Hope: Heavy or Light?

 

When I was a kid, I had a dream that I was in Care-a-Lot (the place where the Care Bears lived). I climbed up ladders from one cloud to another, exploring. I laid down on a bed of clouds. It was comfortable. It felt like heaven.

And then I woke up. I remember being so upset and trying to fall back asleep, hoping I could find my way back to that dream. Who wouldn’t want to live up in the clouds? I thought.

I never found that dream again. The threads of it had unravelled as soon as I woke. It had floated away.

The traditional Christian imagery for hope is an anchor (Hebrews 6:18-19), but my thoughts on hope have often drifted from that image to something lighter. I’ve imagined the word “hope” written in the language of clouds, the edges soft and backlit by a pink sun, spacious, billowy, heavenly. A Care-a-Lot of possibility.

I’ve always thought of hope as a light; a glow off in the distance, high up, out of reach, yet we reach for it—and the further away the light is, the more we strain to reach it.

We hope it won’t rain on the day we’re hosting a barbecue. We hope we got into the fastest line at the border, the best lane on the highway during a traffic jam—and we hope the car behind us doesn’t rear-end us when we brake quickly and suddenly. We hope our friends are in some of the same classes as we are. We hope our kids make good choices. We reach for these pleasant outcomes, holding our hands out and most of the time watching cirrus mist drift through our fingers. Insubstantial and dreamy. Hope floats on by and if we’re lucky, we might feel the breeze of it on our faces some of the time.

This is the problem with clouds. They float away and they constantly change shape. The wind blows them away carelessly. We can hope for a good many outcomes, but that doesn’t guarantee anything. Hope as clouds is a messy cluster of errant wishes; we can’t control anything through hope except perhaps a positive mindset—which is at risk of becoming a jaded one, as we make our way through our lives, as hope sifts through our fingers or sits off in the distance as a subtle idea but fails to be anything of substance.

What then, is hope? Why does it feel like it should be so light and airy when that also means it's inconsistent and unrealiable? 

Let’s go back to the heavy metal anchor. In a world like ours, I think I need something more substantial. I think I’m finally beginning to understand the draw of the anchor.

As soon as our hopes become desperate about problems or situations that are serious and deeply rooted, as soon as our happiness is at stake and our sense of life being inherently good is compromised, once we’ve struggled enough in life, can we simply “hope” that there are better days ahead? Can we go on with our heads in the clouds, still finding silver linings, believing that everything will work out, even though we have little control over those outcomes? What's the point? When I really, seriously need or want something, when I cannot be positive, floating around in a happy glow doesn't make sense. I want to hug my knees in the dark.

Maybe hope really is something found in the grit of the ocean floor rather than a cumulus cloud. Maybe true hope is found in the rock-bottom moments that actually begin with a feeling of hopelessness. The gritty anchor is the heavy, grounded object that prevents us from drifting off to sea, shrouded in mist. It prevents us from floating away, from getting lost, from losing ourselves.

Maybe being connected to the anchor allows us to float into the sky, into the clouds. Maybe the imagery of an anchor is significant because it’s a steadfast object, and when you’re talking about being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you do not see, the clouds are not enough. A belief that isn’t rooted in something solid can deteriorate. I can float up to the clouds if I want. I can dream of Care-a-Lot, I can be positive, but always, constantly, as the clouds float by, and if I find myself struggling, I need to cling to the constant chain that connects me to the immoveable anchor. An inverted fall arrest system. Gravity for grave situations.

Hope makes sense to me when I place it in the hands of my Creator, who is way bigger than this Earth and my little life. Hope makes sense to me when I understand that life is full of troubles and even in the face of failure, pain or lost dreams, even when the clouds turn dark, I can still hold on to the anchor, to God's promises and to the hope of heaven. He'll sit with me, in the dark, underwater, when I cannot look up at the bright side. Until I can look at the bright side.

Hope feels airy, but it’s connected like a ship, light on the seas, to a heavy anchor. Hope is a glow, not off in the distance but inside of us. When it feels like something far away and out of reach, we can stop reaching for those misty clouds and coming back empty-handed, and we start reaching in our hearts for God’s promises.

I like being positive and seeing the silver lining in problems, but when my head isn’t in the clouds, when life throws me underwater and the currents rock me, you’ll find me gripping the chain attached to the anchor, holding fast. Or maybe I’ll find you there, or maybe others; it’s a very long chain and we can help each other hold on.

