Compassion, Gratitude, Present Moment Awareness


Art by Foster Turtle

“Maybe it is time for you to walk into your fears.” 

Where do I begin? 

Dr. Lindley explained that people oftentimes seek out their fears in order to build courage. Some opt to walk on fire, others swim with sharks. I decided to start with the most accessible route: my fear of needles.

I decided to start with the most accessible route: my fear of needles. 

For as long as I can remember, I have been afraid of needles. I have passed out on many occasions while getting my blood drawn. With each of my three pregnancies, I declined an epidural, because my fear of the needle was greater than my fear of labor pain. 

I immediately went home and contacted a tattoo artist. 

I decided my fear of needles was a perfect starting place. Michael Brown suggests that the things that are difficult, like triggers, are messengers that point us to our unfinished work within. Michael suggests figuratively dismissing the messenger (the difficult person or situation) and breathing through the difficult feelings that come up without resisting them. 

I had never before entertained a tattoo. I decided to go with something that represented my journey into fear. A Triskele is an ancient symbol found in many cultures. The Celtic version of the three legged spiral represents a journey of forward motion to reach understanding. The three connected spirals represent everlasting cycles, transforming at each point. The three representations that held special meaning for me:

  • Body, Mind, Spirit
  • Father, Son, Holy Spirit (Divine Feminine)
  • Life, Death, Rebirth

I especially connected to the Triskele as a reminder to not forget my body again. As a child, I learned to forget. There were a lot of good reasons to not trust the sensations of my body or the emotions of my heart. My little girl (me as a child) coped with the chaos by disconnecting from her body and living in her mind. The coping strategies of a little girl are necessary and work for a time. But, these coping strategies became an obstacle to living life fully as an adult.

My fascination with the  Enneagram began to open my eyes to how fragmented I had become. Like the Triskele, the symbol of the Enneagram is also divided into three parts that make up the whole: body, heart, and head. The Enneagram teaches that we develop unconscious coping strategies at a very young age to manage overwhelming fears. When we are afraid, our strategies corner us into rigid unconscious patterns. We unconsciously fragment ourselves, relying on one strategy, while neglecting the other parts of the whole. I relied solely on my thoughts, while neglecting the body and heart. 

My coping became an obstacle to living fully.

I was missing the gifts of the whole.

Unfortunately, the mind by itself has no anchor in present moment. Thoughts by themselves reel haphazardly between past and future like a ship missing its compass in present moment awareness. The sensations in the body; the breath, contractions, lightness, heaviness, etc., always exist in the present moment. Your body sensations are always now. The itch on your foot happens now. A mind that is anchored in the sensations of the body is here now. Emotions anchored in the body are here now. Sadly, a mind all alone by itself is left to think constantly and unproductively with no hope of discernment.

I chose the Triskele as a reminder to not forget my body again. 

I picked out the image of the Triskele featured above. I loved that the three spirals were not perfectly symmetrical, each one is a little different. Each spiral has its own unique wisdom. I could learn to honor the wisdom of each as an experience of the whole. I also loved the three dots that are not typically part of the Triskele. For me, they represented the tools I would need on my journey: compassion, humility, and gratitude. The entire image with its spirals and dots represents Divine Love. 

I decided the image would need to be somewhere I would see it every day because of my tendency to forget myself. I wanted to fully commit, no matter what anyone thought, to really taking on this journey whole-heartedly. I chose my inner left forearm – also connected with my heart. 

Perfect love drives out fear. Love is the guide. Open in love.

Honestly, consciously choosing to get the tattoo gave ample opportunity to work through my fear of needles. For four weeks, I meditated every morning and night. I breathed through the sensations of fear without resisting them. On the day I received the tattoo of the Triskele, I felt completely peaceful. I experienced a needle for the first time without fear.

When the artist was finished, I looked down at my arm and smiled. 

And now it begins…

I commend my Spirit
unto the grace of the Great Way.
Whether consciously or not
this has always been
the doorway to liberation.

All you lovers of truth
and all you true lovers
now is the time to be done with it.
Wash your battle-scarred hands 
in this Presence among us.

