fffhhhlllllpppy,” I replied.

Translation (because I learned the beautiful language of Mintymouth this morning): “I love you Mom. You’re awesome!” He said.

“Thanks buddy.”

Words. Sigh.

Words water my flowers.


I’ve been inspired in so many other areas lately that I haven’t had a chance to WRITE words. Perhaps that’s why they just finally TOOK OVER in narrative this morning. They missed me. Aww.

I like to make sure that every painting has words on it. It’s a display of my mixed-medium mind.

And…like I need another project, I’m starting a new blog. Not because this one is boring or anything. I just…I just…I just need a different topic.

And I’m sort of hoping that “If I start it, the words will come.”


It’s time.

I need to stop fishing in the valley and start climbing the mountain again. I’ve realized that I don’t need the perfect hiking boots, perfect weather, perfect water container… in order to start. I just need to start. Bare feet. Sure. Why not?

details on my new Blog

Here it is: Pursued4Purpose

I had to do it. I didn’t plan it. My fingers did it without listening to my head, and it. just. happened. I didn’t need another blog to maintain. I didn’t need more attention. I guess I just needed to follow. my. heart.

And that means it’s messy. I don’t even have a first post or a Welcome mat for you over there. Yet. I will soon. I just gotta go water some flowers and get my hands full of dirt paint and…SOON. Words will come. They always do.

Theme. It’s going to be about my pursuit of purpose. Because my heart can hear that God is calling. I am compelled to listen. Drink. And climb.

I don’t know what it all looks like yet, but I’m tired of spinning my wheels. It’s time to change ME. Or MOVE even when I don’t see the changes. Go messy. Just go.

The contrast. Persuaded2Go (this blog) is very much about cleaning up my mess. Sorry if that’s a surprise to some of you. I certainly tried. And now, I’ve realized that there is a level of perfection that I wasn’t actually meant to live in. I was just meant to gather inspiration from it. I want to learn how to THRIVE in my imperfections. Grow in the mess.

I can hear Him calling me. His voice is quiet. Steady. Tender and sweet. Patient. Ever pursuing. He is the reason I am here. I was created for Him. To live and move and have my being within this great place that surrounds me. I cannot deny that any longer. I wasn’t purposely denying it. I just wasn’t focused on it.

So this is me now. Making my face like a flint. Putting my eye flaps on. And blowing the fluff. He won’t let my foot slip. And even if it does slip, I will fall into His arms.

So please come on over and follow Pursued4Purpose if you like. Don’t if it’s not your thing. I get it.

Like the seeds on a dandelion head, consider this GUST OF WIND like the scattering of words that will land where they may.

Be blessed in all you do.


Image Credit: Word Hug
Image Credit: Water
Image Credit: Words
Image Credit: Dandelion

When I was old enough to start dating, my dad stopped me in passing once to say:

“Guard your heart, honey.”

Great advice, dad.  Thank you.  

Unfortunately, his words spontaneously combusted 30 seconds later.  The ashes are still simmering.  No kidding.  I even made s’mores once.  I felt his conviction when he said it, I just never understood what he really meant.  How could I, really?

“Guard your heart above ALL else for it determines the course of your Life.”

[Proverbs 4:23]



beautiful when Broken

There’s something I want to tell my Dad:  I don’t think it worked.  I am broken.  But I’m okay with that.  Are you okay with that?

Do you think you will only be happy when you are NO longer BROKEN?  I disagree.  I think you’re beautiful just the way you are.  It doesn’t mean that you don’t strive to be WHOLE, but it’s the journey that takes you there, making it less about the proverbial  “arrival.”

Here is my list of reasons WHY:

> brokenness keeps you humble
> it gives you the ability to have empathy for others
> it makes life feel more REAL (what I call the “pinch me” factor)

Now, just because I’m broken, that doesn’t mean I’m moping around assembling stale-colored pictures with my crumbles.  I am getting in touch with my humanity and brave enough to look at it.  Where do I get my courage from?  What are my options, really?  Unless I am content to move backwards, this is my only choice.  And…although “backwards” may hide under the premise of PEACE, it is some phony ass peace.  No thanks.


vulnerability engages Risk

I’ve spent time staring at Vulnerability.  Just me and the big V.  In the mirror.  Eye to eye.  Sometimes we bite.  Sometimes we fiddle silently.  Poke.  Ouch.

