Tag: recovery

Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Part Four

If you missed the previous parts of this series, find them here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three.

The Harmony of Action and Surrender

Here are some adages that summarize this chapter.

Know what to pick up and what to put down.
Do your best, release the rest.
Let go and let God.

Sure, you might think, but no matter how true a saying may be, putting it into practice is the challenge! Balancing action and surrender is an artform that is difficult to master. This is especially true in our world that idolizes willful accomplishments. We consider it a high compliment when someone calls us a “person of action.” Our achievements can take many forms. We may know how to see a problem, analyze its component parts, then choose an effective strategy to solve it. We may write to-do lists on a daily basis and summon the energy to accomplish most of them. We may set goals for our fitness, our business, or our relationships, then work tirelessly to achieve them.

All of this is admirable. Most of us have little patience for people who complain about their lot in life but don’t get off the couch to make a change. Hard work isn’t only effective; it’s also its own reward, shaping our characters and providing an example to others.

But inevitably there’s that still point, that boundary that all of us eventually encounter. We come to the end of what we can control through our willfulness, and our continued efforts only create stress and anxiety. At this critical juncture, if we choose to spin our wheels, we squander a precious opportunity for personal growth.

As one who has benefited over time from a Twelve Step perspective, I hear repeated admonitions to practice acceptance. There’s a seminal passage in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous that circulates endlessly through the rooms of recovery.

Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake… Unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and my attitudes.

It’s easy to see the appeal here. So many of us wrap our lives around the axle by trying to control things outside our purview. It’s another form of addiction, and it undermines our physical and mental health. Instead, when we turn to transforming ourselves, not the world around us, serenity rises like water from an inner aquifer.

Certainly, there are obvious exclusions to this truth.

  • Times when we witness injustice. To accept those moments as “exactly the way they are supposed to be” means to acquiesce, to allow the oppression to proceed unchecked. Choosing to join the struggle for liberation is a heartfelt expression of our compassion and love. In my book, The Smile on a Dog: Retrieving a Faith that Matters, I examine how to do this without perpetuating the vicious cycle of action/reaction. I suggest going to Chapter Five if you’re interested.
  • Times when we mustered the energy to try one more solution to a problem and by going that extra mile, we were successful. Looking back, we know that exercising a final bit of “control” made all the difference.

Despite these exceptions, there’s eternal wisdom in knowing when to surrender. Here is how writer Nancy Collier puts it.     

Surrender happens when…we know that we cannot think or see our way through where we are…All we know is that we can’t do it this way, the way we’ve been doing it, a moment longer. The moment of surrender itself is easy; it happens when it’s ready. Control falls away and takes us with it. It’s the path to surrender that’s excruciating. But what’s amazing is that when surrender does arrive, it’s accompanied by a great sense of ease, relief, and peace. It’s not like the situation remarkably gets better or easier, but we feel better and more easeful when we know in our bones that we cannot fix or figure it out, when we know that it’s truly not up to us, and we simply can’t. In this moment of surrender or grateful defeat, there’s clarity. And oddly, something deep within us relaxes when we acknowledge that we don’t know how to do it, don’t know the way. More effort, more doing, more thinking, more plans won’t work. We feel an inner softening when we agree to turn it over to anything else, whatever is not us, the unknowable, or perhaps to just the truth of not knowing. From our knees, paradoxically, we feel a remission from the suffering.

Sometimes the courage to let go seems almost superhuman. I have seen this (and experienced it!) when we must allow a self-destructive person in our orbit to make their own decisions without intervening on their behalf. Letting go is a nod to the sovereignty of their choices, and it’s essential for our own mental health.

I vividly remember counseling a woman whose young adult daughter was addicted to drugs. The mother had done everything in her power for her child—arranging counseling and multiple stints in rehab, repeatedly showing her love and support on every level possible. Yet, gripped by the disease of addiction, her daughter continued her descent into self-destruction.

The woman tried attending Nar-Anon meetings, which helped somewhat, but she was still struggling when she came to my office. Here’s a version of the conversation we had that day. For the sake of anonymity, I will call the woman Jan and her daughter, Carrie.

