My Start to Meditation

I began to notice my own little moments in life—the ones that quietly stood out and gently whispered that something was changing within me.

The years surrounding COVID became a season of reflection for so many people, each of us carrying our own experiences and emotions. For me, it became a time when my intuition seemed to awaken in ways I had never known before. It felt as though layers of my heart were slowly being peeled back, one by one, like the delicate layers of an onion. With each layer removed, I began to see more clearly and hear more deeply.

The world I had always known had shifted, and somewhere within that shifting, I had my true awakening.

The life of constant busyness no longer fit my soul. The endless demands, the hurried pace, and the expectations that once seemed so normal suddenly felt overwhelming. I realized I no longer wanted to spend my days being everything to everyone else. I wanted to learn how to simply be present for myself, for my family, and for the life unfolding quietly around me.

Looking back now, I believe that I finally answered the small still vioce that was always there. And so the beginning of my awakening started.

Each morning before sunrise, while most of the world was still asleep, I would step onto my back porch and begin practicing simple breathwork. Those quiet moments became sacred. As my breathing slowed, and deepened, something else began to happen. I started hearing sounds I hadn't truly noticed in years.

The songs of birds greeting the morning.

The playful chatter of squirrels moving through the trees.

Leaves dancing together in the breeze.

The whisper of the wind as if it were inviting me to come closer.

Nature was calling my name, and for the first time in a very long time, my soul answered.

There is something extraordinary that happens when you allow nature to become your teacher. You don't simply observe it—you become part of it. The trees, the birds, the breeze, and the morning light begin to speak a language that cannot be heard with your ears alone.

It is a language your soul somehow remembers.

At first, I kept these experiences to myself.

They felt too sacred, too personal, almost too difficult to explain. I wondered if others would understand. Would they think I was imagining things? Would they dismiss it as simply reaching a new season of life? I wasn't searching for answers to those questions. I only knew that something beautiful was unfolding inside me, and I wanted to protect it until I understood it myself.

So I quietly continued the journey.

Day after day.

Morning after morning.

Nature became my companion, gently carrying me forward one little moment at a time.

The most remarkable change was this: I realized I was no longer listening with my ears.

I was listening with the deepest parts my soul, my very being.

And when your soul begins to listen, it leads you to places you never expected to go.

Mine led me to stillness.

It led me to meditation.

It led me inward before it ever led me outward.

The transformation was happening within me long before I ever picked up a hammer, painted a wall, or transformed an old work shed into a meditation room.

The space did not create the change.

The change created the space.

That little shed would eventually become a sanctuary, but first, God had to build one within my own heart.

"The space did not create the change. The change created the space."