Cast off your warriors’ clothing
and slip into your night slippers.
Untie your hair or cut it off.
The Hidden One is present
and doesn’t care where you’ve been 
or what you’ve done
or what you are doing now.

Commend all of yourself-
body, mind, and spirit
to this Grace.
Slip out into the night air
into the waiting
quivering birth of this Golden Heart.

Lean down now
like wet, green grass and
kiss the bottoms of your feet.


Sailing into the Unknown

Art by Foster Turtle
The Heritage Schooner, art by Foster Turtle

We sailed for a week. Island after island welcomed our boat, their shorelines waving to the lines of water we sent their way. It was the summer of 2018. My husband and I were aboard the Heritage Schooner, a hand built 95-foot historic vessel. I had everything I needed. Layers of clothes, and a copy of Traveling with Pomegranates

I felt adrift in my life. Earlier that year, my husband and I had walked alongside our teenage daughter’s downward health spiral. Over months of watching her deteriorate, I became more listless, afraid, and unsure of myself. My relationship with my daughter was strained after months of doctors and dead ends. She planned to leave for college in a week. I felt a mixture of relief and dread. When I carried Traveling with Pomegranates aboard the boat that summer, I was stunned to learn that the book was about Sue Monk Kidd’s own journey transitioning into empty nest, as well as an effort to mend the relationship with her own daughter that had become distant. I had read some of her earlier works and liked them. But this time, I found solace in the pages of this book that became my traveling companion. 

Somewhere along the way, I lost my ability to write. When I started this blog several years ago, it felt like a natural part of me. Each post came easily, and I was delighted to share the experience of gratitude with all of my readers. But after my mother died, I could not write without tremendous effort and anxiety. I worked with several therapists and tried EMDR as an attempt to jump-start the process again. But, to no avail. 

But then, we set sail. The land fell away in the distance, land that had somehow come to represent the burden of having to carry the world everywhere all the time. I started to ease my grip on the world, bobbing this way and that to the rhythms of the water, listening to the slosh-sloshing sea slapping the sides. The ocean comforted me in a way I had not experienced. This was more than a vacation. I was setting sail from the port of my old life as a home-maker, adventuring into the unknown, a voyage that would require going the most important destination of all: deep inside myself.

“We cannot fill up our emptiness with objects, possessions, or people. We have to go deeper into the emptiness. Then we will find beneath nothingness the flame of love waiting for us.” John O’Dononhue

During the first full day of sailing, I began to meet the crew and other passengers. We shared hours amid quiet conversations taking in the beauty of the Maine coastal islands. Our vessel cut through the cold, fresh sea air leaving the taste of salt on our lips. Snuggled up in an oversized hooded sweatshirt, I felt myself begin to unravel, let go, and open to the aliveness of each moment. Plus, I had a good nap.

And then… the dream…

I was about to embark on some sort of expedition, and I was in a hurry to be on my way. I was carrying my dad’s old 1950’s Underwood typewriter. Very heavy thing to lug around. I stepped outside while lugging the bulky typewriter. About halfway up the sidewalk, I looked down at my feet. No shoes. I was stunned. I set down the hefty typewriter and went back inside. I opened a closet door to discover a sizable pile of shoes. I searched desperately for several minutes, but then discovered that not one of the shoes had a match. 

And then there was a dream interpreter. Seriously. I had a vivid dream on the boat, and there waiting for me when I awoke was a dream interpreter.

Out of about thirty passengers and crew on the Heritage Schooner, one of them happened to be a Jungian Analyst from California that specialized in dream interpretation. She was not surprised that I had experience such a vivid dream the night before. After all, we were sailing on an old ship on an ancient ocean that represents the collective unconscious. We were dots in a huge sea. She assured me that all that is needed is to be still and allow whatever comes forth from the sea. 

Be still and allow whatever comes.

Her advice was to “Be as gentle with myself as a mother holding her baby. Just be curious.” She then smiled and shared that she could not tell me the exact meaning of the dream, but there were some telling archetypal images. The old typewriter could represent old parental typing, rules, and roles I still carry. 

