I am more than my suffering. More than my pain. More than the hardship and trials that I have endured while on this pilgrimage of life.
So, here I will be sharing my writings with you. My sufferings have given me a passion for life and compassion for those who live this life. It has deepened my understanding of life and sharpened my wit.
I share these writings with you so that you will not only come to know me in a fuller way, you may also realize that you, too, are so much more than what you have suffered. And as you partake of my gifts, I encourage you to embrace the gift of YOU.
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I wrote the following article when I was going through a period of great depression and after suffering a deep, personal loss:
A Rose in the Ashes
This story was inspired by my dear friend, Gloria Dahl.
We all experience difficult times…some more painful than others.
Sometimes our dreams and our hearts become scorched and broken, and all that seem to remain is a pile of ashes. The ashes of our sorrows.
I had a dream that appeared to whither and die, right before my eyes. It floated to the ground like wispy feathers, a piece at a time, dark and sooty…the ashes of my sorrow.
I stood over my dream with a tear in my eye. The tear quivered among my lashes for the briefest of moments before slowly and silently making its lonely trek down the softness of my cheek and finding a new home in the ashes of my sorrow.
I turned to walk away from my dream when a flash of crimson caught the corner of my eye and drew it back to the ashes. There…right in the middle…in the ashes of my sorrow, was a rose of brilliant red. Its fiery petals were raised triumphantly skyward, glorying in the warmth of the golden sun, while its roots dug their thickened toes deeply into the ashes of my sorrow like a carefree child on a warm, breezy afternoon at the beach. I could almost hear the call of gulls as they dipped and swooped over the surface of a roaring surf.
The sound of silence grew loud in my ears, and in its stillness, I could hear the echo of quiet tears plopping and being embraced by the ashes of my sorrows. From each tear, a flower bloomed, and a garden of beauty blossomed around my feet, each rose a differing shape and color.
As my senses absorbed the scene before me, I realized that my dream had not died at all. Only in my releasing of the dream was it able to grow and flourish, providing sustenance for me and nurturing others.
The wisdom of the ashes of my sorrow spoke volumes to me as I listened to its silent witness.
I felt refreshed.
I was renewed.
I opened my eyes, picked up my pen, and began to write once more.
This story was written as a tribute to my friends who have walked with me and strengthened me throughout a very difficult and painful phase of my life.
The tears represent the different situations and setbacks that I have endured, and the roses are my friends…friends who have reached out to me and given me love, support, friendship, and laughter at the times when I needed them most.
Oftentimes in the struggles of life, we fail to recognize the roses scattered amongst the ashes of our sorrows. It is only when we draw our eyes away from our sorrows that we can see that our dreams never really die. They are only taking root, preparing for the day when their tender shoots are ready to break through the fertile ashes of our sorrows and reach for the sky.
When your heart is broken and your inspiration is gone, don’t forget to look around. I guarantee that you’ll begin to see your own garden springing up around you.
Who knows? One of your roses might be me.