“Krin,” said Jan, “I went to a therapist about this, and she diagnosed me as codependent. She claimed that I’m addicted to someone who is also addicted. She says that the root of my suffering is my need to be needed, my own form of obsession.”

“And you don’t buy that?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said with a tinge of anger. “What parent wouldn’t do anything possible to save their child? Even give their own life! This isn’t an addiction. It’s the natural reaction towards my own flesh and blood. I don’t want to look back someday and feel that I didn’t go the extra mile.”

I knew Jan was speaking her truth. I had observed her in other situations, and I always considered her a balanced person. I also knew that now she was killing herself with worry and that she needed to come to the end of what she could control. I empathized deeply with her, drawing upon a similar experience in my own family.

“I hear you,” I said. “Theories are theories. Even with the best counselors, we have to choose what applies to our own lives. Ultimately, we have to face these challenges in ways that make sense to us. And I agree with you. Sometimes comments from people who have no authentic point of reference can seem glib, even dismissive.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I know they all mean well, especially the folks in Nar-Anon, but they still have this disease model about codependency. I’ve never been obsessed with caregiving or trying to control other people in the past. Not in my extended family, not in my marriage, not with my coworkers. It’s just this situation with Carrie.”

I let some silence permeate our session.

“You know some of my story,” I said. “I confronted the same issue. I can only share what I learned in my own life if you want to hear it.”

“Please,” she said. “It’s why I came to see you.”

I took a moment to find the right words and voice tone. “The hardest thing with surrendering in this situation is accepting that the other person might indeed choose death rather than life. The disease of addiction is powerful. Carrie knows you love her. She’s been in rehab. She knows there are tools she can use to stay clean.”

“True,” said Jan, looking down into her lap.

“So, the stark and difficult truth I had to face—which I believe is the same for you—is that we must be willing to surrender to the knowledge that we ultimately have no power to prevent our loved ones from killing themselves. This is not giving into cold defeat. It’s not a dereliction of our duty. It’s a sober realization of reality, and as much as it stings, it’s truth is unavoidable.”

She looked up at me, then down at her lap again, wringing her hands. I’m sure she had heard similar versions of this from others, but as the saying goes, “we get there when we get there.”

Softly, she began to release a torrent of tears. When her eyes met mine again, she nodded, and in that gesture I heard the full force of the well-known Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

We don’t have to be in a dire situation to see how we need a balance of both certainty and surrender in our daily lives. Here are some examples.

  • We’re certain of our love for our family, and we also see our need to accept their longstanding character traits without criticism. After all, they put up with us!
  • We vote, even protest, to make our point in the political arena, but we also learn to let go so that we can sleep in peace at night.
  • We do everything we can for our health, and we also realize that the rest is in the hands of our Creator.
  • We plan for our financial future, and we also realize that our world and its finances are unpredictable.

In one of my short stories entitled Path of the Monarch, a man has a reverie in which a butterfly leads him through fantastical landscapes—a meadow, a desert, and finally up a mountain. There, he encounters his doppelganger whom he calls D. Let’s pick up the story at that point.

     I stared at him sitting in the sunlight. I saw the wrinkles that had formed on his forehead. In his eyes—my eyes—I saw a mix of sadness and resignation, and it pierced my heart.

     “You see it, don’t you?”

     I nodded.

     “Will you do something for me?”

     I nodded again.

     “Tell me—tell yourself—those lessons you know are true but seem unwilling to actualize.”

     The words came faster than I expected, as if an inner treasure chest burst open, every phrase springing into the light.

     “Live in the present,” I said. “Focus on the gifts of each day, rather than regrets or fears. Hold my loved ones close. Practice kindness towards everyone. Do the things that bring me joy. Remember that I will die and seize each day with gratitude.”

     D slid down from the rock and started towards me, stopping a few feet away. He started to clap. “Bravo! No more self-help books! No more gurus! But there’s one more thing, grasshopper, one more piece of advice from yourself to you.”

     I felt stumped. No words came to mind.

     “Let go,” he said. “Let go, let go, let go, until it’s as natural as breathing.”

     He placed his hands on my shoulders and moved so close that our noses were nearly touching.

