Constant Renewel

The New Year. New beginnings spur contemplation of change for some people. In reality isn't each moment new. Isn't each breath we take a new beginning. Aren't we forever getting another chance. Aren't we continuously getting another opportunity for a renewal, a renewal of compassion, empathy, concern, another moment to give, to love, to laugh, to rise up. Dont' we have endless avenues for solitary moments to just be still and be thankful. The years end is a beginning of another calendar year, but the most important marker for time is how you are handling all the new beginnings you have available to you through each beat of your heart.

For the Love of Fudge

 I recently visited a small town in the North Georgia mountains.
I sat on a bench in front of a Fudge Shop that seemed to be the happening place at the town square.
These two fellas came out of the fudge shop and sat at the little table with their carefully chosen confectioneries.
One had a box of divinity fudge and the other had a variety of tasty treats he received after pointing in the glass counter with directions of "Ill take one of those and two of those and some of each one in the back row".
Well they began to indulge and make exclamatory sounds to express their extreme pleasure in the fudgy delights. MMMMM.....MMMMM...MMM!! ....Man! that's good!..... Boy oh Boy! and putting so much declaration into "Dog Gone!!!" I think his rump actually came up from the chair a fraction of an inch. This went on and on until one declared he may fall out in a sugar coma. At which the other one said.."taste this pecan right here" waving the pecan at his buddy.... at which the sugar charged man said no, no, no I cant take another bite. A few more waves of the pecan and it was received by the resisting friend and was so good that I believe i saw his eyes roll back in his head.
After stretching the limits of "enough" to the maximum the divinity box was closed with great reverence for the white pecan topped dollops that were left for another time and the mix matched confections of his pecan waving cohort were sealed and declared a done deal.
They continued their friendly fudgy talk about motor cycles and how their grand children's brains were being fried with computer games when suddenly the divinity partner said in a tone like he had just thought of the most brilliant idea he had in days, "Coffee! I have to have some coffee! "and up they both jumped and headed out for another bout of pleasure.
These two men had simultaneously experienced true fudge meditation that can only be shared with a real companion. They loved each others conversation and company. In this world of stress and hurry and more troubles than we ask for, it was a shear pleasure to watch theses two friends taking a moment for the real important things in life. The importance of plain ol' "taking time", of slowing down, savoring something, whether its a fudge moment or the smile on the face of someone near and dear to you. Or simply enjoying watching the camaraderie of two friends who were in the moment and loving it.

photo by COHolley

 

Life is about change..and about this big circle of coming and going, of grasp and release, of sadness and of joy. Its not the things in life that determine our journey but how we think of the circumstances, the choice we make to be dragged through life or to follow where it  leads with more acceptance than resistance.

In Her Garden

 

They said your journey will not be easy.
It will require much from you,
and then it will require some more.
With assurance she walked to her garden and opened the garden door.
She slowly walked the path
that she had walked many times before...
the path where she had scattered seeds
along the garden floor....
seeds of caring and seeds of kindness. and
many seeds of love, she saw family like roses,
friends like violets and faith from God above.
They whispered in voices soft like gardenia "
"let me carry you for a while" and she  knew that the journey was not hers alone in the garden where love did abide.

Oct 1, 2012

Stay focused. If you want to be healthier stay focused on healthy choices, if you want to stop worring stay focused on the good stuff, if you want more love stay focused on receiving, if you want peace stay focused on your inner calm....stay focused. Your soul knows what to do, its your mind you have to watch out for.