Yesterday my poetry blog was suddenly accused of Ghastly Rule Breaking and it was immediately and irrevocably removed by WordPress.  Poof.  No access.  Nothing.  Guilty until proven innocent, I guess. They accused me of using it for things that I wasn’t using it for.  How did it happen?  Well, I copied the wrong photo, and it must have had the Devil himself attached to it.  So now everything is gone. Vulnerability doesn’t feel good, my friends.  But I have no regrets.  I needed to pour out my most creative and intimate words there, whether they were ever read or not.  Whether the words are ever restored or not.

I used to be convinced that Vulnerability was evil, but I couldn’t help myself.  It doesn’t matter what I lose.  And now I’m just sounding reckless.  Or am I?

Your vulnerability makes you beautiful because it is your most authentic you.  No strings attached.  Are you willing to go there?  I’m not telling you to throw everything away, I’m just telling you that if you put yourself out there, you will always see beauty in the mirror.  Don’t stop fighting for your Vulnerability.  It is not a shameful thing.  Approach it with caution and be proud of who you are.

Yes, it’s uncomfortable.  I don’t want to have needs, most certainly not needs that are not fulfilled.  I ponder my options.  Today, I look into my mirror, and this is what I see…


Does happiness exist without Vulnerability?

sharing heART

When I wrote my last post, I was looking for answers.  As an artist, I am drawn towards those who deeply share the artistic experience of expression.  I didn’t understand how I could be “connected” in my marriage without having my Vulnerability cuddled (insert thumb-sucking sounds).  After I cringed and clicked submit, I received so much thoughtful insight that I have been sitting on it for almost two weeks.  It has helped me to confirm that I have to do ART for me AND…I have to find the courage to risk sharing my Art, no matter what the cost.  This may create vulnerability but it also creates growth.

Here are some of the deep comments I received and my response to them:


[Your husband] may not say [what you need to hear] with accompanying passion, but his heart is in the saying of it. Unfortunately, he is not speaking your love language, but his. Worse, he may not even be familiar or comfortable with the vocabulary of your love language.

Yes.  This is so true.  I have tried, but I cannot change him.

I can only change me.  In the past, I thought if I used his love language, he would reciprocate in my language.  Although this made him happy and content, the effort has not magically been reciprocated in my language.  Now it is my job to communicate this.  And I don’t want to right now.  (More thumb sucking).


[Your husband] may simply be one of those people who cannot speak deeply extemporaneously.

I am that way. If it is a topic I have spoken on before or thought a lot about, I can usually speak then and there with some confidence. If not, I will withhold until I have had time to form a response I feel is cogent. That doesn’t always work well for the small child in the someone who is anxiously awaiting to hear recognition. Worse, you may neglect to respond or do so in an untimely fashion, as in “I’ve always been proud of you and what you do.” A present tense need finds disappointing solace in past tense recognition. A starving child appreciates finally being fed, but the gnawing pain of past chronic hunger and malnutrition leaves its mark.

[You said] “if I move without his *adoration* then I become vulnerable to the praises of others. Others who get it. Who take time to understand and feel. Who know what I cannot say. Who read between the lines. Who soak in the words.”

I agree with your assessment here.  My husband may be formulating thoughts, but they die deeply within the depths of his mind.  He doesn’t just withhold until later, he withholds indefinitely.  It makes it difficult to go first.

He does tell me he loves me everyday, which is nice.  But for some reason, that has never been good enough.


First, you are doing your art for you. It is a “release.” It is understandable that you would want him to acknowledge your gift and even praise you for it. But, in the end, you must and will do it for you.

Yes, I can and will do my Art for me. I need the release. The art-child has been born. But even still, it is not fed until it is shared.

Doing art for me is not enough.  I lived “for me” before and look how far it got me.  I can’t just sit on my Thesaurus and lay eggs.  Vulnerability is one thing.  Stupidity is another.  Now that I understand WHY I was vulnerable to the affair, I am now responsible for CHANGE so that I can “guard my heart” from a repeat in thumb sucking stupidity.


It is possible that recognition is part of your love language…When others speak your language to you, could it be you feel loved, not just praised. Because you need that praise from your husband about your art to feel loved, when you do receive it from others, you read it not only as praise and encouragement, but the love that is missing in his recognition.

I am not saying he doesn’t love you. What I am saying is his love for you is inadequately expressed to you.