Be still and allow whatever comes.

It may have something to do with trying to leave the stuff from my past behind. 

Be still and allow whatever comes.

And the shoes? I need shoes for my journey. But not just any pair of shoes. I need the right shoes. However, I have not found a match pair, not just yet. The dream appears to be some kind of “in-between space.” I am torn. I am in a hurry to move forward and cannot move until I find the right shoes. As I set down the typewriter in the dream, it appears that I am beginning to set down the old rules and roles as I become aware of them.

The dream offers a gift. It reflects my sense of wanting to hurry forward without truly understanding the impact of my past or the conditioning underneath my motivations. I was being invited to pause, become aware, and wait. The dream held a promise that there was another shoe, as well as the possibility that I could continue on my journey when the time was right. 

Be still and allow whatever comes. Which is what I did. Thus, fast forward now to 2021. 

Three years have gone by since I sailed the Atlantic Ocean on the Heritage Schooner. Three years of being still, waiting, and watching. I wrote one time at the beginning of the pandemic, but then decided to wait again. 

Over the past three years I have sojourned deep within myself, met incredible healers, and learned to walk directly into my fears. I have experienced overwhelming bouts of terror as well as beautiful moments of healing. The Heritage Schooner was only the beginning of a long-awaited adventure.

But then, three weeks ago, I had another dream. 

I was trying to get out of a large building. All the exits were blocked. I found myself cutting through office spaces and closets until I finally found my way outside. Once outside, I could not find my car, and somehow came to the realization that I had left it a few miles away. “The dream” was kind to me, conveniently handing me a bus schedule. Thank you, dream. But still, I was a little frazzled, unfamiliar with the bus routes. 

But then it hit me: The dream was showing me something. In order to get where I want to go, I am going to have to traverse paths that are unfamiliar and new. 

Be still and allow whatever comes.

The old familiar paths will not cut it anymore. 

Be still and allow whatever comes.

At the end of the dream, a stranger pointed to a door and inquired, “Is that your shoe?” I glanced over at an Ugg boot hanging over the doorknob. I looked back at the person and replied with a smile, “Yes, it is. I just found my other shoe.”



Photo by Tim Cooper on Unsplash

“If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for a moment.” Georgia O’Keeffe

My husband and I began our quarantine for the coronavirus over four weeks ago on Friday the 13th. The first week started off with intense fears: fears about being separated from my kids and family, the reality that I may lose an older family member, the reality that either my husband or I might not make it to the other side.

I sit with my fear. I realize the reality of impermanence. I am not in control, not that I have ever been. This awareness of our fragility is staring me in the face. But this is the way it has always been throughout human history, especially during times of plagues, natural disasters, and war.

What do I need to hear? What do I need to receive? What am I forgetting? As I open my blog for the first time in over a year, I make space to connect with myself.

What is it to be human?

  • To be in control? No.
  • To know what tomorrow brings? No.
  • To be certain? No
  • To be entitled to relationships, health, and money? No.

Then… What is it? What is it to be human?

  • Offer kindness.
  • Love and receive love deeply.
  • Trust and let go over and over.
  • Be afraid.
  • Be sad.
  • Be brave.
  • Be vulnerable.
  • Be comforted.
  • Be angry.
  • Forgive
  • Give
  • Receive
  • Learn
  • Unlearn
  • Make mistakes.
  • Be messy.
  • Be forgiven.

I need to live, to be fully alive in this moment without preference that it should be different. Wishing does not make it different. Learning to receive the gift of “live” is the path that opens us to the gift of life.

This moment is my life. Here. Now. A gift from God. This moment of isolation and uncertainty, silly Zoom calls, virtual meditation with friends, church services on videos, toilet paper shortages, joys over toilet paper found, masks, rising death tolls, empty streets, acts of kindness, virtual concerts from living rooms, Instagram home workouts, delivered groceries, heroic acts from doctors, nurses and first responders, comforting words from ministers, media coverage of incessant bickering, media coverage of life-saving guidance, spring blooming, birds chattering, puzzles, extra naps, hand washing, intense grief, distress, food creations made with abundant rice and beans, watching love sprout all over the place, acts of kindness crossing every neighborhood, country, and continent.