The Lure of the Lights

It was a cold holiday evening. I pulled into a small Louisiana bar on my way home. The bar was a shack of a place perched content on the rivers edge. The boating docks were silent now from the summers activities with only the cold river water caressing the sun bleached boards.
It wasn't my nature to go into a bar and I had never ventured in alone.The warm glow of the Christmas lights haphazardly draped over the entrance seemed inviting, like an old friend.
When I opened the door the music from the band poured out into the cold air and enveloped me as I entered. I noticed a few people sitting at the bar and several couples sitting at scattered tables.
There was a kerosene heater sitting near the unused dance floor, competing against the chill coming from the many doors leading out to the decks and the docks.
I quickly decided I would say I was waiting for someone should anyone approach me, but as quickly as my alibi appeared it vanished. Who would inquire. It had been a long time since anyone noticed me , a long time since I had turned any heads. My beauty had faded with too many regrets, and my body was heavy with retreat.
I pulled my coat together and wrapped my arms around myself with the false pretense that it would make me less conspicuous.
I sat a comfortable distance from two old women who appeared motionless until they took a deep slow drag off their cigarette or raised their bourbon to their lips. They were staring off in different directions and looked very familiar to the stuffed toad mounted on the wall over their heads.
I leaned into the wobbly table and turned my attention to the band to keep from making eye contact with anyone, only glancing quickly around the room in short intervals.
The girl behind the bar was closely keeping watch on the level of beer in every bottle as they were turned up and sat back down. She was quick to replace each empty with a full cold one, like little amber soldiers scattered down the length of the bar. Her hair was over bleached and her laughter was overly loud.
A waitress noticed me and started walking my way she had on tight jeans and huge thighs that it made look as if it was difficult for her to walk. Her heavy musk perfume reached me before she was close enough to speak. She stopped in front of the table and propped all her weight on one hip and asked "what can I bring you honey?" I ordered a cajun eggnog that was commonly served this time of year. By the time the waitress had trudged her way back to my table with my drink several groups of people had filtered in and filled what was left of the remaining tables.
That was about the time I noticed him. The man sitting at the bar.
He was turned so he could prop his arm on the bar and rest some of the weight he was carrying around his waist. Weight that was making the buttons on his shirt appear to be desperate for release. His face seemed tired. His eyes drooped like a sad faced bull dog. I tried to imagine him with a younger face, with strong shoulders that were ready for any defense. His shoes were shined, his clothes were pressed and his hair was carefully combed.
I imagined him getting dressed in the morning as his wife sat on the bed watching him and I imagined her thinking of him now wondering if he would make it home safe after another night out. But then again maybe there was no one at home, no one who cared about his safe return. Maybe it had been years since he had been in a bar and he found himself pulled in by the warm lights like myself.
My thoughts were suddenly broken by a voice at my shoulder, a tall thin man who smelled like beer. He had stringy hair falling out from under a ball cap and sheet rock mud on his jeans and shoes. He grinned a toothless grin and asked if id like to dance. I said " no thank you I'm waiting on someone."
The eggnog was making me feel warm inside and a lot more relaxed. The band was playing a slow flowing song. I thought of how nice it would be to move slowly to the music with someone that I enjoyed being close to.
I saw the man at the bar gazing past me and I slowly turned my head to see what had his attention.
It was a painfully thin woman with large red hair, too much jewelry, and a satin blouse that exposed her boney chest where cleavage should have been.
He heaved his weight down from the bar stool and stood for a few seconds as if to balance himself from sitting too long or to gauge the effects from the booze.
He approached the large haired woman and eased his arm half way around her boney shoulders as if to escort her from her chair if she would agree to dance, With a quick rejection he slowly walked back to the bar and resumed his position. propped up and weary.
I wondered when the last time was that he laughed a good hardy laugh. I wondered if he had experienced many trials in life or had life been mundane,  uneventful. Did every day seem the same and every years seem like the year before. Did he have a gentle spirit or was he quick to anger. Did he enjoy the food that had become a burden to his bones or did he shove each mouthful down like memories he was trying to forget.
The band announced they were taking a break and each musician stepped quickly away from their positions and headed for the bar like bugs drawn to a light.
The juke box came to life as if it were being aroused from a deep sleep.
My glass had long been empty, the kerosene heater had lost the battle with the increasing cold and I was without conversation or dancing to keep me warm so I gathered myself up and headed for the door.
No one missed my presence except the large thighed waitress and possibly the beer breath construction worker.
I settled into the comfort of my car. I turned the defroster on and waited for the warmth to take effect on the groaning engine.
The bar room door swung open and spilled light out on my windshield making the ice crystals sparkled like diamond dust. The heat had melted away two circles on the windshield. As I looked through them I saw the man from the bar walking to his car.
I felt something in my heart. Was it sympathy, was it more curiosity, or was it just the glow from the christmas lights that encouraged me to contemplate someone else's well being. Regardless of what it was,  I watched him walk into the darkness and a soft "Merry Christmas" escaped my lips and drifted off in a smokey winter misty breath.

I drove home slow and easy through the stillness of that cold winter night , sure that I would never return. The familiar glow from the holiday lights had pulled me in but my desire was not for anything that the shack of a bar could offer me , what I needed , what I wanted, was something I had lost a long time ago. Something that felt like home.

Beneath the Wing

photo by COHolley

 

 

Beneath the wings is a silent warmth and the pulse of a small heart beating and occasionally the vibration from song.

 Beneath the wing, a sanctuary all its on.The wing opens with only the intent to soar. Then returns to the simple existence of warmth, and of life,  and of song. It returns to sanctuary.