Even when I'm in the clouds, imagining the infinite possibilities of God's promises, I’m going to hold on. 

Even when I can't see the anchor, I know it's there.

Four Seasons

 

Winter

Blown in by the wind

To a barren wasteland

Whitewashed by the weather

Nothing here, but here I stand

It’s cold and I’m alone here,

Stretching out my arms

It’s still in all the snow here,

Forgotten frozen charm

I’m free for a while

So I step into the snow

It’s a while before I realize

I don’t know where to go

The sun is bright and blinding,

I'm lost in an open space

The snow is deep and heavy

With the chances that I face

I dreamed of warmth and light

On the other side of cold

I dreamed of possibilities

To have but not to hold

Build a cage around me

It’s a safer place to be

Draw some lines out in the snow

Plant some pines and watch them grow

Build a cage around me

It’s a safer place to be

I’ll break the cage one of these days

I’ll bend the bars and walk away

Spring

After walking quite a long distance in the cold

She felt like giving up and letting go

She wrote some messages in the snow 

Explaining how she got here

She lay beside a river, nestled along the bank

Her dress was white and her expression blank

It wasn’t long before ice formed a hard layer on top of her

She said, “Here I’ll lie, frozen in time.”

(A Sleeping Beauty of sorts)

Well, you know what comes after winter: 

Spring

Everything has a chance to start over again

Let’s start with the sun – it grew stronger and burned longer every day, 

It saw the messages in the snow

It blazed at the girl and said, 

“Let me shine on you

Let me warm your soul

Let my light be your light

Let’s shine on the world.”

As the sun said these words, 

A small fissure appeared in the ice,

And the girl moved her hand.

An oak tree nearby felt the fissure as well 

He, too, read the message in the melting snow

The words were crooked now, but were still readable

He moved all his branches as breezes flew past and said to the girl,

“You belong and your roots are strong

They were made just for you, with great love

You may bend with the changing of seasons,

But the roots, your deepest heart, will keep you true”

It wasn’t long before the sun melted the river 

In its deepest places

And the sun told the river about the girl

The river began to move and chant and flow 

Over the girl, waking up the girl, saying, 

“Come along now; it’s time to get up and move

When the ground is slippery, and when it’s easy,

Just keep going;

It’s not the pace but the space you cross,

Whether a mile or a misstep,

Enjoy the flow of the river always.”

As the snow continued to melt, in the grass along the river, 

Flowers appeared, from one moment to the next

Crocuses, snow drops, forget-me-nots

Blooming in time, breathing in and out and onto the frozen girl,

“We have not seen this kind of beauty before

You’re the most beautiful you

Your character lights up your face

You’re glowing beneath all that ice!”

The flowers swayed in the breeze—

A warm breeze from the south 

Blowing Spring across the land

Blowing Winter away

As soon as the breeze saw the girl, 

It slowed and stopped at the spot

It whispered and whirled around the girl’s ears

Layers of voices, lovely and clear

Gently, quietly, wisps of words

A melody began to emerge,

“Everything will be all right

Everything will be all right

I’ll take you above all fear where it’s bright

And everything will be all right.”

By now, the girl thought she was dreaming, 

Hearing all these lovely sounds,

Hearing words in the wind and flowers singing

She opened her eyes and saw clusters of birds, 

Loud birds, on branches above her

It seemed like a racket at first,

But when you listened long enough, 

You could hear them whistle and repeat

Within chirps and tweets

The most beautiful song,

“Do you know how important you are?

Do you know that your life is a light?

It’s springtime; wake up and be free

Lift your head, look around, never fear

I promise, everything will be all right.”

And with that last line, the birds and the breeze entered a harmony

Sweeter than anything the girl could have dreamed up 

And Sleeping Beauty couldn’t sleep anymore

You see, it’s springtime, and her life was green and growing

She sat up with a gasp as the last bits of ice shattered around her

She stood up with a shiver and wrung out her white dress

And along the river she ran

Along the river she ran,

With Spring in her step

With the flowers and trees, the birds and the breeze

Cheering her on underneath the bright sun 

And she knew that everything was going to be all right. 

Everything was going to be all right.

