Sometimes Love breaks through in unexpected ways to offer wisdom and to remind us that we are always accompanied by invisible goodness. On a crisp October day, God burst forth, gifting us with a new word. Here is how it happened and what it means for us.

Our family recently loaned our barn to Well for the Journey to host a program to honor the earth with sacred drumming and dance. With other deadlines pending, I skipped the workshop but was delighted to hear the rhythmic drumming from a hundred yards away. At one point, it sounded like hearts beating together, echoing across the land.

My dear soul friend, Maggie, was attending, so I snuck in during their lunch hour for a quick hug and check-in. When I saw Maggie’s puffy, downcast eyes, I knew something was wrong. “What has happened,” I asked?

Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes as she stood just outside the barn door describing concern for her beloved granddaughter. Little Lucy, now five years old, was born with STXBP1 encephalopathy, a rare genetic neurological disorder that is caused by a mutation of the STXBP1 gene. The condition results in severe intellectual disabilities, motor and behavioral impairments, and an unpredictable array of seizures. There are no known treatments or cures. I am among countless souls who have been praying for Lucy for years.

Maggie explained that she had spent five hours the previous day on a video call with other families whose loved ones have STXBP1. It was encouraging in that the call was with leaders from the FDA who were considering investing funds into research to treat and cure those with this neurological condition. It was discouraging, however, and heart-wrenching to listen to the families’ stories: the regressions, the day-to-day challenges, the shortened life expectancy, and the long-term implications for Lucy and others like Lucy. It was an exhausting, emotional day, followed by a teary, sleepless, night.

It is important to note that Lucy’s family remains deeply grounded in hope, the kind of hope that has real muscles. Day in and day out, they are striving for new treatments, therapies, and a cure. Lucy’s Dad, Ben Prosser, PhD, is an expert in cardiac molecular biology at Penn Medicine, who following Lucy’s diagnosis, shifted his focus to developing new therapies for STXBP1. Meanwhile, Lucy’s mom, Erin, is a talented marketing professional who shares Lucy’s story powerfully through pictures and words. Between the two of them, they are devoted to raising awareness, hope, and funding for all the children and families impacted by STXBP1. Miraculously, an anonymous donor recently gave $25 million to Penn Medicine and Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia for research in genetic therapies for neurodevelopmental disorders such as STXBP1. Lucy’s dad will be the director of the new center devoted to research. Remarkable progress has been made since Lucy was born.

Even with all the hope, hearing the heartbreaking stories and challenges brought the fears, concern, and sadness to the surface.

“It was just so hard, Mabeth.” Maggie lamented.

I responded, “It sounds just brutal.”

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and blurted out, “It was just BREAUTIFUL!”

Wide-eyed, we looked at each other in shock. Where did that come from? It was the PERFECT word. Breautiful!

We took turns repeating the word. Breautiful, breautiful, breautiful. Then, we burst out laughing. Laughing because we knew that word was gifted to us from beyond. Laughing because we knew we were not alone. Laughing because God knew just what we needed. Laughing at the audacity of the experience.

A few days later, standing outside my door beholding the sunrise and the clouds painted in brilliant pinks and lavenders, I offered prayers for those embroiled in the horror of war in the Middle East, Ukraine, and beyond. I reflected on how so much of life is both beautiful and brutal; breautiful.

My friend, the exquisite poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, awakens us to breautiful writing about the paradox of emotions after her beloved 17-year-old son, Finn, took his life. Her book, All the Honey, contains a grace-filled assortment of fierce, tender poems including one titled “For When People Ask.” In it she describes her desire for a word that means “devastated and stunned with joy.” She concludes with these profound words:

The heart understands swirl,
how the churning of opposite feelings
weaves through us like an insistent breeze
leads us wordlessly deeper into ourselves,
blesses us with paradox
so we might walk more openly
into this world so rife with devastation,
this world so ripe with joy.

Perhaps it is a life lesson to learn how to hold the beautiful and the brutal together: the joy and sorrow, the laughter and the tears, and the hope and the despair. Each of us can name and claim the breautiful in our lives. Perhaps this is how Love breaks through, opening, expanding, and caressing our hearts. Perhaps this is how the light gets in. It’s breautiful.

Much love, Mabeth

To read Rosemerry’s poem in its entirety, visit ahundredfallingveils.com/2022/03/13/for-when-people-ask/

Are we open to them when signs or serendipities break through our ordinary days? Most of the time, I miss them, but today I am grateful to report that I noticed grace at work!  

This morning, after cleaning up after a small Superbowl gathering, I was dusting the snack crumbs off the side table when I discovered a small surprise: a blue-speckled bird’s egg tucked inside the potted fern. Now this fern has been living with us in the same spot for several years, but I have never noticed the egg. I picked it up out from beneath the green branches. Light blue with brown speckles, it is made of wood. Not a real bird’s egg, but a gift, nevertheless.  