The magnolias are gone for the season. The summer falling leaves that drift to the ground brown and speckled with shades of golden and amber, curled up just enough to hold the summer rain for a good part of the day, have ceased to fall and what remains will be for the winters retreat.
I can imagine the new blooms of spring already laying dormant in the massive branches of the majestic southern lady of a tree, hiding from the chill of a December breeze and the cold rain of a february morning.
The large white blooms will come again in summer and embellish the branches like frills and bows on Scarlett O'Hara's own full crinoline dress.
The magnolias are gone for the season, but they will bloom again...for the magnolia lives in a constant state of hope, and renewal, as we do ourselves with our own seasons of life, our own Decembers to hold fast through and our own springtime of new beginnings.

The Steps

 

I get a bit sentimental in a wonderment kind of way when I look at stairs that are worn down from travel, steps that have been transformed by people with a destination. Some people need a step up and some just need to step down to level ground.
The steps seem to carry a trace of what was, and this is where my wonderment comes in.
I can envision a young child running up the steps ahead of his parents eager to get to the shops and the smells of the market that are pulling him along. Then perhaps later in life, the same child, now weary with age, an unacknowledged soul, with slumped shoulders and hurting hips, walking slowly up one step at a time, trying to be sure-footed so as not to fall, and pausing for a brief moment before making it to the top.
I wonder if a young man dashed up the stairs on his way to meet a new lover that has him in a whirlwind -- he has been thinking about her all day and is determined not to be late.
I imagine a woman carrying a grocery bag, a look on her face that has become familiar as she wonders how the contents of the bag will feed her small children at home and if her husband will come back and if her life will ever be the same as it was.
A teenager walking home way past his curfew with slower steps than usual trying to give himself time to rehearse his response for when he is confronted by worried and demanding parents;
while behind him walks a man who lifts up his collar to smell for any hint of perfume as he rehearses his response for when he is confronted by a worried and demanding wife.
Maybe someone walked these steps that had no where to go, who wandered through the town as the night chill began to creep over the sidewalks and store fronts. He's lived this way for years now and the sidewalks know the sound of his shuffling shoes; and the alley ways know the smell of his clothes and the sound of his breathing when he sleeps.
A young lady with the light dimmed in her eyes places her hand on her abdomen and feels her body move as she takes one step at a time, her mind is consumed with the child in her that she is yet to tell her husband about. Her husband who has been out of work for months and who's face has changed more than her very own to a look of despair and hopelessness.
Step by step, story by story, some foot steps were heavy laden, some were swift with joy, they all joined the footsteps that were before them and left there's behind to be connected to those that were to come. The worn down steps, a gentle reminder of many lives that have passed along the way. All with traveling minds, traveling to memories from the past, or traveling to hopeful dreams and what if's of the future. All with hope that each step, the swift ones and the heavy ones, will lead them to a destination that will serve them well.
We all have something in common with the worn steps... the patterns life its self leaves on us, the changing that occurs with steps going up, and some going down, and from the choices we make when we step off to level ground, and those choices become the answer to our life's journey. Choose how you travel the stairways. It will make a difference that only time will reveal, for each traveler always leaves an imprint. And life's steps always leaves an impression on the soul.

My son is going to a viewing of Rembrandt today. I am envious of his opportunity. I would love to view some of the famous artist paintings, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Picasso and one of my favorites Monet.
When you view a work of art think about where it came from. How it rose up from deep inside a soul as a thought, a vision, a feeling, a passion, and from there it appears on a canvas only a whisper of what existed moments before in the most private shadow of their souls sanctuary , in a place that never has words. Drifting to their finger tips where the movement begins to flow and move and create and then there it is laid out before you. From there you welcome it in and it begins to create emotions that stir within your own shadows, from that place that whispers things to your very own passions, those things that you never have words for. Viewing a painting is like reaching into the center of someone's unspoken dwelling place, finding their heart, holding it in your hand and claiming it for your own.

Grace

There were many times in my life I wish I would have been braver, stood stronger, had more courage. I survived, but through no stance of my own. I was carried by grace. And still, I am not as brave as I would like to be, and my courage fades when situations appear grim. Grace is my companion, ever present, forever carrying me along, until one day I will cross over the river Jordan. I will no longer need courage or strength, I will become the grace.