Summer

In between the trees

All the trees nobody sees

The forest becomes silent

Heat comes up from underneath

Slow down and let it simmer

I just want a simple summer

Just the breezes through the leaves

Just the sun under my skin

Summer’s under pressure

Friday feelings all week long

A mess of summer memories

Are strewn across the lawn

Out there in the streets

People piled in SUVs

They’ve got to live their summer dreams

And stay ahead of falling leaves

Summer’s under pressure 

Hardly here before it’s gone

If you move too fast

You’ll be forsaken by the sun

Slow down and let it simmer

I just want a simple summer

Just the breezes through the leaves

Just the sun under my skin

Stop

Don’t go

Just take it slow

Stay 

Maybe pray

Maybe listen to Coldplay

Lie

Under the tree

Go to sleep, go to sleep

Freeze time

Summer time

Simple syrup, squeeze of lime

Fall

Remember the river? 

First frozen, it quickened in spring

Meandered through summer

And slowed as it approached the fall

Everything is about to change

Amber and maroon

Marooned on the shore

I cannot go furthermore

I can't go like this;

Something has to change

I need to grow into my wings

The Falls are thundering

The fall is wondering

The chaos calls me, beckoning

But not before I change

I need the winds of change

I want to fly above it all

Every-thing ends up here, I’m here

Waist-deep in the chatter, the debris of the year

The river pushes conversations, turns them around

Pooling and collecting, then absorbing in the ground

It’s happening so fast, I feel the water pull me in

Multi-coloured memories are flashing from within

I’m waiting for my wings to form ‘cause I don’t want to fall

I don’t want to let go; I can be strong, though I feel small

On my way to winter, whether well- or ill-prepared

My wings are all I have, I need them strong, I can’t be scared

Down below, way too slow, it will be different, but I know

Whether feathers fly or fall, it doesn’t matter: winter calls

The river chatters and repeats the things I’m worrying about 

I look down and play trust and push aside the shifting doubt

I spread my wings and let go and feel the rush and now I know

That I can fly and I can feel and I am free and now I know

I started learning how to grow these wings a long time ago

I started learning how to grow these wings a long time ago

Version 40.0

I turned 40 today. 

40 feels, well, ten years older than 30. When I turned 30, I shared my thoughts about it here. I sounded so much younger—ten years younger, to be exact.

At 40, you have a lot of life to look back on. The fact that 20 years ago, I was an adult, kind of blows my mind. 

(I’m good at math, eh?)

I guess I need to do these equations to really feel the significance of 40.

Now, I say things my parents used to say. I tell my kids, “When I was your age, we didn’t have the Internet. We had to drive to a place called Blockbuster and rent physical movie DVDs to watch...and then we had to return them!” 

Now, having a good night’s sleep is an emergency situation. I feel like I'm ahead of the game if I'm in bed before 10 p.m. Which is my bedtime. Because I'm an adult and I have a bedtime.

Now, the top shelf of my pantry is full of supplements.

Just like my body really craves and needs balance and yells at me when I slip out of equilibrium, my mind seems to need the same sort of balance now more than ever before. Imbalance is a problem that can't go ignored.

I've spent a lot of time, had a lot of conversations, filled a lot of journals and cluttered a lot of space in my mind trying to figure life out--trying to find the balance. My purpose. What I would do. Why certain things happened in certain ways. As though life is a complex math problem, not just simple addition and subtraction.

As my 30s ebbed away, I felt left with this determination, this intuitive warning, this desire to just be as much as I have been doing, doing, doing (but never quite doing enough). That duality of life, being and doing, requires equilibrium, and I've never appreciated that so much as I do now. 

In the "being" is where I've found a lot of magic.

Maybe it's my age, maybe it's the fullness of life and all its relationships and responsibilities at "middle age" that grows a desperation to find calm, or rest, or peace, or a break, or a minute, or a moment, but I have never felt so indebted to nature as I have recently for its truth, its raw beauty, its honesty. 

It only takes a moment for nature to astound you:

Lying on the grass and listening to the wind in the trees, the catbird's original song to the left, the deafening buzz of prehistoric-looking cicadas hidden in sycamores with peeling trunks to the right. Walking through quiet woods covered in multidimensional green from the sky to the forest floor, surrounded by the stillness and reassurance of friendly, old trees. Sitting in a kayak in the middle of a northern lake, a panorama of trees on hills outlining inky, sparkling water that diffuses all the anxiety in your stomach, replacing it with a weighted calm. The sacred moment of a striking sunrise at its height of intensity. The silhouette of a white pine shaped by the prevailing winds. I'm gonna cry.

