Unlike chartreuse, speedos, and neck tattoos, humility, it turns out, looks great on everyone.
That’s the good news.
The bad news is that being humbled by any variety of life's sucker punches proves a painful teacher. Whether you are navigating middle school or middle age, being brought to one's knees hurts like hell.
But there’s more good news. Great news, actually.
In what can feel like such a long stretch of time, eventually, the sorrow starts to recede; the embarrassment begins to soften; and the long-lingering regrets become lessons learned rather than losses endured. In these refining fires found in life's crucible, the humbled soul stumbles upon a place previously unimagined.
It's a place where all are welcome; where we slow down and soften; where we begin to carry our burdens a bit more lightly and even lay a few down; where we learn to laugh again, especially at ourselves.
Healing happens there as well. And forgiveness. Lots of forgiveness.
It's a place where real Velveteen Rabbits roam free and flourish.
It’s a place of peace.
Hope grows there, and our best selves do too.
It feels like a final Savasana.
It smells like Spring.
It sounds like birds at dawn welcoming the morning light, and on the rare, really good days, like first-graders giggling.
Mostly, it looks and sounds like a loon floating on a calm Minnesota lake.
Amidst the early-morning mist, he sings.
Is it sorrowful or joyful?
It is soulful.
Humbled, he offers his psalm.
And then he waits. And listens.
Finally, from afar, she returns to him.
A hint of heaven.
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