Read...
Read about history and philosophy and prose.
Read mysteries, novels, fiction and who knows
you may love this reading and all that it holds
good things for your mind
great things for your soul.
Read sonnets and love poems and
give them away to people you love on a random day.
Read in the spring in a warm sunny place,
on a bench by a lake ,
on the beach,
or in a swing.
Read in the winter when there's not much to do,
grab a book and a blanket and coffee fresh brewed.
Read to the children famous nursery rhymes
and to the elderly in nursing homes who have too much silent time.
Read things that inspire and stir up your heart read stories of courage when yours falls apart.
Read scripture and prayers,
read of faith and hold on.
Read of truth and endurance when the whole world seems wrong.
Read of love that survives and strength that prevails.
Let your dreams take flight let your thoughts set sail.
You may love this reading
and all that it holds
good things for your mind
great things for your soul.
by COHolley

 

When I went to the Library to check out the book "Moby Dick" the librarian walked me over to the book shelf and pulled out a tiny paperback book and said " this one was donated, there is no return date on it, keep it until you are through with it" I don't suppose I looked like a "real" reader...someone who is passionate about books.
Who would except such a classic in a tiny paperback form? Its like asking a true southerner if they would like plain tea or sweet tea, at which point I gave her just such a look ...and asked don't you have a larger volume? She handed me the wonderfully large hardback book that made my passion for books smile like Sunday Morning. I would have never chosen this book had it not been for my son and we are both enjoying reading it. The writer Herman Melville is genius. It is a real adventure that you can step away from the computer with and hold in your hands and turn the pages anxiously awaiting what is to come. Reading the classics is a gift to yourself.

Books and Roses. Two different venuse but they both are like a melody to the heart. One is like a gentle warm Bass that gathers you up and rocks you like a front porch swing and the other is like a melody that dances on a gentle breeze and comes to rest on your cheek like a kiss from someone that you love.

Today I was sitting at my computer and I heard conversation approaching my house...it became louder and louder the closer it got to my front door. A smile started to appear across my face. I knew exactly who its was, you see, these same two delightful african american ladies come to my door every so often. They tap tap tap gently on the door their conversation is always louder than the tapping and they never skip a beat, eager to get to the next point that needs to be said. They never look at the door to see me peeking out of the lifted blind, they are busy discussing things and mingling their verbal intentions with " you know that's right!" , tilting the head and raising the eyebrows before saying "well, I'm tellin' you" . Their presence is always brief, they never knock twice and like a dance they do from memory they walk off to the next house still talking and enjoying each others company. Always left behind is a reminder of my salvation that they tucked in the door that usually falls out with the first gentle wind and finds a place along the seasonal flowers at my entrance.
If I ever answer the door I suppose they will mark me off their list and I would miss hearing them coming towards my door and I would miss experiencing the excitement they have for each others company. These two dear ladies will never know the joy they bring to unopened doors. What sweet spirits they are. When your heart is set on good intentions you leave blessing trailing behind you like ribbons in the wind. When God calls just go.....He's working , you may not always see the results.

Beauty fades, and its important to have something in your spirit that can shine through and take its place.. The eyes of people favor the beautiful but the heart of people favors the kind. I can only hope to be something of value to behold when all is said and done.

I took a break from working today and walked around my yard. I found some great things to capture in some photos. A knot hole on a tree shaped like a heart, some very pretty amber colored moss growing up a tree, rain drops captured in a tin...y webb deep beneath some leaves and I also took the shot below....... I love the hodge podge of things I saw when I looked down. The speckled pattern on a Magnolia leaf, the golden colors of the scattered leaves, the brown curled up leaf holding rain water from last nights rain, the pretty patterns on the Magnolia pods, all ready to return to the ground, discarded by the magnificent tree above, a circle of life captured within it all by the new green growth pushing through the middle of it all.
While I wander through the rooms of my tiny home carrying with me concerns of tomorrow, beyond the walls I am surrounded by life taking things as it comes, resisting nothing and excepting what is...the course of nature all held together by a Master plan. I have much to learn from the Magnolia, from the soft moss on the trees and the rain gently cradeled in the leaf.

Most of us keep our thoughts on something in the past or thinking about the future. We only have this present moment. However you spend the moment ...the only requirement is love.

Photo by COHolley

A plane in the sky is not a great photo moment although I do like how the sun appears in the shot. This photo reminds me of something I read by Thomas Merton. The sky was still before the plane passed through and it remained still after it is gone. Perhaps a reminder to focus on the still peace within our selves, the peace and stillness is there before the situation, and within your being is there during the situation and will remain afterwards. The still and peaceful place we would reside if we were lifted up on the wings of eagels.