     “Practice with me,” he said. “Each time we breathe out, whisper let go.”

     We tried it, over and over, the two us inhaling, exhaling, and whispering together.

Practice

Take time today to embody the Serenity Prayer in your life. Bring to mind any current challenges that might be causing stress in your life because you can’t predict the outcomes. Then use the prayer’s suggestions by speaking words like this out loud.

1. I affirm that I have done my best today to change these things that are within my power (name them).
2. I see that the following people, events, and circumstances (name them) are beyond my control.
3. I will rest in the wisdom of knowing what I should pick and what I should put down. I will let go of the rest and let the universe have my back.

As you fuse these aspects of action and surrender into this present moment, remember this:

Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.

The conclusion of this series will post on June 19.

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Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Part Two

If you missed Part One of this series, here is the link.

The Harmony of Appreciation and Anticipation

This early part of the 21st century, like most junctures in human history, showcases the worst of our failures. Nations reverting to xenophobia, scapegoating immigrants. Chasms widening between classes. Wars continuing to rage. Ecosystems groaning under the weight of unsustainable consumption. Despite its tiny duration, the Anthropocene era is exceedingly destructive.

I cannot live without hope. It’s like oxygen for my soul. I maintain that there’s another trend, another golden strand of our evolution, an awareness dawning across our globe. I see people awakening. People recognizing our crucial need to embody love and tolerance. People realizing that our driven consumerism, stoked by discontent and covetousness, is ultimately hollow, even poisonous. May all of us emerge from our societal illusions as soon as possible!

Part of this trend is the popularity of what we call mindfulness, championed by talk show hosts, celebrities, and scores of books. There are even phone apps like Calm that help us reside more fully here and now. It conjures hope that the liberation of our minds will lead to the freedom of our hearts and spirits.

As I’ve stated, I propose some additions to our mindfulness—a fusion of differing realities that impinge on our consciousness daily. Let’s do this first with appreciation (no regrets) and joyful anticipation (no fears).

Appreciation

Of Our Genetic Makeup: An entire industry now exists for the analysis of our DNA. We pay a sum, send in an organic sample, then learn the root percentages of our ancestry. On TV, we hear people sharing the surprises that awaited them: unique forebears, some of them famous; awareness of ethnic mixtures; ties to new tribes and traditions.

Hopefully, this celebration of our roots leads to another gift: accepting and loving the literal shape of who we are.

There’s a tragic truth that permeates human history. We have discriminated against each other based on skin color, height, weight, facial features, and body shapes that pass as beautiful. In some cultures, these notions of physical appearance have taken a bizarre turn.

While on a trip to Belize, I learned of a cruel way that the Mayans shaped the looks of male children destined to be leaders. They placed an apparatus between their eyes to induce them to become crossed, and then affixed slats of wood against their foreheads, gradually tightening the fasteners so that their craniums slanted upward. Why would they cause such pain to an innocent child? Because a slightly cross-eyed man with a sloped skull was their depiction of god-like physical attributes.

The Padaung people of southeast Asia consider long necks among women an attractive trait. Girls as young as age two are fitted with neck rings that artificially stretch the length between the clavicle and the chin. The rings increase with age until a grown woman may have as many as 20 or more. They endure painful chafing their entire lives and cannot remove these coils without the risk of neck collapse. All in the name of beauty!

A more familiar example was foot binding in China, the brutal practice of breaking and tightly binding the feet of young girls to change their shape and size. Feet conformed in this way became “lotus feet,” touted as a mark of feminine beauty, but in reality, a relegation to servitude. It led to great pain, limited motion, and lifelong disabilities. It wasn’t until 1949 that China officially outlawed this savage, sexist practice.

These examples seem extreme, but Western culture promotes its own brand of desirable traits. Publishers plaster their magazines with images of those considered beautiful and desirable, often “photoshopped” to mask any blemishes. Traditionally, these were skinny, almost waif-like icons of femininity. I celebrate that recently we are seeing more “full-bodied” appearances, but the underlying message is often the same. Our culture objectifies others and us, a lack of appreciation and acceptance of our natural physicality.

