Good morning…
For two fertile hours, I held it all, touched the joys and honored the sorrows.
Our second fitness class, The Ministry of Movement, brought creative connection to about twenty-five vibrant women. Some have been through knee and back surgeries. Some are grieving the loss of loved ones. Some are living with a dreaded diagnosis. Some are new combers joining the old faithfuls. To energizing praise music, all of us listened to the needs of our own aging body. Again, the atmosphere was fun, uplifting, life-giving, and as promised, I ended our time with this prayer.
Today I lay down my ambitions, fears, and dreams before You. I choose Your will above mine. God isn’t a dictator—but a Father. His will is not just right; it’s good, wise, and full of love. Sometimes we try to fit God into our plans. But true transformation happens when we fit into His.🧡 His will doesn’t crush you—it carries you. Today’s miracle thought: Surrender is not weakness—it’s the deepest form of trust.
After class, we happily chatted for as long as was needed. When our conversations naturally came to an end, I went upstairs to the third floor of our church, and I visited with two separate Bible study groups, each with about twenty-five to thirty-five women. Women who are raising aging children. Women who are empty nesters. Women who have lost loved ones, parents, children, friends. With many of the women I have grown close over the years, since I became the Women’s Ministry Director in 2008. In the span of two hours, I shared a rich slice of life with nearly one hundred amazing women.
For two fertile hours, I held it all, touched the joys and honored the sorrows.
Now, up in the middle of the night, I revisit a poem, a poem which animates my experience of yesterday morning. Amid the whirling pain of our wounding world, I held open intimate space, like the shore holds the pond.
*******
The Holding by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
The way the shore holds the pond,
that is how I want to hold
the pain in my heart, honoring
how vital it is. How it is home
to things with hard shells and sharp
claws and also to beings with gossamer
wings. To drain it would be to lose
my aliveness. To become barren,
cracked, dry. I can’t say I love
the spider-like skaters that streak
across the top, nor the thick gray muck
that lines the bottom. But I love
the green rushes that rim the edges,
the red-stemmed willows, the wild
iris. It is no easy thing to hold pain,
but I look how vibrant the pond shore is.
This alive is how I want to live.
Now I am drawn to the one unfamiliar word, gossamer. Researching I learn, gossamer means something extremely light, delicate, or tenuous, a film of cobwebs floating in air in calm clear weather. This alive is how I want to live.
Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is (Psalm 39:4, NLT).
This alive is how I want to live.
…Sue…