I find myself desperate for it--a walk down a path, a bird song, a clump of moss, the texture of clouds in the sky, the joy of the sun, the earthy scent of the rain. When you're always "doing," you can easily miss these moments. Just "being" in nature allows you to fall under its spell.

The cartography of my heart has also become more detailed, more complex. I have always felt this way, but after 40 years of knowing and loving so many people, I can honestly say with conviction that there is no greater joy than what comes from an honest and unfettered conversation, a squeezy hug or a gut-clenching belly laugh shared with someone I love. The thrill of connection remains at the pinnacle of what I value in life.

I feel like the same person I was when I was younger, just the newly-released version: Version 40.0.

I've finally noticed and accepted things about myself that perhaps I never wanted to acknowledge. You know, the pesky attributes that simmer under the surface until you are ready to say hi to them, acknowledge their existence and either help them find a place in your life or deal with them so they are no longer that constant, annoying burden.

I've also had to accept the harsh realities of life that my Version 20.0 or even Version 30.0 self may have been too naive to understand. Amidst the many lovely and fun and exciting and rewarding and amazing experiences of my life, I've seen more unbelievable things happen the longer I have lived, and therefore had to believe that they could happen, which also means accepting that they could happen again. There is much to lose. I suppose one would have seen these things happen by the time your life is statistically half over.

But in a world like the one we live in right now, which feels more strange and less safe by the day, which has been infected by a pandemic of many things, and after having dealt with many challenges, I can see that all the dusky days, the cloud cover, the darkness, the strangeness, the difficulties and the disappointments are what allow me to realize and appreciate the good, all the little bits of happy that really matter SO MUCH...that glow and dance like fireflies against a sometimes dark backdrop:

crafting the perfect cheese sauce

coconut whipped cream in my coffee

the memes and jokes shared in group chats

the unexpectedly delightful things my kids say

the whispered breezes of kindness from others

the joy of making soup for loved ones

the jeans that solve a multitude of problems

karaoke and then more karaoke and then one more song and then JUST one more song 

finishing a fantastic book and wandering around for days in the after-haze

the legacies we're all weaving together

This is how I feel at 40.

Living with Uncertainty

Wow, eh?!

The last couple of weeks have been a lot to take in. We are in the middle of a pandemic, it’s all over the news, and it’s the only thing that we are talking about. In less than two weeks, our lives have been upended and we are struggling with how to make sense of what is going on and how to carry on.

It's hard to believe that we were doing "normal" things only a few weeks ago, like going to hockey games, getting together with friends, running into a grocery store well-stocked with toilet paper and not thinking twice about the abundance.

I’ve been feeling this strange feeling every day. The feeling that feels “different,” that we are in the midst of “unprecedented times,” that if we don’t try really hard to do what experts urge us to do, that Canada could be in the midst of a disaster like China, Italy, Spain and other countries in the world are, all from a virus that we can’t see, we don’t know where it is, but we’re all trying to protect ourselves from it. This is truly a lot to take in.

All of a sudden, our daily lives look really different. My most significant goal for the week is planning out meals so I can order groceries that will last us for a week. This is hard when you tend to forget things and end up having running backup lists of the things you forgot and still need. This is hard when you have chocolate cravings and are down to the last spoonful of Nutella. For many of us, we’re home with kids and trying out some sort of new routine with homeschooling. Some days are good, but others are pure frustration. By 6 p.m., I'm pretty exhausted.

Whenever I look in the mirror, I see a worried face. Lennon keeps apologizing to me, and when I ask why, he tells me that I look mad and he thought he did something wrong. “No, buddy, I’m not mad, this is just how I look now.”

{Oh no, my frown lines are deepening.}

 I will definitely need Botox when this is all over.

“When this is all over” is a phrase I’ve heard and said a few times over the past couple of days. Coronavirus is like a dark cloud, and we don’t know how far it stretches. We know it’ll be over some day, but we don’t know when. It’s shrouded in uncertainty; we're walking into the fog. 

These are certainly uncertain times. How long will this go on for? How long will we need to distance ourselves from one another? How long with the kids be out of school? How long will businesses remain closed? How bad will things get before they get better—where is the peak of the curve? Will I get coronavirus or do I know someone who will get it? What will the summer look like? What will the rest of this year look like? For how long will finances and the economy be affected by the pandemic?