Beneath this harmful veneer are countless individuals who internalize these notions of beauty. They weigh themselves on this scale and decide they are lacking, leading to self-doubt, even depression.  You can see this clearly in recent statistics. Demand for cosmetic surgery continues to grow in America, with the industry expected to gross 254 billion by 2033.1 Another study shows that between 2000 and 2018, eating disorders doubled worldwide.2 And the lunacy continues. In my hometown of San Antonio, there are billboards along the freeway that promise fuller lips, shapely buttocks, and larger breasts. One of these cosmetic surgeons is known as El Frutero, the Fruit Seller, implying that he can turn women into luscious edibles.

 I’m the father of a disabled adult son. Over the years, his peers have included those with Down Syndrome and other genetic markers giving them physical characteristics far outside our cultural notions of beauty. I’ve had the glorious privilege of involvement with Special Olympics, a celebration of accepting ourselves for who we are. There’s a powerful moment seared in my memory. A young man with cerebral palsy was participating in the 100-meter dash at the state finals in Texas. I was in the stands with hundreds of spectators. The palsied competitor couldn’t actually run, just walk in a jerky manner. He soon fell to last place, moving at one fourth the speed of other competitors. Those of us in the bleachers rose to our feet, cheering him on. You would have thought we were applauding Usain Bolt, and the crescendo of our support as he crossed the finish line is something I will always cherish.

In one of my speaking engagements, I pointed to a large easel draped in white cloth. “In a moment,” I said, “I will unveil the face of the most beautiful woman in the world.” I paused, letting those words sink in. “I mean it. This is not just my opinion, but the result of numerous international polls. So, are you ready? Do you want to see her?” Hundreds of heads nodded in unison, men showing the most eagerness. I walked to the easel and pulled away the cloth with a flourish, revealing the craggy face of Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu, known to the world as Saint Teresa of Calcutta. A woman who, by any world standard of physical beauty, was not even in the ballpark, but whose inner beauty of spirit shone through her eyes to everyone who knew her.

Imagine if we learned to see others in way that is untainted by the judgements society injects into us. In one of my short stories, The Sanctuary, two of the characters are chatting at a farmer’s market. They discover a common interest in people watching. Let’s eavesdrop on their conversation.

“This may sound strange,” said Dona, “but I’ve been experimenting with my perspective, especially in public places. When I watch, I try to observe how my mind responds. Am I reacting to people as types? You know, cataloguing skin colors, body shapes, clothing choices, tones of voice. Or can I just see each person, really see them? Does that make sense?”
John smiled. “It does. It’s hard, isn’t it, to just be in the moment and let go of the constant chatter and judgements? I remember reading a powerful piece by Krishnamurti to that effect. The line I recall is this, ‘The ability to observe without evaluating is the highest form of intelligence.’”

Try applying this higher intelligence more regularly to others. When you see them, think “What a beautiful human being!” Then practice the same acceptance with yourself if you ever look in the mirror. Appreciate your genetic characteristics! This is your only physical form for this life’s journey. As we learn to love others and ourselves with all of our attributes, especially those the world considers imperfect, we discover a more radiant love!

Appreciation of Our Family Influence. There is nature (our genes) and there is nurture, the influence of family, teachers, and other key people who raise us. Learning to appreciate their effects on us—both positive and negative—is key to developing this third eye that sees a harmonious balance of life’s realities.

If you come from a family that consistently affirmed you, helping you accept your uniqueness and make the most of it, I hope you feel blessed. If, instead, you come from a dysfunctional home, a nuclear system that left you with scars of heart and mind, I understand. Believe me! I know this firsthand, and sometimes it seems near impossible to release our grievances about the past.

Here is where I’m hopeful once again. I sincerely believe that each of us can arrive at inner serenity if we put in the spiritual work. This requires deep forgiveness and acceptance, a state of mind in which we no longer need affirmation from those who should have freely given it to us. It’s the liberation found in the well-known prayer attributed to St. Francis, “O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.”

Consider the concept of filial piety taught by Confucius in the 5th century B.C. It calls for respecting our ancestors and current family members, beginning with our parents. According to Confucius, this is the mortar that holds societies together. To use another image, it’s the sinews that connect the body of humanity. Without it, there is chaos.

