I Will Be That Peace

Unfinished

Until we are able to complete our mission of being that peace, our work on this planet remains unfinished.

*Our local community chorus is privileged to have been granted permission to perform Mark Hayes’ beautiful message in song, as part of our upcoming concert, Peace. (This is the YouTube version.)

Words and music by Mark Hayes

Based on a quote by LAO-TZU (6th c. BC)

©2017 Mark Hayes Music

Seeing stars. Walking on water.

Twinkle

Connect with MiraLianna HERE.
IMG_20150608_201332_959.jpg

Starfish Mission is beginning to twinkle…

The past few months have been a marathon of deep diving. I been resurfacing time after time, each dive reaping more treasure. This morning, my words to my husband were something like, “I think I know how to stay on the surface now. And when I go under, I know that I’ll be able to resurface and breathe again.”

In that moment, I caught a glimpse of what Jesus was probably trying to say: “Take my hand. I’ll show you how to walk on this calm, refreshing surface so you can show others how to do it. This is my amazing Kingdom where all are equally valuable and equally commissioned. This is the leveling place where you can meet and decide your next direction. Here on the surface of my life-giving waters, I want you to be able to experience my power, my love, and the power you have with each other–drawing in–breathing in—all of the fullness of my Kingdom. Here, we continue the evolution of our Universe.”

I have been borrowing quite a few photos from Google’s free-to-use collection, but this photo is all mine. These are my waters for dancing today.

My own plunging, floundering, breathless, and black-hole story is now tucked into a sub-menu on my About MiraLianna page.

An amazing community of people and ideas has been coming together like headwaters–helping to create  Starfish Mission. On the Starfish Mission page (top of this page on a PC or bottom if you are on a mobile device), you can find ENTRY POINTS. A little like the children’s book series, Choose Your Own Adventure, can can choose your entry point depending where you are in the journey of life. Included is the life-raft of the Black Hole point, when nothing is working and you are gasping for air.

  • Entry point: Pre-Marriage
  • Entry Point: Wanting a Family
  • Engry Point: New Parents
  • Entry Point: Raising a Family
  • Entry Point: Black Hole (This is a designed as a first stop if, for any reason, you are feeling rudderless, uncertain, without purpose, neglected, abused, fearful, or unhappy.)

Today feels like yet another one of my myriad pivot points. (Apparently, I’m all about pointing today.)

Happy Birthday. Proud of you. Still..where is the love?

Yesterday, I wrote about my mother appearing in a dream on my birthday, two weeks after she died. That really happened.

This past week, I had a moment when I was consumed with a great shudder and a flood of tears. This defies all forms of logic and everything but the intention of my original journey. If you knew me personally, you would be shaking your head in amazement. You would know how intent I have been on a path of Show Me. This…whatever, whomever, is trying to get through to me is pure and unadulterated experience.

She loves me, after all

My shudder, my flood of tears: my mother seemed to be saying to me, “Yeah, we had a lot of crap to work through. It sucked, didn’t it? We had a mission, you and I, and now–look at you. 1500 hits, 530 views, 50 posts–all in one month. You have been featured on *Dr. Jonice Webb’s website, Facebook page, and Twitter feed.  You are doing your mission, you have found your purpose. You have always been a great daughter. I am still proud of you. And now, I’m not just signing ‘Love, Mom’–now I’m telling you…I have loved you–will love you–forever and forever.”

❤ ❤ ❤

Mira

*Dr. Webb’s book, Running on Empty, provided MY entry point. Through her work, I found a key to unlock my door and knock down my wall. I found what was missing, how many of us got into this mess, and what can help. I’m now linking arms with anyone who will. We have generations of hope ahead.

Happy Birthday

Plop

Connect with Mira Lianna HERE.

insurance

Happy Birthday

Week number one: New Year’s Day. Week number two: Birthday.

Number? Right. Numb seemed more like it.

She’d closed the lid on her tears. The rest of the boxes sat unopened in the living room. He put the boys to bed, while she removed the last traces of eye-makeup and splashed her face. The water–chilled by sub-zero temperatures outside–took forever to warm, snaking its way up to the second-floor bathroom. She continued until it began to drip toward her elbows. She looked in the mirror. It was over. The nightmares had stopped.

Their heavy woolen blankets, nestled between sheets and comforter, could block out anything–even a vengeful winter wind. It was warm. He’d slipped in at least fifteen minutes before. Sleep came easily. She’d wondered if she would ever feel that lightness again–that delicious moment when wakefulness passes the baton to the filtering dreamworld of subconsciousness.

He’d asked his secretary to call. Strange. Why would her mom’s insurance agent want her to stop by his office? Whatever. She set out, tires crunching the winter snow, settling in for the two hour trip.  When she stepped into his office, he offered a handshake, and with other held out an envelope. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes. Please. Definitely! It will feel good.” The brave sun was doing its best, but clear overnight skies had unmercifully allowed the previous day’s heat to escape.

Her hands felt steady. It was an act of will. With no particular attention paid to undoing the clasp, she slid out the single sheet of paper. The handwriting was familiar.

“I just wanted you to know,” it began, “in case I wouldn’t have had a chance to say good-bye, that you were a good daughter. I was proud of you, and I haven’t forgotten. Happy Birthday! I will see you again soon. Love, Mom.”

The buzzer on the radio-alarm brought her back. She drew in a deep breath as she heard a few cars crunching to a stop at the intersection below her window. She rolled onto her back, still clutching the sheet-blanket-comforter assemblage so she could draw in the dry, warmed air more easily.

Awareness–the envelope, reaching through the thin veil between life and death and plopping into her hands with an unassuming assurance–had sealed the trust.  The nightmare was over, indeed.

-Mira