Yes. My-eyes-are-welling-up, yes.


Perhaps you are projecting onto others what you desire from [your husband].

Yes. Yes, of course I am.

Suddenly now it’s not even about my art. The best thing anyone could say to me is, “I’m going to think about that.”  My husband’s brain is too full to hold the complicated mess that is ME.

The fact is that sharing my craft magnifies holes in my heart that gape from unintentional neglect.  Holes that, until now, I have grown accustomed to throwing carpet overtop of.   Nobody wants “demanded attention.”  As an introvert, I would NEVER want to stand out because I “said” something amazing.  I want to stand out because I did something amazing.  Or perhaps just because I am amazing.  If I’m going to be noticed, I prefer to be cherished, understood, seen, appreciated and valued.  I want to be confident that I am able to influence someone else’s life with my own.  

Impossible?  I want to have that with my husband.


You want and need that missing part. When someone offers that part to you in the form of praise and recognition for your creative work, you feel loved and that feeling creates turbulence and confusion in your soul.

Yes. That’s exactly it.


People may love your work as it stands on its own, but they do not know you well enough to say they love you. It is understandable that you would bask in the warmth of the love shown for your work. But, you have to be careful about misappropriating that love directly to you as much as you may want and need it to fill the missing puzzle piece in your husband’s expression of love to you.



It is even more enticing and intoxicating when those displaced love feelings create an actual physical rush and that heart flutter we associate with “love.”  Those physical manifestations further reinforce the feeling we are “loved” by the complimentor, especially if we are feeling “unloved” by the one that matters to us. Do you feel “loved” by the complimentor when equivalent praise and comments come from a female, or simply understood and appreciated by them in a way your husband doesn’t?  There you have it.  If you feel loved by the women, it is all about your work. If you feel especially loved by the men who compliment, it is about what is missing with your husband. The love should feel equal, no matter the source. What you should feel is appreciated and understood by others who are not your husband, not “loved” by people who are unqualified to love you.

Holy crap.  You’re right. It doesn’t mean the same when it is from a woman (sorry women, you know I love your comments.  Excuse me while I insert my thumb bear my soul here.)

Now my cheeks are wet. I am so ashamed. I needed to hear this.  To know and understand the difference. It is so pivotal in the direction I need to go.


When they appreciate your creativity, it is an intimate appreciation by its very nature. They look upon your offering and read into it what they see, whether image or word. When they “get it” right, you feel recognized and acknowledged. When they see or read even more into the creative work than you thought you put out there (Who know what I cannot say. Who read between the lines.) you feel not only understood and “seen”, but deeply so.

That kind of intimacy is what you desire with your husband about your work. Even if he meets that intimacy need in all other areas, if he does not meet it in the creative realm, your relationship feels lacking. Because creativity and ART is so integral to your being;

“Yet, I. am. Art.
I am uninhibited, inspired creativity when at my best.”

You need that recognition from him. When it is supplied by others, the intimacy shared with them encroaches on your intimacy with him.

Yes.  It’s true.  But how can I have what he cannot give?  It seems so demanding to require this of him when he has already given me so much.

As bang on appropriate as these words are…he has never and will never (?) meet this need. To expect him to is to want him to be entirely a different person. And I didn’t marry him because he was the same as me, I married him because he was completely different.


Therein lays the vulnerability felt. Keep foremost in your mind that you are receiving intimate recognition from those you feel “get” it, and understand the art (read YOU). It is love for your work though not necessarily “love” for you. They may care about you, even deeply so, but it is not the same as the love you share with your husband. In the intimacy shared with them lies the danger. Keep the intimacy in perspective and you should be fine.

I need encouragement to live, but encouragement is not love.  Ding ding ding dammit.


In the meantime, write, not speak, to your husband about how your art fills a special place in your world and makes you a more complete person in your relationship with him. Write praise poems about him, the two of you, and your relationship; not letters, but POEMS. Do not make them too cryptic or esoteric initially. Like most of us, if he likes being, recognized, seen, understood, felt, got, ADORED, PRAISED (get the not-so-subtle point) he will enjoy reading the poems. The more he enjoys poems about himself, the more he may be able to appreciate your poems about other things. Try not to place him in an uncomfortable position by asking the open-ended “Well, what did you think?” A simple request like “Did you like it?” may be easier for him to deal with initially. Be prepared though for the unsatisfying “Yeah.” You could then follow-up with “The part I enjoyed writing the most was….” He may open up with a response about 

that…..or not. It’s a process.

