Thank You. by Patresa Hartman

On the day before the year turns, I feel wise and strong, sensing divine purpose in where I've been and alight looking forward. The 365 days before become a collection of lessons; the days ahead streak ready acres of limitless possibility. Possibility kicks ass (Many apologies to my mother for using the word "ass" in a public forum.).

I came to YOG late, invited to round out a shifting Gratitude Team. What an opportunity for big soul work! Thank you, Ms. Kat, for inviting me. And thank you, Ms. Barb and Ms. Angie, for welcoming me so warmly. High fives all around.

There are two key things I believe I have learned in this process: 1) Gratitude is a choice; and 2) Gratitude opens you to peace and joy. Peace and joy also kick ass.

I like math and think numbers are chronically underestimated. They are interesting and expose dynamic layers of the universe when tapped. I like that a -5 and a +5 are equal distances from zero; the concept implies that every number contains two parallel frequencies. Likewise, I think of each moment of my life as a point, a distance from zero, and therefore containing equal opportunities for negativity or positivity. With this acknowledgment, I can no longer believe that life is a series of events that happen to me. I can choose: wallow in the negative frequency; or celebrate the positive. I am learning there is joy everywhere -- in every moment -- if I only choose to look.

My friend, Mary, introduced me this year to a mantra inspired by Morrnah Simeona's teachings of an ancient Hawaiian healing system, Ho'oponopono. Simeona taught that we are all connected and therefore all responsible for one another. The external world is a projection of our internal world, and so the more peace we feel, the more peace there will be. (And the more peace there will be, the more peace we will feel.) The mantra, explained in Joe Vitale and Hew Len's Zero Limits, goes like this:

I love you.
Please forgive me.
I'm sorry.
Thank you.

I find it appropriate that the last line is "Thank you." There is a particular openness and peace that is communicated via gratitude. It is acceptance and surrender to something bigger than our immediate understanding. This concept is alive in every spiritual walk. Saying thank you for everything -- the bad and the good -- is an important acknowledgement that we are part of the universe, not separate, that the universe is ultimately good, and it is providing what it must. (I think it works just as well to say "God" instead of "universe.") I feel a lot of my own personal turmoil comes from resistance. There are things in the world I do not like, people I do not like, things about myself I do not like. When I do not accept these elements, I close myself not only to them, but everything else -- including love and joy. When I am closed, I feel isolated and angry, even superior.

Even in times of sadness, when I sense and accept my rightfully small place in the natural world, I feel open and connected. There is peace in this tiny shift, and sadness reconfigures. It hops frequencies and becomes joy.

So for 2009, I wish for you:

to choose joy
to choose peace
to choose gratitude
...in response to all things.

Thank you.

Finding Peace by Angie Ledbetter

By doze id stopped up add I catt top steezing. I've ude up two boxes of tittue alweady. *honk*

Okay, enough of my sad talking-with-a-bad-cold voice. It's been years since I've been sick, so I guess it was bound to happen. I mean, I did get out for a bit (finally) to do some Christmas shopping, and the germs were probably all waiting to pounce on me. I'll live, and when I fully recover my senses, I know I'm going to appreciate being able to breathe, taste, smell and hear again.

Along with my little waltz with Mr. Cold, I've also had to face some mightily unpleasant personal stuff in the last few days. I'm not sharing details, just take it from me -- it was worse than a triple cold with a trip to the dentist on top. It hasn't been a pleasant few days.

In spite of all that, I went to my "happy place," which happens to be located within my favorite church. There I prayed earnestly for help with the issue, and also in thanksgiving for a prayer request answered for a friend. I closed my watery eyes, blew my nose quietly and let the sanctified environment seep into my inner temple of turmoil. Within mere minutes, a warm glowing peace descended. As cliched as it sounds even to me who experienced it, I knew all would be well. I knew. And I was/am grateful.

However you seek your peace, serenity and comfort in bad situations, may it never allude you.

The Comfort Zone by Barbara Quinn

Spring is sprung. That means Easter is almost here. On Easter Sunday my son and daughter-in-law, nephew and his wife, niece, brother and sister-in-law, Mom (who is 87 and is treating us all to dinner), husband, and I will meet at a restaurant for dinner and catch up on each other’s lives. Then we’ll drive to my house for coffee and dessert. I’ve ordered a special grana, the wheat pie that is made for Easter, and lots of miniature cannoli, sfogliatelle, and éclairs, and even a couple of St. Joseph’s pastries because Easter is early enough that they are still around. We’ll break out the port and sambuca, heat the espresso, coffee, and tea, and spend more time discussing everything from politics to celebrities. It doesn’t get better than that.

I’m grateful to have people to gather with for the holidays. The celebration with family gives life a comforting rhythm. For a while we forget all the daily hassles and problems and enjoy each other’s company. These times together shore up my defenses. It’s good to know there are people I can count on to be there in times of sorrow and joy. This comfort of family has no price, cannot be bought, and is a worthy life goal.

The person who will be missed when we gather is my Dad. While he was alive he worked hard and took care of us. He invested wisely and left my Mom with enough funds that she is treating us all to dinner, “courtesy of dear old Dad.” I like to think he’s smiling and happy that he is still taking care of us now.

My heart goes out to all the families who would like to but cannot spend time together. Soldiers and their far apart families, people too ill to celebrate, the dying and the departed, those who have to work on that day to support their families, those who are too poor to make a special meal. Even though you are apart or in dire straits, family can still give you comfort. And that is what I wish for you. Comfort and peace, and a welcoming family when you finally do gather once again.