We Are the Walking Wounded Admit it. You’ve been wounded. We are all wounded. The world is a painful place. This week I’ve put my arms around a mother who lost her son in an accident. I’ve witnessed the grief of a young mom holding the blankets of a baby she had tucked into bed
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2 little slash marks. I’ve started marking them on my wrist each morning. It’s a reminder for me when I see it to stop, find my pulse and pause. Pause and feel my heart beating. Your heart started beating 16 days after you were conceived. That’s long before you ever thought your first thought.
The bird in the picture above is a fortunate one. A crash landing was inevitable when it came in contact with a patio door. Stunned and hurting, gentle strong hands fueled by a compassionate heart scooped the wounded from the dirt and lifted it to safety. The young photographer captured this moment as her dad,
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Intellectually, this is a no-brainer. In reality, too many of us resist doing it. When we have a day that is technically not a work day and we cram it full of activities that drain us, people who suck the life out of us and busy-ness that leaves our soul tired and empty. You need
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I’m sure we’ve all witnessed it. Out of nowhere there’s an unmistakable thump of flesh and blood colliding with a solid surface. In my case it was a poor misguided bird whose trajectory in life had been rudely interrupted by my living room window. I always feel so bad for the little guys and hate
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