Good advice.  I can take ownership of this.  It’s helpful to feel like I can maybe do something about it.  

“Vulnerability is not weakness.  And that myth is profoundly dangerous.
Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.”

[Brene Brown]

UPDATE:  My poetry blog has been restored!  Yay!


Image Credit for the Armored Heart.
Image Credit for walking on water.
Image Credit for the Flowered Mouth.
Image Credit for the Fragile Heart.

the power of ART

Image Credit

Art is something that captivates me on a level that I find difficult to articulate.  Still, I DO try in poetry…yet satisfaction continually fails to meet my perfection halfway.  I am left with only release.

I bring it up, because my husband’s heart would not skip a beat if art weren’t in the world.


Yet, I. am. Art.

I am uninhibited, inspired creativity when at my best.

Hubby?  Well, he is brilliant in other ways.  He can think *creatively* for business solutions or find ingenious ways to make money.  Oh, he has the ability to give *objective opinions* on art, but-but-but it doesn’t touch him, connect to him, or agitate him AT ALL.  Of course, it doesn’t help that I judge this lack of outward adoration as inferior to my exuberant joy!  Without trying to sound melodramatic (yeah right), it’s like he is a caterpillar who only eats leaves.  Booooooo-ring.


Most of my life I have spent heavily floating just outside ART’s concepts.  Art was an expression I yielded to that would, at times, consume me.  I wrote and directed plays.  When I couldn’t find the right actress, I would star myself.  I wrote songs, which painfully obligated me to teach myself to play piano.  Then I sang them.  Alone.  In front of the kids.  In front of masses.  Singing, singing, singing.  Then there was the painting.  And listening to God’s voice was never far off from this inspiration.  Photography, writing, music, dance.  Sigh.  SO much to do, so little time.

Still even now, my artistic talent is/was mostly ignored by my husband.  Not deliberately.  I mean, he doesn’t consciously think, “That’s uninteresting.  I should ignore her.”  It is more like, “Oh.”  For example, I just finished a painting I started over a year ago and his comment was, “When was the last time you worked on THAT?!”

He couldn’t bring himself to say a single word about what he thought about the painting.  But we learned to manage the silence together.  I thought it kept me from getting a large ego (which–bonus– remains non-existent to this day), and he could steer clear of saying “the wrong thing.”


When I have told him that I desperately needed him to acknowledge “me,” he could understand why, and he really did want to do better.  However, all he could manage is, “You are so…”  and “What’s wrong with me?!”

Now that a year has floated by mostly artless (except for poetry), I have thrown caution to the wind once again.  Welcome, Art. I have missed you.

Perhaps you’ve already noticed.  I am ready.  Again.  To express.  To live.  To play.  To thrive.  To project.  Create.  I come alive when I feel free to do these things, and they are acknowledged by someone I love.


My husband would like to see me making money doing what I enjoy most.  His intentions are as pure as gold.  He doesn’t mean to kill my spirit when he says it.  He’s trying to encourage me.  I guess it’s probably the highest praise I receive from him!  “You should do this for money.”  After all, it means he thinks that I COULD “do this for money.”  The problem is…doing ANYTHING for money makes it a friggin’ JOB.  And a job is not ART.  If it was, would someone please hire me right now to twirl scenery into their carpet fibers?  If I had a job doing art, I would convince myself that money didn’t matter just so that I could keep inspiration flowing.  Money is the antithesis of art.  Bitter, aren’t I.

But. But. But.  Not having him be able to FEEL the beauty of what I create and allow it to affect him drifts like *unsettled air* between us.


What can I do?  Art is a powerful force inside of the makeup of who I am.  I cannot rely on my husband to “see me” before I continue.  Yet, if I move without his “adoration” then I become vulnerable to the praises of others.  Others who get it.  Who take time to understand and feel.  Who know what I cannot say.  Who read between the lines.  Who soak in the words.

Is this normal?  I doubt two artists ever married each other.  It could never work.  I’m convinced they would be so connected they would just have sex all the time and never get any projects done.  Ever.


I can’t even begin to explain how I need my husband to see me.  Yet I cannot die trying.