The answer to all of these questions is the same: “We don’t know.” Nobody knows. We’re living in uncertain times. In a year, we will be able to look back and comment on what happened, but right now, it feels like a complete mystery.

Uncertainty welcomes fear, anxiety and worry in with a flourish: “Come on in! Make yourself comfortable! Sit down and stay awhile…let’s use our imaginations and create some worst-case scenarios!” This is how I tend to deal with uncertainty, and I’ve definitely had some panicky moments in the past couple of weeks. (Hormones make it even worse – “pandemic PMS” feels a bit apocalyptic.)

I feel, and maybe you do as well, that the uncertainty here is the hardest part to come to terms with. The not knowing what comes next. The news literally changes by the minute, and it’s all happening so fast that we are still reeling from what happened a week ago, not to mention what is happening right now. Being in a state of not knowing is so challenging and frustrating because there is no way to plan for anything past tomorrow.

The only thing we can really do is learn to be OK with uncertainty. It’s such an uncomfortable feeling, but we can accept the fact that we do not know exactly how things will turn out, and then maybe uncertainty won't feel as uncomfortable anymore.

This reminds me of when I was pregnant, and the only position I could sleep in around my huge belly was really awkward and really uncomfortable. I would lie on my side with one arm kind of wrapped around my chest and the other draped along the length of my body.  This frustrated me so much, and I remember being upset at first because it was so uncomfortable (being pregnant is far from comfortable as it is), so it took me a while to get used to sleeping that way. In the end, I just had to learn how to relax enough to sleep in a very uncomfortable position.

We can learn to live with this uncertainty without letting it destroy us with fear and worry. We can learn to relax in the face of a million questions.

So many people throughout the ages have lived through an unprecedented time and did not know what was going to happen next. We are here, living in this chapter of history, and we can’t do anything about it but accept it and trust that everything will be OK—that this will be over one day.

Because we are the ones living in this chapter of history, we have a responsibility associated with living in this time. We may not know exactly what it is right now (ask me in a year), but we can start with being honest with our feelings, helping in whatever way we can, putting on a smile for our kids and looking to God for guidance in these day-by-day times. Knowing that we have a place here in this moment gives a sense of purpose. We’re here for a reason, and even by just being here today, even if we don’t know what tomorrow brings, we are contributing to a moment in history.

If we can be OK with this feeling of discomfort, this feeling of uncertainty, instead of letting it catapult us into a state of fear and anxiety about the future, we can survive as best we can in “today.” It forces us to live in today, make the most of today and be grateful for what we have today.

What is helping me to come to terms with this uncertainty is putting my trust in God, completely. He knew this was going to happen. He loves us and He cares – He has a plan for each of us to get through this and come through at the other end with a positive outcome, both individually and collectively.

I’m really trying, every day, to practice trusting God and being OK with the uncertainty.

“I don’t know what the future may hold, but I know who holds the future.”

-Ralph Abernathy

Wishing you all safety and health during this time! 

The Space Between Intention and Interpretation

Communication goes something like this: Person A says or does something—words or an action on a blank piece of paper—which is then shaped and coloured in by that person’s personality, life experiences, current mood, and of course, whatever intention Person A had in the first place.

“Honey, I think you should go with the red dress.”

Then that piece of communication falls into a giant space. The Space Between Intention and Interpretation.

Person B will eventually receive that piece of communication and based on their own personality, life experiences and current mood, will make a choice about just how he or she will interpret that piece of information.

“So you’re saying I look bad in the black dress. Jerk.”

What happens in the Space?

A LOT can happen in the Space.

The Space is the place where the difference between intention and interpretation is established—where assumptions reign supreme. The Space is the place where a good intention can become transformed into a malicious one, where a meaningless exchange can morph into a unkind gesture, where an action can be turned all the way around and upside down—where not responding to a text message can change from “I forgot to text you back” to “she must be mad at me…I must have said something to upset her.” The Space is the place where something simple can become unnecessarily complex, where an answer can raise more questions, where innocence can be turned into something to feel guilty about. The Space is the place where offense is born.

There is a potentially massive disconnect that threatens between intention and interpretation.

Whatever you say or do is thrown out there and can very easily end up in that Space. You have no control over what happens in that Space, or just how it comes out on the other end. Your intentions may not be interpreted in a linear, simple way. Your intentions may be unclear to the receiver, or Person B’s interpretation of your intention might have gotten all messed up in the Space. It’s humanity, and we deal with it every day.