Where did it come from? My rational brain wanted to make sense of this discovery. Did someone place it there during a previous Easter season? Had my husband noticed this egg during his regular watering chores? How could I have missed this before now?  

Meanwhile, my soul was absolutely delighted! Just a few minutes earlier, I was prayerfully pondering what theme to write about for the collection of essays I am writing. For those who don’t know, I am writing about the need to regularly create a nest for our souls to rest, reset, and reconnect with the divine within us. Such nests (of all kinds) will help us give birth to goodness that is implanted within each of us. This is a vital and practical way to bring more love and goodness into our needy world.  

Of course, the egg is part of this book that I envision. This little egg gave me a nudge: write about the egg as a symbol of the divine; write about what aspects of God are waiting within each of us to be born; write about the feminine aspects of the Holy. And so, I will.  

But I also want to share this experience of grace breaking through. Oh, how often we overlook and disregard the graces and guidance that are given to us. Our busy, logical, and cynical minds can block us from taking them in.  

Those times when we notice are precious, however. Last night, Lisa, my sister-in-law, texted me a picture with the message: How does this feather just appear on my nightstand? I responded, A gift for you! She noticed grace breaking through, and she delighted in it.  

My suggestion is this: let us not get too caught up in rationalizing or understanding how the small gifts get to us. Let us be open to them, delight in them, and give thanks. Love transcends logic. The Eternal Source of Love is always here. Grace is breaking through.  

Blessings and love, 

Mabeth 

You’ve been embracing me 

with your sturdy, warm body 

and strapping black Velcro arms  

that wrap around me so tightly.  

You’ve been a healing presence, a steadfast friend, a loving support, 

enabling me to walk before I could stand on my own.  

Now you sit on the kitchen chair  

watching my baby steps, 

awkward and wobbly, 

as I learn to walk without you. 

Those days and nights we spent together 

are forever etched in my memory.  

Thank you for your quiet strength, constant companionship, devoted care,  

stabilizing my shattered ankle.  

Now it is time for us to part. 

Let there be no tears

for you’ve completed your healing job 

and I have yet to finish mine.  

“Your ankle has been through a lot. It is healing, and healing takes time. Your ankle is not doing nothing,” said Annie, the competent, kind physician’s assistant.  

At my second post-op appointment with the surgeon, I inquired about physical therapy. Still unable to bear any weight on my ankle due to a complicated fracture and subsequent surgery, I was eager to know when I could begin exercising and strengthening my ankle. The thought of keeping it still and immobile seemed counterproductive to getting stronger.  

Annie studied my chart and responded, “Well, you are only four weeks out. It will be a while.” I pointed out that it was four weeks and five days from my surgery. Almost five weeks! 

She looked at me with what bordered on pity, “Oh, you are one of those people who are going to count it all out.”  Yes, indeed…I am counting the days…each day…every day…until I can return to walking, strength, and greater independence.  

Many of us are actively engaged in the process of healing, whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual. Everywhere I turn, I encounter people who are recovering from various injuries, illnesses, and wounds—COVID and other viruses persist and infect, friends and family are experiencing grief from the loss of loved ones, and others are simply exhausted from the stresses of living through the past several years. Injuries and illnesses come in all shapes and forms.  

If you, like my ankle, have been through a lot, remember that healing takes time and energy, which we often underestimate. Healing has its own timeline. Even when it seems like nothing is “happening,” our bodies, minds, and spirits are working extra hard. Much healing occurs inside out. 

The conversation in the surgeon’s office was a valuable reminder that my ankle and body are laboring through the invisible work of healing. Tissues, cartilage, and bone are forming inside my leg while it remains stabilized. Special bone cells repair and remodel my bones when I sleep (fascinating!). It takes immense energy to pay attention to my every physical movement to safely maintain my balance to avoid another fall. Showering, taking care of bodily needs, and simply moving from one space to another is quite an undertaking. It is remarkable how much sleep I have required throughout the recovery process. 

So, friends, if you are healing, I offer you prayers for rest, patience, and self-kindness. Remember that you are accompanied by a Loving Presence that is helping you. The Invisible work of healing is happening.  

As I age, I have a growing awareness of how we are accompanied by loved ones who have passed on into new life. This week, the Christian tradition celebrates saints- those whom we have loved and who have gone before us. All Saints Day is November 1, but many churches will celebrate on Sunday, November 6. I invite you to take a moment and give thanks for those loved ones who have died.

In that spirit, I share with you a poem I wrote on the day of my father’s memorial service in Cape May, which gave me a glimpse of how we are surrounded by a “cloud of witnesses.”


Love Lives On

Sitting on the gray gravel bulkhead

beside the harbor where generations

have hoisted sails, started boat motors, volunteered in countless ways,

we gather to honor our father

with prayers, stories, even Bruce Wilson Trivia,

reflecting on a life lived fully to the end.