I’m not saying we should submit to unjust authority. There are times when we need to raise our fists in protest. There are times when we need to withdraw from the reach of those who would continue to hurt us, even our family members.

Yet there is still great wisdom in what Confucius taught, echoed in the Jewish commandment, “Love your father and mother, so that it may be well with you, and you may live long on the earth.” When we learn to love our elders, breaking loose of resentments into the pure air of forgiveness and acceptance, our world becomes steadier on its axis. We are then freer to exercise our own uniqueness.

How will we know when we have reached this level of maturity? When our memories of toxic events become healed, no longer releasing radioactivity into our lives. I’ve always loved these words from Lewis B. Smedes, one of the most profound writers on forgiveness.

“Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.”

I once counseled a man who demonstrated this healing principle in action.

He had every legitimate reason to hate his upbringing. His whole family system was addicted—his father to work, his mother to alcohol, a brother to drugs. With an absent male figure and a female influence that was domineering and unpredictable, he had no port in a storm. He drifted into addiction himself, making one misguided decision after another.

In recovery, his mind began to clear. He learned the concepts of surrender, transparency, forgiveness, and serving others. He began to practice what Twelve Steppers call a “daily inventory,” a growing awareness of the thought patterns that still held him in bondage.

What cropped up repeatedly was the residual pain and anger attached to his family. He knew that without letting go of this turmoil, he couldn’t experience true sobriety. But how was he to do that? People gave him loads of advice and most of it sounded like trite slogans that never penetrated his spirit.

Then he internalized another essential part of appreciation…

Appreciation of Our Suffering and Struggle: Participants in Twelve Step fellowships often hear startling words. Someone says, “My name is ‘so and so’ and I’m a grateful addict/alcoholic.” Then they often share their painful history: blackouts, health problems, jail time, repeated stints in rehab, or the overwhelming despair that led to thoughts of suicide. If they have plumbed the depths of recovery, they also see the suffering they caused for everyone around them—relatives, neighbors, coworkers, even innocent bystanders in the community.

Who would be grateful for a disease that led to these consequences? Answer: someone who realizes a profound and liberating truth: every experience in our lives, no matter how painful, can promote spiritual maturity, even joy, if we learn the lessons offered.

Despite what you may think, this isn’t a rare occurrence. You will find it among people of all races, ages, occupations, and educational levels who have done the work to liberate themselves. Let them bring you hope!

Every one of us can look back and dwell on mistakes we’ve made, loves we’ve lost, or chances we missed. Regret can become a self-defeating trance that traps us in the hamster-wheel repetitions of our minds. Or, we can cling to our blame of family members, friends, or associates who carelessly or intentionally wounded us. We nurse those grudges as if we are watering one of the plants in Little Shop of Horrors.

Instead, if we calmly affirm the lessons we have learned from each and every one of these struggles, our third eye begins to open and gives us clarity.

Thankfully, the man I mentioned broke through to the liberating insights he needed. As he prepared to make amends to those he had harmed through his addiction, he realized that he also needed to forgive himself for the pain he had caused. He connected with the saving power of grace, and he knew that he needed to extend this quality to others who had harmed him. It was far from easy, but over time, he transformed his memories into serenity for the present and hope for the future. He recently said this to me: “It’s amazing. It never thought I would reach this point in my life. I am completely in my own skin. I wouldn’t want to have any other history. I wouldn’t want to be any other place. I wouldn’t want to be any other person.”

Think again of the Tao symbol in which the dark portion contains a point of light, and the light portion contains a point of darkness. This is a perfect depiction of living in a middle path when it comes to our suffering and struggle. In the dark we can discover points of illumination. In the light, we are aware of our own flaws so that we never succumb to arrogance. It’s a beautiful way of being!

Now let’s turn from appreciation to anticipation.

Joyful Anticipation

In a previous book of mine—Consider the Lilies: Five Ways to Stop Worrying and Enjoy the Kingdom of God—I wrote the following.