Beautiful humans everywhere join together, rising to the challenges facing us.

The invitation of this moment, a moment filled with unshakable love, is to be here. Present. Now. Everything is held in love. Open our eyes. Open our hearts.


You are loved & cherished dearly forever. You have nothing to fear.” Eben Alexander

Art by Cole Christian

Gratitude, Transitions

The Space In Between

Photo by James Wheeler

I am currently in transition at the cusp of the second half of life. My primary focus for the past twenty years has been a 24/7 adventure of homemaking where my two children could grow, thrive, and develop into functioning adults. As my son and daughter become more autonomous, I celebrate, but simultaenously feel confused.

This time of launching is messy, marked with insecurity and periods of grief, relief, and fatigue. What do I want? Who am I? Where do I belong? What is important to me? What am I supposed to be doing? As questions spin in my head, I realize that I rely on the roles of motherhood to provide my identity. I feel anxious to be doing something, but I do not have clarity. Plus, I am tired. Where did my creativity go?

I believe a big source of this anxiety comes from a dominant message in our culture that our value comes from being productive. For example, I have heard from many women about how they feel guilty in this undefined transitional space. Some of them have told me about the messages they receive from Bible studies about how they have to serve all the time in order to be “good.” Sure, service is meaningful and honors God. However, much of the Bible also implores us to be still, wait upon the Lord, and meditate on the word.

As I talk to women going through times of transition–loss of a marriage, health issues, leaving the workplace, entering the workplace, empty nesting–I hear the same confusion.

“I can’t keep pushing myself in the same way; my body won’t let me.”

“I don’t know where I am going.”

“I don’t recognize myself in this place.”

One friend told me how she risked sharing with another woman in her church group how she found herself in this disorienting “holding pattern.” She immediately felt like something was wrong with her when the woman just stared at her blankly.

savor gratitude.blogI want to be brave and lean in to this space. This space in between is a necessary time-out, a time of reflection and reorientation. I have an impulse to get busy and keep moving as a way to stave off the anxiety of disorientation. But, I have learned the hard truth: moving without discernment is movement without meaning.

Moving without discernment is movement without meaning.

Have you ever gone hiking, and the path ended to reveal a space with several trail-heads? In this “trail-head space,” you have to pause, learn about the possibilities of each potential path, choose a path, and then move again with a sense of direction.

I am settling down internally as I imagine pulling up a rock and sitting in the middle of this trail-head marked space. As I sit, I ponder the path I just finished. I give myself time to reflect on what I learned from this leg of the journey. I allow time to grieve the parts I will leave behind.

What is important that I need to bring forward?

What parts of the journey were life giving?

What sucked the life out of me?

How can I be kinder to myself as I move forward?

Can I honor God as I sit still and wait, seeking guidance and a sense of direction?

Moving without discernment is movement without meaning.

I recently shared this metaphor with a dear friend and it gave us both comfort. We had so much fun settling into this “trail-head” space together. She pulled her rock up to mine, and we sat together enjoying good company in the midst of the disorientation. I discovered the encouragement of sharing the journey with a few trusted friends, sojourners who will simply pull up a rock and wait together. I am grateful for friends who love me right in the middle of what feels messy. What a gift! It feels easier to be brave. No one is telling me to run as fast as I can to the next busy task.

We all experience this “space in between” several times in our lives. May this reflection bring you peace if you find yourself in a similar place.

Transition feels messy. You matter. You are not alone.

Here are a few of my favorite books that have held my hand through this experience:

friendship, Gratitude

Red Sea Road

Photo by Tracy Kolenchuk

I woke up this morning to share breakfast with a dear friend at one of our favorite Indian bakeries. We savored each other’s company and the food. We laughed. We created whimsical ideas while we made plans together for an upcoming ladies’ retreat. I came home to my daughter who was dressed in overalls, potting two plants on the back patio while her curly headed schnauzer puppy danced circles around her. I feel myself settle… relief… emerging joy… hope.