My husband John Stafford was a highly accomplished musician and did physical things on drums some people only dreamed of. He played double bass drums faster than a locomotive and moved the drum sticks over his drum set so fast you couldn't see them in his hands. When he played drums he drove people fast up on their feet screaming for more. He could tap dance long into his years , taught from the finest of dancers. He played violin at an early age and loved the classics. When we listened to music he would say to me " Listen, tell me what you hear, how may instruments and what are they." His heart was an orchestra.
He spent many of his last years in a wheel chair. He said to me one day in a low and gentle voice "People treat you different when you're in a wheel chair." He was saddened and surprised at the reality of it.
When you see someone with a disability don't look away, you can't hear their music but it's there, you cant see their melody but it plays. Just look them in the eye and smile.
Make the world a better place one intention at a time.

Never build your entire life around another human being. If they should leave you your life will feel like empty pockets. Have your own circle of friends. Find something you are passionate about and keep it close to you. Carry a melody in your heart that belongs to only you. Never give it all away.
COHolley

I wonder how many people were so busy today that they never looked up and saw this beautiful sky. It stopped me in my tracks... nothing but pure blue sky, soft clouds and sunshine. That pause, however brief it is, is an instant of peace. So welcomed and so appreciated.

When I was a child the bridge over these tracks was an old wooden bridge, worn and bleached out from the hot South GA. sun ,with rusty nails holding it together and a few loose boards. My grandmother lived a block from the bridge. As children, when we heard the train whistle blowing farther down the tracks through the tall Georgia pines, it was saying "I'm almost there, hurry! hurry! Im almost... there!!" We would drop what ever we were doing and run as fast as we could and stand on the bridge as the train rumble inches from our small dirty bare feet, out of breath from running so fast, and hands grasping the bridges railing. The massive power of the train vibrating through our bodies was thrilling and scary at the same time.
I don't find myself running towards life so much these days and things seem more scary than thrilling. But if I close my eyes, I find that freckled faced little girl who was happy just being Carmen and that's a good place to be, however brief my memory serves me.

New Orleans Street Car

 

These are the brass handles of seats on an old street car in New Orleans. I took this picture because I thought of all the hands that have held on over the years standing in the street car waiting for their jump off spot. All the people that have actually sat on that very seat over 150 years before, and now me after them.. Some with a burden, some with much hope and joy, most going some where, so...me with no where to go.The street car carried them through the streets of New Orlens with the smell of french pastries and shrimp creole, the jazz music flowing out of the doors of local bars and attaching itself to the filigree ironed patios and cobble stone streets. A simple street car bench touched by so many lives.

When you lose someone, when they are no longer in this world, missing them never goes away. But when you lose them and have regrets it changes the sorrow. The regret flows like a deep river within your core and it never comes to a place of still water.
COHolley

When our lives are sifted like sheaves of wheat in the wind all that remain is the love.
COHolley

Grandaddy's Catawba Worm Tree

Catawba worms are actually not worms at all, they are the larvae of a moth that only eats the leaves of a "Catawba" tree. They only "show up" on Catawba trees seasonally and only on certain trees, making them extremely hard to find. Catawba worms make for some real good fishin'.

My grandaddy sold fishing bait. I only remember one occasion when someone stopped  to buy some worms. It seemed to be something he started years ago and it became part of his routine. On the far side of the property, in what use to be the chicken yard he had large wooden beds of Red Wiggler worms , also excellent for fishin'. I use to reach down in the dark black soil and grab as may worms as my hand would hold. My grandaddy sure new his stuff about raising worms , those were some mighty fine looking worms, as far as worms go.

In the old weather beaten smoke house he had several large wooden boxes full of crickets that he also sold for bait. Going in the smoke house to look at the crickets was always a delight. The large wooden boxes were on legs so they were at a good seeing and reaching level. The tops of the boxes  had screen over a wooden frame that made for a lid. Hanging in each box  dangling from a cord was a light bulb that stayed turned on all the time.

There were thousands and thousands of crickets. The sound of all those crickets in one small smoke house was fun for the ears.

My grandaddy had a very large Catawba Worm Tree on the back side of the garden.

M.r Stone lived next door and he had a Catawba worm tree too.

Mr Stone was a thin wiry man. He wore overalls all the time. He had a plump wife that always wore an apron. They reminded me of "Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean."

Mr. Stone walked around on his property with a shot gun and occasionally you could hear him firing off a few rounds trying to kill the birds that were eating his Catawba worms.

