God Knows

Sometimes God makes me laugh out loud with the antics of creatures. In this case a squirrel poised on a fence wire intently watching something — something I couldn’t see. One false move and she would lose her balance. Hmm, sounds familiar.
Sometimes God makes me chuckle to myself: a pussy willow wearing a jaunty cap. I wonder if God ever thinks we look jaunty?
Sometimes God instills in me a sense of wonder for the most common things: a California poppy — glowing, radiating beauty from within. Can I do that?
Look at those gorgeous veins, I exclaim to a passerby, pointing to the wild radish petals. Do I see my own veins as lovely? God made those, too.
I am looking directly west. A craftsperson took great care to make the W of this compass star artistically pleasing. Do I always try to do my best?
The yellow ice plant leaves make a pattern within the green ones. Do I see the patterns in my own life? Patterns that perhaps need tending?
Spirit draws my attention to a fence post. It stands witness to the ever-changing Pacific, to the souls who pass by whether pensive, blissful or somewhere in between. To what do I stand witness?
Sometimes God shows me how something like ivy can be viewed as positive, negative or neutral. Do I give others the freedom to be viewed at all angles?
Sometimes the plants themselves seem to stop me in my tracks just to say: hi! A friendly smile and greeting can change the trajectory of someone’s day.
When I arrived back where I started my walk, God gave me another belly laugh. Now there were two squirrels balanced precariously, looking at who-knows-what. God knows. I guess that will have to be enough for me.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.

Finding Your Voice

We have a new dog. His name is Remy and that’s all we know about his past. His reactions to various noises leads me to believe his past owner drove a loud pickup truck, listened to classic rock music and lived with or near horses. None of this may be true.

We chose him from the county shelter in part because he seemed so calm and serene. When we brought him to Quaker Meeting, he went around the circle of worshippers one by one and silently greeted each person. Those arriving late were met at the door with slight nudges to their hands.

For ten days snoring was the only noise we heard him make—no whines, growls or barks. I wondered if his vocal cords were damaged, but our new vet assured us they were not.

Once Remy felt confident that our home was his new territory, he found his voice. His bark is low and loud. He can sound ferocious, but I think he’s a tender and playful pup at heart.

What do we sound like when we find our voice? There have been times in my past when my voice sounded ferocious to others and my outer layer was quite prickly. As I’ve voiced my truth again and again, a soft center has begun to emerge. I haven’t forgotten my former life, but I’ve embraced a fresher, more tender me.

My hope for Remy is that he can move into his new life quite easily and accept his current circumstances. That he can let his guard down and relish our love for him.

My hope for us is that we never stop finding our voices and speaking our truths. For they will eventually set us free.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Tumbled to Perfection

A walk on Glass Beach in Fort Bragg, California is a magical experience. Everywhere I look, bits of metal, ceramic and, the beach’s namesake, glass, greet me.

Glass Beach is more accurately a string of small beaches. I must climb over rocks to get to them, some of which are not rocks at all, but compacted behemoths of garbage. These are not barefoot beaches.

The unusual composition of Glass Beach draws in tourists from every part of the globe. Today I hear Russian, Spanish and French. I note that most people, when faced with the decision to take the difficult path or the easy path, choose the hard way.

I also opt for “difficult” and it is a treacherous descent. The colorful debris is mixed in with seaweed, coral and natural rock. But most don’t care about these natural elements, for almost everyone is here to see the transformed trash that had been dumped into the sea long ago. The constant tumbling has made its rough edges smooth and pleasing.

I wonder if all these people, including myself, are subconsciously drawn here because we feel parts of us are “garbage” in need of casting into the ocean. And yet what does the sea tell us as it tosses back everything we’ve thrown in? Every bit of us can be tumbled to perfection—transformed into the most beautiful part of our being. Perhaps this is why so many of us choose the difficult path.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Half a Yard of Nature’s Fabric

Wistfully walking around the other half of our new yard, I am perplexed yet pleased at every turn. Perplexed because I’m full of questions: What is the name of that flower? Is it an annual or a perennial? Does it grow naturally or was it planted? Is it exotic or common? I am pleased because even the tiniest weed registers as gorgeous to my eye, and the flora has unabashedly presented itself for the visual “taking.”

Examining my own life, I realize there are times for pruning and pulling, and other times for observing and accepting. Akin to the wisdom of watching one’s yard for a year before digging or cutting, I must be keenly tuned in to a frequency of awareness without judgment as I settle into a fresh life.

I am seeking clues to my next steps. Do I let events evolve naturally or do I plot out my life garden’s design? Do I scatter seed to witness the embryonic emerging or do I make room for a mature plant?

I am still wandering my way through the property’s rich floral brocade and through my own spiritual tapestry. As time passes, I will become more familiar with my surroundings and my own life path. But there will always be surprises. Anticipating them is half the fun.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Everything is Inside

The subzero temperatures have kept me indoors with shades clamped shut against the howling winds. I’ve been wearing an outdoor scarf doubled around my neck in the house, yet my fingertips remain cold. The only place to go is inside my head—to the possibilities of spring.