Two years ago during the first week of December, my daughter withdrew from her high school with serious medical issues. For almost two years, she has had trouble functioning in her daily life.

A little over a year ago, Houston experienced Harvey. Three of my dearest friends lost their homes and most of their worldly possessions in the flood, including the one I shared breakfast with this morning.

Throughout these many months, I have struggled to find my compass. On the darkest days, sleep was difficult to come by. I found rest when I imagined I was sleeping on a cloud of prayers created by my precious friends and family.  I clung to those comforting prayers.

I clung to the prayers of our community and sweet strangers, prayed on behalf of those most impacted by Harvey.

My gratitude journal laid lifeless on my nightstand. I had no words. I had no thoughts in my head. My brain could not hold the words I sometimes attempted to read.

Last year, as part of an Advent celebration, Ellie Holcomb came to Houston for a concert. She shared how her community has also experienced a wilderness of disorientation over the past year. So much confusion, sadness, and pain. She leaned on the story of the Israelites fleeing from their slavery in Egypt, the only home they had known, into the desert filled with  fear, uncertainty, and a promise. God parted the waters of the Red Sea and made a way for them. She was inspired to write her next album, Red Sea Road, as a reminder that no matter the struggle, God makes a path and walks before us.

Red Sea Road

We buried dreams
Laid them deep into the earth behind us
Said our goodbyes
At the grave but everything reminds us
God knows, we ache

When He asks us to go on
How do we go on?

We will sing, to our souls
We won’t bury our hope
Where He leads us to go
There’s a red sea road
When we can’t, see the way
He will part the waves
And we’ll never walk alone
Down a red sea road
How can we trust
When You say You will deliver us from
All, of this pain, that threatens to take over us
Well, this desert’s dry
But the ocean may consume
And we’re scared, to follow You

So we will sing, to our souls
We won’t bury our hope
Where He leads us to go
There’s a red sea road
When we can’t see the way
He will part the waves
And we’ll never walk alone
Down a red sea road
Oh help us believe

Continue reading “Red Sea Road”

Gratitude, Loving Kindness

Lenten Balance

bluebonnetsIn the previous post, I wrote down my hopes for my personal kindness lenten practice. Since Ash Wednesday, I have had ample opportunity to practice kindness in the face of hopelessness and daily frustrations. So far so good… but, the thing that surprised me the most is how this practice has begun to open my eyes to the beautiful, life-giving kindness shown toward me on a daily basis. I thought the intention was about “exhaling” kindness into the world and what I learned is how much I often forget to breathe in the kindness that others so graciously impart.
Over the past few weeks, I have had moments of tears when someone listened…. moments of joy when someone celebrated with me… moments of fear when someone was present… moments of disorientation when someone was patient and kind with me…. moments when someone provided a space for me… moments when someone smiled. I am so grateful for the sweet comfort of kindness that is all around us in a world that acts like a world.
Exhale kindness
Inhale kindness
Gratitude, Loving Kindness

Lenten Practice

mike-labrum-151765For Lent I have decided to give up hopelessness and cultivate kindness.

  1. When I experience hopelessness while reading/watching the news, I will write a little note (written/onine) of kindness to someone to let them know they matter.
  2. When I experience hopelessness while caught in impatient traffic, I will recite this breath prayer: Breathe in: “Be.” Breathe out “Kind.” Repeat several times with the breath.
  3. When I experience hopelessness in difficult challenges that occur during the day, I will actively look for something I am grateful for that happened during that same day and hold onto the memory until I absorb the gratitude.

During the Ash Wednesday service today at St. Mark’s Episcopal, Reverend Patrick Miller shared these words of comfort:

We sometimes experience the “trauma of being little people in a land of giants.” Take heart. “Your life has never been lived before. Your existence is a very singular thing. That is why it is a tragedy when you die. You are responsible for such a precious and amazing gift…. you. You are the gift. You are a flash of light, a gift of beauty in a very weary world.”