He is gone.

When the ceremony concludes,

we stand to embrace

the many Cape May friends

who share intertwined relationships and memories.

Then someone points skyward.

Though there is no rain,

a rainbow appears overhead

radiating red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

Forming a glistening upside-down arc.

“It’s your father sending us a sign!” someone exclaims.

But I sense that there are many of them gathered –

beautiful, beloved souls that have passed –

creating a colorful smile that shines down on us all,

reminding us that though they are gone,

They are here.

Love lives on.

As a nor’easter storm blows through our beach town,

I read my sister’s text message:  

“Is it awe full there”?

I smile. A God-wink!

(Perhaps angels can playfully tinker with text auto-correct.)

According to the news, dreadful weather was predicted:

Coastal flooding, heavy rain, gale-force winds, unseasonably cool temperatures.

A perfectly awful Memorial Day weekend forecast, it’s true.

The news constantly wants to snag our attention with the awful.

But God is subtler, more light-hearted,

inviting us to notice the awe full.

I reread the message again: “Is it awe full there?”

“Yes!” I respond,

sending along a photo of a neighbor’s lush roses in full bloom, lapping up the rain.

Precious moments from a brisk morning walk in the storm:

Ocean waves crashing onto the abandoned beach,

girls riding their bikes, laughing into the blustery wind,

those delightful peach-colored roses grinning through the downpour.

Imperfectly awe full.

The invitation is always there

to pay closer attention, to broaden perspectives, to appreciate the good,

even—perhaps especially—in life’s storms.

Awful or Awe full?

Yes. Both.

I had the joy of taking a series of poetry writing playshops with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer http://wordwoman.com over the winter. WOW- so fun! It opened doors for me, helping me to pay attention and listen to life moment by moment. One of Rosemerry’s rules is to share what you write. (Yikes!)

In honor of tomorrow’s celebration of World Poetry Day and following Rosemerry’s rule, I’m sharing a poem that I wrote this morning.

I send you love and hope on the eve of Spring.

~Mabeth

THAT HOPE THAT I WANT

A young girl twirls on the beach

in her tiny bikini bottom with pink, purple, and yellow flowers, and

a gray sleeveless tank top.

That’s the kind of hope that I want

on Winter’s final day in 2021

a year of living with fear, grief, COVID among us.

It’s 55 degrees in South Carolina on this March morning.

I’m in my winter jacket,

she’s in her summer swimsuit.

As the sun peeks through the gray clouds

she dances with delight,

excited for what the day will bring.

She’s oblivious to the temperatures,

to the gale-force wind warning,

to the pandemic face masks.

That’s the kind of hope I want.

We shake with joy, we shake with grief.

What a time they have, these two

housed as they are in the same body.

(Mary Oliver, Devotions )

A day after we decorated our Christmas tree, the top half of the bright, colorful lights went dark. Sigh. It’s the perfect 2020 tree. Light/darkness and joy/grief are intertwined, wrapping around us.

Mary Oliver’s poem has been echoing in my soul over the past few weeks. We know what joy feels like. But that heaviness that you’re feeling is grief. It’s everywhere. Grumpiness, disrupted sleep patterns, short tempers, and tears just below the surface. These are symptoms of grief.  Behaviors and feelings can appear exaggerated and out of whack. Though we’ve been living with it for months, grief is enhanced by the losses and changed traditions of the holidays.

I want to bring you tidings of comfort and joy by naming, normalizing, and empowering you to move through this challenging time.

Though people usually associate grief with death, it’s much broader. Grief is the natural human response to loss. When you consider the mind-boggling scope of losses that we’ve experienced this year—in relationships, daily routines, plans, hopes, dreams, traditions, rituals, and lifestyle —grief is to be expected. This is also a collective grief, meaning that people across the globe are experiencing grief caused by the pandemic.  It’s massive and unlike anything our generation has experienced. We are feeling our grief and others’ grief.

For me, the worst loss is the loss of being together in person. We humans are wired to connect. So the loss of that connection shakes us to our core. Especially during the holidays. And the hugs. Oh, how I miss the hugs!

We can’t wish the sadness away, fix it, or cure it. We can only learn how to live with it and carry it. Recognizing the losses is the way forward and through into more joy. 

Here are some practical steps to empower you:

• These are tender times. Be tender and kind to yourself and others.
• Journal or write about the changes and losses, or talk with a trusted friend, family member, or counselor about them.
• Savor moments of meaning and gratefulness.  Pause to appreciate goodness periodically though the day.
• Walk outside and reflect on how nature such as trees and plants can teach us how to cycle through loss and new growth.
• Remember that you are never alone. The Source of Love is within you and around you always. We’re all invisibly connected in ways that we cannot comprehend.

Dear friends, I send you tidings of comfort and joy during these challenging times. I look forward to one day soon when we can be together and HUG!

With love and hope,

Mabeth