“Is it easier to have inflated dreams or an inflated ego…?”



the power of a KISS

I knew he was on his way home. I was waiting. I had been planning *the moment* all day.

He walked in the door while I was in the kitchen. I ran to greet him The dog ran to greet him. I arrived a close second…wrapping my arms around his neck. Determined to capture the moment, I felt the warmth of his lips on mine, his breath on my mouth, his heart on my sleeve. A butterfly danced in my stomach (yes!), and I kicked up a heel to celebrate. So delicious. Like a child, I want to do it again. So I push him back out the door…

Just kidding. I didn’t make him do his entrance again.

But I am getting better at just taking what I need. That breathy, almost touching, minty smelling, lip tugging, kiss.

That is some POWERFUL stuff, my friends.

I have to be honest: I’m addicted. So I’ve been analyzing: What is so powerful about a kiss? How can it “DO THAT?” Do different types of kisses have different impacts?

Well, today, I am planning a kissing binge and I’d better sort this all out before he gets home tonight:


(brought to you by the letter K)

1. Kiss Ass

Or is that supposed to be kick ass? I can’t decide. Perhaps it could be both. Sort of like sucking up and then sucker punching. Wouldn’t he be surprised?

2. Kiss & Make Up

My favorite type of kiss. This is the kiss I still dream about. You see, “Angry Kissing” is on my BUCKET LIST. But this is difficult with a husband who never gets angry. So I have to provoke him. But then it’s just funny. You can’t laugh and be mad at the same time. Lather, rinse, repeat. I keep trying.

3. Good-bye Kiss

My least favorite type of kiss (insert saddest teary-eyed yellow headed icon here). BUT…if you make it toe-tingling, sensuous, and erotic, they will remember that kiss until you see each other again. It can be followed up. And that can’t ever be a bad thing. Absence makes the lips grow juicier…

4. French Kiss

Well, you either like it or you don’t. But you have to try it to know. I prefer my French kisses with a seasonally appropriate wine.

5. Kiss and Run

What better way to tell your spouse “THE game is on!” without using a single word. This is not about football, baseball, or most other kids of balls. Just kiss and run. (Better if naked.) (Unless the kids are around, then it’s just creepy.) (Anyone done this with the dog watching?)

6. Kiss of Death

This is not like a zombie kiss or anything. Gross. It’s not Romeo & Juliet, either. Do I have your attention? It’s personal. This one is my reminder that on this day, many years ago there was another kiss. It was a kiss of betrayal. That kiss sent one man to death, and I got to live instead. I am so grateful for that kiss. The fact that D-day happened on Good Friday just *blows me* away (see naughty number 7).

7. Inside Out

And now, for lovers only, I present you with an AMAZING song…dedicated to the POWER of a kiss. Listen, then go get your kiss, ladies…

Hedley: “Inside Out”

the power of CARE

I don’t engage in much.

…OR perhaps I’m just choosy about what I care to engage in.

I have had a black paint stain on my carpet upstairs for at least a month now because the dog chose to eat a tiny bucket of my daughter’s paint there.  Yep…in the middle of the floor.  I know how to get rid of it in theory, I just haven’t yet.  No, I’m not *willing* it to go away magically, and I’m not a messy person.  But I guess you could say that I am disconnected from my carpet.

Brilliant.  Or not?

It’s just carpet, people.  Once the paint had dried and set there really wasn’t any panic.  Does it look terrible?  Yes.  But who says that the “remedy” will make it look better?

Perhaps I’m in the middle of accepting what my carpet now looks like with a stain.  If it were a shirt, I would have never worn it again, but carpet isn’t like that.  I’m not much into stains.  But this one is kind of stuck.  And it tells a story of a little dog.  And a little girl who made a mistake and left her paint can on the floor.

So would you say that I CARE or DON’T CARE?

I have issues with taking ownership of stuff.  This *disconnect* has its pros & cons.  I mean, how many of you could function happily in a room that is screaming out its imperfections?

I wasn’t always this way.  One point in time, I cared A LOT.  Too much.  It overwhelmed me and completely sapped my energy.  (Some people know this as being CONTROLLING.)

Oops.  Did I step on some toes there?  Or was I just stepping on my own…?  I don’t know because I don’t care.  (Ummm…That’s supposed to be a joke.)


CARE is not “pretending to care, and should not be patronised by insincerity.  It is an in-touch, tangible action, not unlike raising your hand.