Today, and tomorrow, and the next day… remember you are a gift. Your kindness is a like a candle, shedding light on a very weary world.

Compassion, Gratitude, Loving Kindness

A Word Imagined


by Jennifer Christian, LPC and Dr. Jeff M. Christian

Words of hate tear at the fabric of our society; words of kindness mend.


Imagine life without unkind words. Imagine comments sections on your favorite website that only allow constructive criticism, words meant to further the conversation rather than out-shout those who disagree.

Today, online words of hate, abuse, fear, and violence are rampant. The intensity of negativity overwhelms us, a tsunami of words altering our lives without us realizing their enormous power. This new world often feels devoid of kindness. Few of us would choose to pass on this world to the next generations, so we begin this project in the hopes that we can change the future by changing the present.

We have power to create a better world.


Imagine a world that offers encouragement. Imagine a world where people matter. Too often, though, we feel helpless in even thinking about making a change. Where should we begin?

Well, we have some ideas.

Start with some simple things. Appreciation and gratitude, for instance, are powerful tools that can help rebuild this world. Every word of kindness heals, builds resilience, and draws people together.
A Word ImaginedJohn Gottman found that it takes five positive interactions to overcome one negative interaction. Relationships find balance when positive interactions outweigh the negative ones. At times we will misunderstand each other and say the wrong things. We are human, after all. However, for the health of all our relationships, we have the power to create better worlds for ourselves, as well as all of those around us. Our hope that we can do this together is reminiscent of John Lennon’s line, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”

 So let’s imagine a better world. One word of kindness can create ripples of healing across our society. If we come together to dedicate building reserves of gratitude in our families, places of work, and all other communities, we can change the tide of negativity.

Here are some other practical suggestions to get us started:

  1. Get creative. We can share great ideas on how to build more positivity into our society. Join our public Facebook group, A Word Imagined, to share ideas.
  1. Remember the magic ratio of 5-to-1. Each week send five notes of encouragement, whether online or handwritten.
  1. Practice gratitude at home as a family. “Researchers found that a nourishing cycle of encouragement and appreciation provides extra incentive to maintain our relationships. In other words, when we appreciate our partners, we develop trust and respect. When we feel appreciated, we feel needed and encouraged.” (Susan Heitler)
  1. Notice the words you say to yourself. Learn how to offer yourself words of kindness and compassion: “Life can be rough without the comfort, balance and guidance of a self-compassionate friend on the inside. Lack of self-compassion affects our relationships and our well being in profoundly negative ways. What a difference it makes to go through life with a kind friend on the inside rather than an internal critic or bully!” (Kim Fredrickson)

Please take a moment to share this article and this project with friends and family. Together, we can create the world we imagine.

For Further Reading:

On appreciation and gratitude:

On John Gottman’s five interactions:

On practicing gratitude at home as a family:

On Susan Heitler’s work on gratitude in marriage:

On Kim Fredrickson’s work on self-compassion:

Compassion, Gratitude, Loving Kindness, peace

Practicing Peace Daily

PeaceI am thinking about practicing virtues. I think about it often. My church family chooses a virtue every year to practice together. Last year it was joy. This year it’s peace. I am grateful to be a part of a community asking what it means to be people of peace in times that feel disorienting. A passage from Colossians 3 is framing our year-long adventure:

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” (Colossians 3:12-17)

The text guides me in peace; I am thankful. The wisdom of people in my community broadens me; I am grateful. How do I become a person of peace? Clothe myself daily with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, forgiveness, love, and gratitude toward myself and others. Okay. Got it. Practice compassion, kindness, forgiveness, gratitude… sounds simple, right?


I keep getting snagged on challenges. I have been forced to spend some time around people. Frustrating people. Difficult people. I find it hard to access compassion, kindness, or gentleness. Instead, I feel anger, frustration, and sadness. Not peace.

Why is peace so hard? What about compassion and kindness?