When I contemplate plants, I realize they contain all that is necessary to continue life anew through seeds, bulbs, corms, rhizomes, roots. When I ruminate on caterpillars, I realize they also possess all they need for complete transformation. Everything is inside.

I also have everything I need to transform into the person I was meant to be. I may not recognize this at first. After all, does a seed look anything like a flower? Does a caterpillar remotely resemble a moth or a butterfly?

If I keep “at it”—feed on spiritual exercise, bask in wonder, continually give thanks for God’s abundance—change is inevitable. I’m even beginning to see a different person when I look in the mirror. My smooth skin now has a pattern of dots and lines. It’s only a matter of time before I feel bumps rising from my shoulder blades. By then, I’ll be ready to fly.

Photo 1: Quaking oat grass. Photo 2: American dagger moth caterpillar; great swallowtail caterpillar; yellow woolly bear caterpillar. Photo 3: Giant leopard moth caterpillar; turbulent phosphila caterpillar; dogbane tiger moth caterpillar. Photo 4: Tent caterpillars; smeared dagger moth caterpillar. All photos © Sondra Sula.

Living in Brokenness

Near the North Aurora dam there is a big crack in the ice. The crack extends out from the east edge, cutting a diagonal line that ends mid-river, at the mouth of the dam. Water from underneath the ice flows down and over the shallow dam. This crack creates a large triangle, about two hundred feet on its longest side.

I imagine this triangle, this massive chunk of ice, cracking off. How exciting and frightening it would be to see it come crashing down the tiny falls, breaking into smaller pieces. I imagine the noise, the piercing cracks, the pushing of air from the wings of surprised mallards, geese, and herons, and the immense splashes of solid hitting liquid. All of this would take place rather quickly and then things would gradually go back to the way they were.

Sometime in our lives, we are living with a crack. We’re so afraid of a part of us breaking off and flowing down the river. We’re afraid of the repercussions, of getting hurt, of hurting others. But God is with us. Even when the piece breaks off. Even as we gradually get back to whom we once were. Even if we’ve changed and that triangle of us is forever gone, God remains with us.

This blog is an excerpt from my latest book: Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond: A Daily Devotional, sold through Amazon.
Artwork: “St. Teresa’s Egg Cup” by Sondra Sula. All photos © Sondra Sula.

Remnants

“Remnants of Autumn” by Sondra Sula

Two days before nearly a foot of snow fell, I was walking along Lake Michigan on a solitary stretch of beach with my husband, a friend, and her dog. It was a rare warm day for the middle of November, especially since we were on the Michigan side of the lake. Soon I was alone, my meandering curiosity widening the gap between us until the three were mere dots in the distance. I followed the scalloped edges of debris that had formed during high tide.

“Weathered Acorn” by Sondra Sula

Most of the items washed up on the sand were remnants: a silken finger of wood, fallen leaves, emptied shells, a blackened acorn. Each told the story of a previous life. The wood, leaves and acorn were formerly part of a living, growing tree. They had traveled from sky to earth, had rolled into the water, and then had been returned, changed. Even the rocks and shells that had begun their lives in the lake had been coughed out, transformed.

I began to contemplate how I am only a remnant of what I used to be. My cells have sloughed off time and time again, and my rough edges have grown smoother over the years. As I navigate the lake of life, I transition between effortlessly floating, sinking to the bottom, and somersaulting through the waves, pounded by the surf. I am becoming someone new, different, and more interesting. I am now worn and polished to the point where glimpses of my inner life can be seen on my surface.

I felt a brief moment of unity with all of creation—comfortable being a remnant.

“Along Lake Michigan” by Sondra Sula

Non-Fatal Flaws

“Beautifully Burnt” by Sondra Sula

This past week I was strolling through a glade of magnificent magnolia trees in the midst of budding and blooming. But I soon realized these beautiful blossoms were flawed. Each open flower was “burnt” on the edges due to a late frost. Many of the buds, however, were left unscathed because they had not yet opened themselves to the world.

“Bud and Bloom” by Sondra Sula

As I started to photograph these magnolias, from afar and then very closely, I began to see their beauty. The brown, crispy edges reminded me of crème brûlée, the dessert that is intentionally burnt with a tiny blowtorch to create a crystalline crust and an exquisite flavor.

The “flaws,” now perceived as enhancements, brought out an aspect of the magnolias that would have remained hidden had this deep frost not occurred.

Most of us have gone beyond the bud stage. We have grown and opened ourselves to life. But life can hold some cold surprises for us – events that damage and bruise us. However, when we look at ourselves through the eyes of love, we may be able to recognize the beauty that is now present. We may be able to understand how past difficulties have shaped us into creatures of pure magnificence. Much like the exquisite magnolia flowers.

“Late Frost” by Sondra Sula