My Treasured Chest

I can't believe it's not butter

What exactly is left behind when we move on to a new lifestyle?  This question hit home for me last week when a health issue sent me to the Breast Surgical Oncologist.

My left breast.  It took up a lot of room.  It was no longer useful.   I couldn’t sell it.  I wouldn’t donate it.  It was only the memories attached to it that I really wanted.

But when push came to shove, I couldn’t imagine having to part with it.  Or part with part of it.  Unless I was dying, I wanted to keep it.  And so I did.

Fortunately, the surgeon agreed and I came home with it and found the perfect spot to give it the honor it deserves.  I will take it with me when I leave here, knowing that I will always be able to revisit the decision at a later time.

But the sewing machine… that really has to go….

 

 

Eggzactly

My beautiful picture

It is mostly because I have given birth in a barn of a hoard with a bunch of asses shouting “push” that I know the real miracle to celebrate is Easter, not Christmas.  Anyone can be born.  Most of us can live.  We all die.  But to come back from death and give birth to hope and faith and love is quite an accomplishment.  Whether a Phoenix or the Son of God, coming from the depths of darkness to the light of possibilities and dreams coming true, it is the guidance of these few examples which allows any of us to enter a tunnel with any expectation of coming out on the other side of the mountain.

If you are trying to help a hoarder, your gentle guidance is going to be far more effective than a big production.  Ultimately, the hoarder wants to crack its own shell as it sees the light, taking all the time it needs to adjust to the bright light of spaciousness.  If you are walking on eggshells around a hoarder, you are beginning to help.  You are to be commemorated and celebrated.