Recently, I found comfort from Pema Chodron’s description of her own experience of cultivating love, kindness, compassion, and joy:

“Cultivating these four qualities, love, kindness, compassion, and joy, gives us insight into our current experience. It gives us understanding of the state of our mind and heart right now. We get to know the experience of love and compassion, of joy and kindness, and also of their opposites. We learn how it feels when one of the four qualities is stuck and how it feels when it is flowing freely. We never pretend that we feel anything we don’t. The practice depends on embracing our whole experience. By becoming intimate with how we close down and how we open up, we awaken our unlimited potential.

“It might feel like stretching into make-believe to say, ‘May this person who is driving me crazy enjoy happiness and be free of suffering.’ Probably what we genuinely feel is anger. This practice is like a workout that stretches the heart beyond its current capabilities. We can expect to encounter resistance. We discover that we have our limits: we can stay open to some people, but we remain closed to others. We see both our clarity and our confusion. We are learning firsthand what everyone who has ever set out on this path has learned: we are all a paradoxical bundle of rich potential that consists of both neurosis and wisdom.”

As I practice, I end up coming across my limitations, places where I need to grow and stretch my heart. Like physical exercise, these virtues take effort. When I am in familiar territory, around people I love and enjoy, I can access compassion, peace, and kindness. It comes naturally. However, when I decide to practice all day, every day, I encounter no shortage of opportunities to… well… practice. Even in times of frustration, those frustrations are opportunities for growth.

I am learning that a person of peace has to keep practicing. I need to practice with my spouse, with my children, with my church family, my coworkers, and my friends. It matters.

So, once again, it is time to go out into the world as a practitioner of peace still learning what it is to practice peace:

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved… let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.”

Gratitude, Main Dish

Dairy Free Chicken Tikka Masala (Crockpot)

Chicken Tikka Masala
Photo by Greg Rakozy

I am Grateful…

During worship on Sunday, we sang songs of faith and hope. Singing such songs after what happened in Paris on Friday felt rebellious. I felt like we were saying to all the terror in the world, “We will stand up and hold onto each other in faith. You cannot take away our joy in each other and each precious day we are given.” We may falter… but we are determined to get back up and live… continued prayers for those around the world who are reeling from the terror… we stand together in honor of your grief.

I lean into life with gratitude for precious friends, loving family, kind words, delicious food (especially in Houston), smiles, laughter, chocolate, flowers, acts of compassion, and a loving community of faith.

Today I am especially grateful to try out a new Chicken Tikka Masala recipe inspired by the blog, Table for Two. My daughter is allergic to dairy, so I experimented with soy yogurt and coconut milk. I am thrilled to say the dish turned out fabulous! My kids said to make it again. These seemingly insignificant moments are so precious, moments that make life meaningful.

I would love to share in your gratitude today. Please leave a comment and let me know:

“Today I am grateful for…”

Dairy Free Chicken Tikka Masala (Crockpot)

5 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 3 lbs.) – cut into 1.5″ cubes
1 large onion, diced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tbsp. fresh ginger, minced
1 (29 oz.) can of tomato puree
1 ½ cups dairy free yogurt
2 tbsp. olive oil
2 tbsp. Garam masala
1 tsp. tumeric powder
1 tbsp. cumin
½ tbsp. paprika
2 ½ tsp. salt, or to taste
¾ tsp. cinnamon
¾ tsp. fresh ground black pepper
1 tsp. cayenne pepper
2 bay leaves
1 cup premium coconut milk
3 tbsp. cornstarch
Lemon juice from half a small lemon
Chopped parsley or cilantro, for topping


  • Place everything except the bay leaves in a large bowl. With a spatula, stir to combine everything, and make sure the chicken is coated well.
  • Gently place the mixture in the insert of the crockpot and add the two bay leaves.
  • Cover and cook for 8 hours on low (or 4 hours on high).
  • When done, in a medium bowl, whisk together coconut milk and corn starch, then pour the mixture into the crockpot and gently stir. Let cook an additional 20 minutes to thicken. Squeeze half a lemon over the mixture then stir to incorporate.
  • Serve hot over a bed of white (or brown) rice. Garnish with chopped cilantro.
  • Store leftovers in an airtight container in the fridge for up to five days.