I start over all the time.

I find something I want and I give it all I have and then, just when I think I am there, I fall. My hands are empty. I am holding nothing but the burned wick of hope that cannot hold a flame anymore. And my tears drown my dream in a grief I know all too well.

And I cry. And I cry some more.

Then as I cry, something comes alive. As the tears fall and the tapes play of how I am such a loser, the static of a fire nothing can kill or quench starts to simmer.

I remember what I want. I remember what matters. I know dreams come true. I know loss makes way for gain. I know one door closes and five more open. I know this well, because my life is a story of shifting views, slammed doors, cracked windows and broken hearts… mine broken in so many ways I know I have more than one or two.

What matters is love. What matters is forgiveness. What gives continues to give and the giving is endless.

The giving is opportunity on every horizon. The giving is the friends and family who love me as I am, not for what I do. The forgiveness is for me and you and all of us who make mistakes and hurt others we know and love and those who cross our paths at the wrong moment who won’t even make it into memory except, yes, I was rude to that lady today who got my coffee order wrong three times in a row.

And I love my coffee, no flavor, no sugar, hot and just a little crème.

Things break down and my center grows slowly from the nothing it has always been into a garden with soil and seeds and sprouts of roots that begin to feed something I am just getting to know.

There are no flowers yet.

There are no buds. There are no trees or grass or herbs. Just tiny roots reaching down that are allowing my heart to feed.

There will be buds. There will be flowers and trees and grass and herbs. But today all I have are tiny roots. And these roots are prayers of hope and gratitude.

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Editor: Catherine Monkman