I wonder if he really cared that much about the worms or if he just wanted to shoot that shot gun. As a child I didn't have kind thoughts about Mr. Stone, I didn't like the idea of him shooting all those birds. I figured there were plenty of worms for the birds and Mr. Stone to have all they wanted. My grandaddy never shot the birds and his tree was slap covered up with worms.

I have never seen another Catawba worm tree since those days and have never heard mention of one either.

Its just one of my memories that linger when i go back to being that young girl walking  the property of my grandparents home on a hot summer day, stopping under the large Catawba worm tree to gaze up as the sun lighting up the bright green leaves making silhouettes of Catawba worms crawling all over.

photo by COHolley

 

You don't have to live in a sanctuary to have peace, or live in harmony. You can carry the essence of sanctuary within yourself at all times. Its a wonderful place to dwell, focusing on what is good and letting go of everything else. Being a light of hope and encouragement to all. Be a sanctuary.
 

Spring is in the Air

I went to the grocery store this morning and I was in my own little world gazing at the frozen peas when I looked up and a georgeous man flashed and equally georgeous smile at me and said "Good Morning!"....I gave him my sweet southern smile back and said "well....good morning!" as I casually moved over to the frozen green beans. he said " its a beautiful day out today isnt it?" I said " yes ...it really is." he said "it's suppose to get up to 80 degrees today." I said well thats a bit much for a fat girl." he said " ohhhhh nooooo youre not fat your just right!!!" I paused in sheer delight and said " well thank you Dahlin" and sacheted away from the frozen food isle...ahhh yes...spring is in the air !

Life can't come and rest easy on your shoulders unless you are still enough to give it a place to land.

The Monastery of The Holy Spirit

The Monastery of The Holy Spirit is in Conyers GA. is about 35 minutes from where I live. It is one of my favorite places. I started going here about 2 years ago and return often to take in the tranquility and peace and comfort that I receive every time I visit.

This beautiful church was built by the Monks that lived here. The monastery was founded in 1944. The massive walls, columns and structure were created one wheel barrow of concrete at the time.

There is a lot that can be said about the abundance of nature that surrounds the Monastery, the tranquil moments I have spent by the lake watching the wild life and letting my spirit mingle with the green foliage that displays itself so proudly. But the treasure lies within each encounter I have had with  the Monks who live here. The Trappist Monks have a heart and a love that drifts from within them  right into your being and you take it with you when you go.

They have a wonderful book and gift store where you can purchase items made by the Monks such as fudge, fruit preserves, honey, coffee, fresh breads and southern fruit cake to name only a few. Carl is a Lay Cistersian who works at the store, his spirit displays a love for others that I could only hope to achieve in my own life. Carl also is an author of 12 books and  teaches and speaks at retreats, churches, monasteries and seminars and has a wonderful Blog.  http://www.carlmccolman.com/
The book and gift stores are a wonderful place to make gift purchases and at the same time support this beautiful Monastery. I buy most of my books here, there are many that will inspire you and feed your soul.
Take some time to view the Bonsai trees that are lovingly cared for by the Monks and to tour the heritage center that tells the history of the Monastery and the Monks who live there.

Most important of all, take a moment to sit in the quiet Holiness of this church. Lift up your heart to God, let all your cares drift away and let go of the things of this world and and just be in His presence.

They also have retreats where you can take some time away to reflect, meditate, heal, pray, and breath deeply.

My prayers go up daily for this beautiful place and the people who live and work  here.

To all my friends in Georgia I hope you will visit and it will become one of your favorite places as well.

http://www.trappist.net/

Peace and Grace,
COHolley

Holding on to You

I loved you long before I met you.
I held you in my  dreams.
I walked down long alleys,
  dark places,
    cold walls,
      waded through steep streams.

Then you appeared before me
  and I began to see
    far beyond the dreams I had.
I held on to you and me.

I have you in my memory
  years after you are gone.
I close my eyes and I see you.
  Every part of you
    I've ever known.

I want to send a note to you
  on the string of a balloon
    or the beak of a bird
      or and envelope with perfume.
A note that says ~ I still love you. ~
  My heart longs to let you know.
    To tell you, though you walked away,
     I never let you go.

I loved you before I knew you.
I love you long after you are gone.
I will love you until I float to the sky.
I will kiss you goodbye on my way home.

by COHolley

Catchers Mitts

It is true that some people run through this world with a catchers mitt on both hands. I don't believe we were called to live our lives grabbing more than we need and sometimes even more than we want. Perhaps we should consider the possibility that we are not here for ourselves but for others.