You go first.  

when i care too much

  • I am fully committed, fully focused, fully engaged
  • My energy is fully tapped and I am left with NONE for me
  • I become vulnerable to compromise my boundaries
  • Although I may have started for one reason, it may continue out of obligation
  • If there are too many things that I CARE about, I become battle-weary (and bitter)

when i care too little

  • Plants die
  • I get bored with myself
  • My garage collects THINGS
  • The dog.  The dog.  The dog.   SOMEBODY walk the dog!!

when i don’t care at all

  • Unburdened, I become care-free (lots of energy)
  • Slowly, I begin to lack focus & passion
  • I am able to separate “who I am” from “who others are”
  • I have time to find things that I DO CARE about


Question(s) of the Day:

  1. Do you care TOO MUCH about things you cannot control?
  2. Do you care TOO LITTLE about things you would benefit from better managing?
  3. Have you stopped caring about things because you resent having things control you?


“Out damn spot! out, I say!–One: two: why, then, ’tis time to do’t.–Hell is merky!–Fie, my lord, fie!  a soldier, and afeared?  What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?–Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?”

[Macbeth, Shakespeare]

the power of BEAUTY

This morning I paused to consider how I stand applauding in an audience for BEAUTY…and when it’s lingering presentation touches my mind >>>I am at peace.

[Are you a spectator of beauty?]

Perhaps you have not recently considered the importance of BEAUTY in your life.  Perhaps you have only considered its complications.  Perhaps your attraction to beauty is too shallow.  Perhaps you have not acknowledged its embrace of you.  Oh, it is there, alright.   Perhaps you feel it mocking you, comparing you, overwhelming you…

If you learn to release the power of beauty that mingles all around you, you will find peace.

Take a word walk with me into the forest of beauty.  Consider how an encore with beauty can counsel your heart.


It was there all along.  You just didn’t notice it because you were crushing it with your foot.  Yes, that decomposed leaf.

When you still your thoughts about leaves for a moment, What is this one telling you?

[You gave it your ALL.  You’re beautiful.]

Beauty waits before you, like a gallery.  Allow it to draw you in, for it can change you.

[Are you looking?]

Through new eyes.  See yourself again.
Your journey.  Your mud.  Your feet.  It has made you who you are.

[You are stronger than you know.]

Find beauty in the sticky.  The messy.  The down deep.

[Find beauty in yourself.]

Look in places no one else looks.  Hear things that no one else hears.  Taste the hope of what you haven’t considered.

[It’s waiting for you.]


Beauty…demands an audience.

I have a friend who (unintentionally) grows two hairs under her chin, and although she is constantly looking for them, I am always the first one to find them.

Poetry. Muscles. Chocolate. Instincts. Heat. Bubbles. Rain.  Impressions. Connections. Creativity. Lightning. Centipedes. 

Connect to [it].  Plug in.  Look for it.  Allow the narrative to write on depths in your soul like waves.

[Are you in the audience?]

Beauty…administers peace.

When was the last time you considered the power of beauty?  When did you last take p.a.u.s.e. to consider its effect on you?

If you don’t have PEACE in certain areas of your life, don’t ignore this.  Make time to see beauty.  Turn around and taste what is right in front of you.  Could it be the swirl of cream in your cup of coffee?  Peanut butter on your fingerprint?  The fact that you are alive?

[Are you breathing?]

Devote yourself to opening your eyes. ears. lips. fingers. senses.  Mark beauty on your calendar.  Make time for it.  Instead of criticizing it for not being perfect, celebrate its individuality.  Pursue it.  Evaluate it.  Breathe it in.

“Do you love me because I am beautiful, or am I beautiful because you love me?” 
[Marie Carmichael Stopes]


Beauty…inspired PEACE.

Beauty doesn’t inspire when I put on makeup and perfume. It inspires when I am able to reflect my design. When I realize that I am a work of art. I can only be what I was created to be, and when I portray my purpose, I. Am. Beautiful.  Period………….

It’s like the moon. It is beautiful. But you would never see it if it weren’t for the sun. It shines merely because it is reflecting the glory of the sun. I want to be like that. I want to redirect the beauty that has been shown to me. It is my PURPOSE.  And yours.

Somebody out there needs you today. Shine…you are beautiful.

[And who are you to argue?]

“When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!”
[John Dryden]


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