Call it destiny, kismet or fate – but there are defining moments in each of our lives that have to be more than coincidence.  That when we look back at things that happen to us or choices we’ve made, we see just how incredible each turn of events was, if we are paying attention.  Personally, in those moments I choose to see God’s hand at work.  Not because I want to see it, but because I can feel it.  Small and simple reminders that I am not alone.  A gentle whisper that I can hear in my soul amid all the hectic busyness of life.  But sometimes these things happen so fleetingly or I give myself the credit and it’s easy to take those events, big or small, for granted.In this digital age, we have so much stored, yet so much meaning is lost.   The best we have are thousands of images saved to a device, usually, if we are lucky.  And in most cases, the feelings or significance behind those photos are forgotten.  Any hint of spirituality is devoid from the most beautiful moments captured.Unless you take a breath, and remember.  Record it so that it is preserved, not just by sight but by heart.But where do I begin? It seems the first thing people ask each other upon meeting is, “So, what do you do?”, as if your career defines you.  Well, it rarely scratches the surface on getting to know someone, but it’s a decent place to begin.  A lot has changed in these last few years, but for a long w

“Dominic?” the gravelly voice of his mother broke the quiet of the night.   She asked hesitantly, not sure what to make of the shadowy outline she was seeing in the darkened living room.  The sparkly multi-colored lights of the Christmas tree cast a warm, red glow into the blackness. “Nicky? What are you doing?” she asked, as her eyes adjusted and she saw her son sitting in front of the tree, shirtless and holding a wine bottle to his lips.   “I couldn’t sleep and I was looking for Cid.  Is he with you?” she asked. He took a drink and lowered it to the floor with a soft thud against the carpet, maintaining his grip on the neck, but turning his face up toward his mother’s softly shrill voice, and patted the dog at his side. “Oh, there you are,” she said, noticing the little log of a creature with the funny scrunched face.  His pink tongue hanging out as he lay loyally beside her son. It was her dog, but Nick adored it.  And Cid adored him.   “The goofball and his goofball,” she would refer to Dominic and her pug. He had helped her pick him out.  Back when he had just graduated from college.  Nick had chosen him out of the litter of little gray balls with big eyes.  Like furry little aliens.   The warm belly of the puppy in his hand as it licked and chewed on his fingers.  And that was it.  He was the one. Cid, he had dubbed him.  After a character in one of his favorite video games. And he followed Nick around whenever he came home. 

Yahweh… Anne had just learned the word in her Bible study.   The Name of God in Hebrew was all vowels, and said to be impossible to pronounce, so was given the sound.   But in fact, the name was the sound of breathing. The most sacred thing that kept everyone alive, was simply the name of the Creator. She marveled at how many traditions and cultures focused on the breath, to come back to the self.  To alter the emotion.  Exhalation punctuated so many moments, and when done intentionally, could control the human experience. Even in meditation, where there was no obvious focus on a higher power, it was proven that breathing affects the body.  Slowed the heart, eased anxiety, and calmed the soul. Often, she would take deliberate breaths, like she was doing now, to soothe herself.   Something so simple.   So easy.   She felt how it could control her entire body.  Anne marveled at it.  She took it to be proof of something beyond herself.  A glimpse into the spiritual realm. But that’s how life was, she thought.  The tiniest things were actually miracles.  Like the breath. And how some people could breathe life into you.  Just by being there…  Her mind went back to Joe.  Tears rimmed her eyes as she recalled him.  In quiet moments like this, she could close her eyes, and feel him there with her.  With her hands clasped in silent prayer, she gently rubbed her own thumbs together, and could almost feel the crinkled roughness of his weathered hand in her