When Nature Calls

My simple life was not something I planned, nor was it a concept I fully understood until much later in my journey. It took years of introspection and reflection to recognize that this simplicity was not merely a result of my choices but rather a fundamental aspect of my existence that was intricately woven into the fabric of my being from the very moment I entered this world. I learned that it was created in me at birth, a quiet essence that shaped my experiences and perceptions in ways I had yet to comprehend.

As I delve deeper into my understanding of self, I now feel as though my real birth is happening all over again, a rebirth of sorts that is awakening me to the truths of my life and the influences that have shaped my path. This new awareness brings with it a sense of clarity and purpose that I had previously overlooked. What I have come to realize is that my first birth was not just a physical event; it was filled with many agreements and expectations set forth by the adults around me. These agreements were often unspoken, yet they formed a framework within which I was expected to operate. I was molded into the role of daughter, sister, and child, often to serve a greater narrative that sought to correct a marriage in trouble, a narrative that I was blissfully unaware of as a child.

This realization has been both enlightening and unsettling, as it unveils a piece of the puzzle I knew nothing about during my formative years. I now understand that my existence was intertwined with the aspirations and disappointments of those who came before me. The expectations placed upon me were not solely my own but rather a reflection of the desires and struggles of my family, a complex web of relationships and emotions that influenced my upbringing in profound ways. Each interaction, each decision made on my behalf, was part of a larger design aimed at healing or perhaps masking the fractures within my family unit.

It is within this context that I begin to appreciate the depth of my simple life, recognizing how it was shaped by forces beyond my control, yet also how it has led me to seek authenticity and simplicity in my own way.

As I navigate this journey of rediscovery, I find myself embracing the simplicity that once seemed so ordinary. It is in this simplicity that I uncover the richness of my own identity, free from the constraints of the expectations that once bound me. I am learning to celebrate the small joys, the quiet moments, and the profound connections that have always been present, waiting for me to acknowledge them. This process of rebirth is not just about shedding the past but also about reclaiming my narrative, allowing me to step into a future that is truly my own, one that honors both my origins and my aspirations.

I am being gently drawn out of the world as I had known it, that real shift from the deepest parts of who I am

is begining to slide off of me.

It began with little moments that caused me to pause. Moments that invited me to stop long enough to truly see what had been waiting for me all along. The world right in front of me seemed to come alive. It spoke in quiet ways—calling my name, saying hello, blowing sweet kisses on the breeze, and gently inviting me to sit down for just a few minutes.

There was no hurry.

No agenda.

Only an invitation to be present.

Nature slowly made her way into my heart. She came walking at first, then skipping, then dancing all around me in ways I had never experienced before. Every sunrise felt like a personal greeting. Every bird carried a song meant to remind me that life was still unfolding. Every breeze seemed to whisper, "Stay a little longer."

I know this may sound a little woo-woo to some people.

But when the earth begins to speak, your soul recognizes the language.

You listen. You listen with your entire body. When your body listens, the experience is captivating. The jolts of emotions that race through the body are life changing and life giving all at the same time.

As I introduced myself to the land I had been entrusted with, I began to see it differently. This property was no longer simply a place where I lived. It was becoming a place where I belonged.

Each tree had a story.

Each flower held a lesson.

Each season offered wisdom.

The more I cared for the land, the more I realized it was quietly teaching me how to care for myself.

As I pulled weeds from the garden, I began pulling old burdens from my heart.

As I nourished the soil, I discovered the places within me that also needed nourishment.

As I slowed my hands, my soul finally had room to breathe.

I thought I was learning how to tend a piece of land.

Instead, the land was teaching me how to tend my own heart.

Perhaps that is one of God's greatest gifts to us—that if we are willing to slow down long enough, creation becomes our teacher, reminding us that we, too, need seasons of rest, gentle care, and the grace to simply grow.