Somewhere between yesteryear and the present, I found joy, utter happiness, incalculable peace, and seamless bliss. In the midst of this unpredictable and painful world sprinkled with countless reasons to cry, I remained bound to tranquility. Serenity found me but like most empaths, I found myself feeling guilty at times because the peace truly did surpass all understanding.
I think of the many people that willingly give their happiness away each day. Doing this by thinking too much but most importantly thinking far too much in the middle. Not rich but not poor. Not happy but not sad. Carefully floating in the “in-between” waiting for the rug to be pulled from beneath fragile feet or meticulously walking the tightrope fearing that we might upset God and miss our opportunity to be blessed. This mindset keeps us imprisoned. Uncomfortable yet content. Keeping the bottom warm and allowing the floor to be our own personal ceiling. I once spoke this language fluently. Prayer taught me to make my vocabulary less narrow. Bigger He said.
Yes, between yesteryear and the present, I found joy. It was not attached to a person a place or a thing. It was simply given to me, free of charge. A special gift from our Father in Heaven. Something so very precious. He trusted me enough to grant me the double dose of grace each day. How silly would I be to give it away? Alternatively, to allow it to be a feeling that fleets or eventually become fair-weather? Therefore, I decided to plant it. Submerging myself in beautiful things, affirming my purpose, giving when it seemed like I had nothing to give, and realizing that just “being” is enough. Water it, He said.
Groundbreaking soil was placed under my size seven feet and my eyes began to open. I am so grateful for my yester-year and my present. It owes me nothing. When the world is at war and flesh is at war with itself, I feel the grace wash over me. I believe that seeds are being sent to those with palms ready to receive while preparing themselves to give. So yes, I found joy and peace right where I am planted. May we all consciously pot ourselves in places awaiting the opportunity to pass on the gift given to us. May the gift of peace intentionally spread through our garden.
Stay Potted. Stay Watered.
Paintings by Charly Palmer