Our English word “worry” comes from the Old English wyrgan, meaning “to strangle.” How fitting, for this is exactly what worry does to us! It grabs us by the neck and chokes away the vitality from our lives. Worry steals our peace, weakens our potential, and sours our closest relationships. Just when it seems we have pried away its strangling tentacles, it throws out others we never knew were there.

Worry is fear rooted in negative anticipation. Fueled by unhealed moments from our past or the constant barrage of negativity that flows from the world around us, we anticipate, even imagine, the worst. But despite our fight or flight genetics, there’s a more peaceful reality, a pearl of great price imbedded in our innermost nature. It’s the knowledge that we are immersed in a benign Presence that we alternately call God, Higher Power, Spirit, or Tao. Surrendering to this Mystery can fill us with a sense of wellbeing that erases our expectation of calamity.

Unlike the past and its concrete images stored in our memory, the future is yet unexplored. This is why I use the words joyful anticipation.

At this point, some of you may strongly object. Based on your assessment of your past and all the dark cards you think you’ve been dealt, you’re cynical about what lies ahead. Fatalism clouds your vision. There’s no harmony in your perspective, only dread.

I invite you to think in another way. No matter how difficult your past has been, you survived. You grew stronger and hopefully a bit wiser from your experience. Let that realization help you believe that your future, no matter what happens, will work to enrich your life.

Recently, in one of my Twelve Step meetings, I heard a poignant story. A woman chronicled her descent into addiction and alcoholism, her version of a downward spiral that, in one form or another, was common to all of us. When she had lost everything—her children, her job, and most of her health—her family had her committed to a psychiatric institution. She remembered sitting in the back seat of her brother’s car, looking out at the foreboding building through her window, overcome by despair.

Fast forward ten years. The woman embraced the treatment offered to her like a floating mast after a shipwreck. She began to trust others. She began to treat herself with love and grace. She resurrected her lifelong dream of returning to school and pursuing a career in nursing. On a proud day, she received her diploma. Then, after graduation, she worked for a temp company that provided skilled care to a number of hospitals in her hometown.

This brought her, once again, to the parking lot of the very place she had received treatment. She looked out at the buildings that had inspired such dread, now seeing them from a vastly different perspective. She tried to describe something she said was indescribable—the feeling of her new life, a person with purpose, remembering the shell of herself that had been on death’s doorstep that day her brother delivered her. She began to cry, struggling for words, but to each of us who were listening, she couldn’t have been more eloquent. Our tears flowed with hers. Her story was a living parable, a shining example of one of the promises in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous: We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

If you wince at the word God, think of it another way. The Universe has your back. You are not destined for disaster. There is love, grace, and fulfillment in your future, so joyfully anticipate it.

Inspirational writer, Alan Cohen, sums up some of the thoughts in this chapter in his book A Course in Miracles Made Easy: Mastering the Journey from Fear to Love.

The future you expect is a projection of your beliefs about the past…When you change your thoughts about the past, you change your thoughts about the future, and thus you create a better future…If you regard yourself and life through the lens of fear, guilt, and mistrust, you will expect a morbid future. If you regard yourself and life through the lens of love, innocence, and faith, you will expect a bright future.

Practice

Take time today to practice the suggestions in this chapter. Sit for some moments and be grateful for the physical form you’ve been given, the family that birthed you into this world, and every single struggle that has taught you lessons of strength and maturity. Bring this appreciation into the present. Then anticipate that every day from here on forward—no matter what you may face—the Presence upholding you will ultimately guide you, teach you, and bring you peace.

Here are some affirmations you can speak out loud.

  1. I celebrate my physical body exactly as it is, knowing I am created as a one-of-a-kind miracle.
  2. Despite any pain from my past, I choose to affirm the family and ancestral roots that gave birth to my unique existence. I seek to forgive any ills done to me, no matter how difficult they may be.
  3. I affirm that every trial I survived has imparted knowledge and power that I can use to live more fully.
  4. I anticipate the future with joy, knowing that I can never be separated from the loving Presence that surrounds me and upholds me.

            As you fuse these aspects of appreciation and joyful anticipation into this present moment, remember this:

Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.

Part Three will post on June 11

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