No Dress Rehearsal

This is it ... the real deal. Your life is not a practice run or a dress rehearsal. Today's performance is the one that counts. You are here to work hard at life, to take it seriously, and be the best you can be. If you want to accomplish greatness, you can't put off until tomorrow the things you know you must do today. Stop making excuses that someday you'll get it right. You can't continue to blame others or your past. Put away those childish excuses. Don't just "try" to do your best, do it! You need to get it right today, right now, and you are the only one that can make it happen.

You came into this lifetime with a purpose. That purpose is known to your higher self. Ask yourself: What kind of individual am I meant to be? If you are meant to be a person of greater integrity, be that person now. If your higher self tells you to be a faithful, honest individual, be trustworthy today, not someday. If you need to be a more mindful and compassionate person, pay attention to people's needs now. If your best self desires a relationship in which both partners love and support one another, be a loving supportive partner to yourself as well as to your partner. If you are here to help create a peaceful world, you must look at your current thoughts and actions and ask yourself if what you say and do promotes peace. If not, change your attitude and behavior. With sincere effort, you'll become the person you know you were meant to become in this lifetime.

You are not here on earth to float along with ease. You are here to learn the hard lessons that help you become the best person you can possibly be. No one promised that it would be easy, but I can promise you that it is worth it. You can be the bright star that lights the way for others.

The Blessing of Uncertainty

I don't know. These three words freed me from a self-imposed prison of cleverness. I don't know allowed me to find humility and liberation.

I used to have the reasons, explanations, and solutions to most problems. When asked a question, I usually knew the answer, but if I didn't I kept quiet about it. It all began when I was a child.

I used to feel proud of the ability to be a good student. In school I almost always knew the answer the teacher wanted when she asked a question. Even though I was shy and didn't raise my hand to answer very often, there was a feeling of satisfaction when another student verbalized the answer I was saying to myself. This continued all the way through college. I rarely had to admit that I don't know.

Consequently, as an adult, I was under the impression that I had to know the answer to whatever topic was being discussed and especially about life's problems. I've known other bright people who also carry this burden of needing to have an answer. It seems that our ego is wrapped up in knowing. We feel deficient if we can't be an authority on a topic. We have the false belief that smart people have answers to all problems and if we don't have an answer, we must not be that smart. If I ranked myself among the smart ones, then I too must have answers. I had not developed the skill of not knowing. I had not learned to admit to myself or anyone else that I don't know the answer.

It's in the last decade that I have felt the freedom to admit that there are many, many things that I don't know. As a matter of fact, I don't know most things. Instead of frantically searching for an answer that sounds plausible, I now simply say "Hmmm, I don't know." It doesn't mean I am not interested or don't want to know. It simply means I don't have the answer. Usually I find myself googling the topic out of curiosity, but those three words I don't know free me from the pressure of having to answer a question I really don't know enough about to have an opinion or a solution.

The more I learn and the older I get, the more I see that I really don't know or understand much about life. I don't know the answers to the most important questions. Why am I here? Who am I? Where do we go when we leave this life?

It's okay that I don't know the answers to life's biggest questions. It's freeing to not have to know. It allows me to look at the world with curiosity. I can awaken each morning with a child-like wonder about the world and think, "I wonder what I'll learn about life today?"

Connecting with My Mother

Today I had a joyful meditation in which my mother joined me in a beautiful wooded garden. This garden is my sacred place that I enter during meditation when I wish to feel the unconditional love of my spirit guide Michael or when I have questions that require his advice. He doesn't always appear. It's not like he is at my beck and call, but he usually joins me in this garden. In my book More Than a Whisper I describe the meditation that brings my consciousness to this quiet space in a beautiful garden by a river. After walking along the wooded path, I sit on a wide flat rock at the edge of the river listening to a waterfall that is just out of sight upriver behind me and to the right. Michael generally appears near me, sometimes with a message but usually just as an ever-loving presence.

This time when I meandered through the garden I noticed a marble bench that I don't remember seeing there before. I decided to sit down in the center of the bench and wait to see what would happen. Michael appeared with his quiet, compassionate demeanor but he didn't sit. He stood to my right at the edge of the bench. After a few minutes a woman that I recognized as my mother who departed fourteen years ago walked up the path and stood in front of me. She appeared healthy and looked to be in her forties. She was quiet and serious with only the slightest smile on her smooth-skinned face. Then she sat next to me on the bench between me and Michael. She slipped her arm around my back and placed her left hand on my left shoulder. She rested her arm across my shoulders in a comforting, friendly manner. We sat side by side like this for a few minutes.

In the years since my mother's death I have only had two indirect communications from her. My father and my son have frequently visited me in dreams, through visions, and during meditation, but this was the first time I had an opportunity to visit with my mother. I decided to ask her the question I longed to ask her before she suffered the stroke that led to her death. I asked, "Mom, why didn't you love me when I was a child?" She took her hand from my shoulder, slid it down my right arm and grasped my hand. We sat for a time with my right hand entwined in her left hand. After a while she said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to love. I was afraid, but I do love you." We sat holding hands for a few minutes. There was so much more to say, but I just wanted to enjoy the comfort of her touch. I could feel the warmth of her hand in mine. After a few more minutes she stood up and walked away. I watched her leave without looking back as if there was some place she needed to be. I looked up to Michael who was smiling and looking at me. I thanked him for arranging this meeting between my mother and myself, and I look forward to many more.