This problem is woven into the fabric of TV shows, movies and real-life stories alike. Watch any episode of Thomas the Tank Engine or Daniel Tiger’s Neighbourhood and you’ll see that right from the start, we are showing our kids that we struggle as humans with communicating how we feel and understanding just how our words or actions are going to be received. We often need to have a reconciliation conversation to clear the air and make it right.

Watch any sitcom or rom-com or plain-old com or the news or your Facebook or Twitter feed and you will see loads of people feeling slighted, hurt or offended by something someone said or did. There are a lot of memes circulating about that these days, which also speaks to the sort of sociocultural climate we are living in right now.

People can be mean, of course, and blatantly so, and we all have a right to stand up for what we believe in and what we feel is right, but I also wonder just how many situations could be resolved by exploring Person A’s actual intentions, and by Person B exploring how and why he or she arrived at that understanding. I wonder how often intentions were either communicated poorly or interpreted differently than intended.

Anais Nin said,

“We don’t see things as they are. We see things as we are.”

We look at every situation through our own perspective, and even when we are trying to be nice, trying to be helpful, trying to prove something about ourselves, trying to show others that we want to feel important, trying to do the right thing or trying not to offend anyone, there’s no guarantee that our words or actions will be received in the manner with which they were delivered.

I wish that all of the things I’ve said to people and all of my actions were interpreted as I intended them. But I know that’s not the case. I also wish that I could have tried harder to shape my communications with a clearer intention so there would be less of a chance of them being misinterpreted. But I’m not perfect, and I haven’t.

There are times when I wish I could have said the perfect thing to comfort or encourage someone, or said the perfect thing to break the ice and start a good conversation, or ask the appropriate and considerate question, or just done what I know I should have done, but instead I’m sure I have often peppered the Space with questions that seemed awkward or responses that sounded like flat, run-of-the-mill catch phrases that were just asking to be interpreted as such instead of with the colour of caring or kindness.

Maybe in some cases, particularly if it was someone who knows me well, Person B knew my heart and understood my intentions, and interpreted them in the best possible way, but we can’t know that for sure.

There have been times when I have felt hurt, stressed, jealous or angry and ended up speaking through the filter of those things. There are also times when I know I have felt hurt or misunderstood someone’s actions toward me, and letting it bother or offend me when instead it was an invitation to look more closely at the intention.

How many times have you lain awake at night, worrying about how you said something and realizing that even though you meant it one way, your comment could have been interpreted in a different way? We stress about how our intentions were interpreted, and sometimes it was rightly so—an invitation to make it right—but other times, it could be our insecurities telling us we did something wrong, when in fact the person actually understood our intentions. How many times have you tried to clear your conscience by bringing up a conversation you had with someone weeks ago, only to find out the person doesn’t even remember the conversation, or didn’t interpret it the way you worried it was interpreted? The Space can make things so messy!

How can we be clearer about our intentions without becoming a robotic Captain Obvious?

Why is there such a huge gap in understanding? 

Why are more and more people choosing to feel offended about things that could possibly be misunderstood intentions or just someone having a bad day? Perhaps the Space is magnified because of social media and the freedom and availability people have to use social platforms to speak their minds and express their opinions, but then it's our responsibility to manage and navigate the Space with maturity, humility, strength, grace, mercy and love. 

I’ve noticed with myself that I tend to interpret communication in a more negative way the more hurt, angry and uncaring I feel. When my sense of self-worth is low, I tend to be vulnerable to misunderstandings and prone to impatience—that’s when I can make something out of nothing. That's when I can say hurtful things, even though I won't really mean them tomorrow. That’s when the Space widens.

On the other hand, when I’m feeling confident within myself and understand all of my imperfections, I am way more capable of loving and understanding others. When I take the time to work on my own vulnerabilities, when I work through negative feelings and let go of things, and when I take care of myself, things don’t bother me or affect me nearly as much. I am way more adept at interpreting intention. I love to understand. I can build a bridge over the Space.

I wonder if perhaps humility and strength could bring us to a place where we can more easily understand others…a place where we can receive words and actions with love and in the same way, give our words and actions away with love. Love is definitely the strongest material with which to build a bridge of understanding—to shrink the Space. Love covers over a multitude of wrongs.

What was my intention for writing this? I want to point out the existence of the Space between intention and interpretation with the hopes of making it smaller—with the hopes of building bridges of understanding.