Spreading Sunshine
A monthly ezine to brighten your day and make you smile!
Issue 8, January 25, 2008
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Secrets at Victoria’s Secret
© 2008 Laurie Smith
I stood before the cashier at Victoria’s Secret and paid for my purchases. As I did, I couldn’t help but overhear the woman beside me, who was paying at the next register.
“I never used to shop here, but now I do!” she said happily to the clerk, looking my way with a smile. “That’s what cancer will do for you!”
I returned her smile.
“Yes, I am getting rid of everything in my life that is not good for me, including my marriage to a man who has verbally abused me for 18 years” she continued. “Life is too short.”
We chatted for a bit, and when I left the store, I felt as if I had been blessed by an angel. How inspiring, I thought, to be consciously getting rid of everything that makes us feel not-so-good, and replacing it with things that do!
I was struck by her gratitude and decision to embrace the opportunities this new curve in the road of her life was offering. I found myself reflecting on those things in my own life I often wanted to “wish away.” What if they were messengers instead—beckoning me to bring certain aspects of my life back into alignment with my own inner truth? What changes is my soul calling me to make, right now?
With the start of a new year, we become mindful of the power we have in each moment to start anew. With the simple decision to do so, we can change the way we “do” life, and open to the miracles that happen when we do!
Happy 2008! For everyone the whole world round, my wish is that this is the most peaceful, lovely, optimistic, powerful, beautiful, healthy, and best year ever!
Changing Our Minds
My latest obsession is the new You Can Heal Your Life DVD, featuring the philosophy and life of Louise Hay, as well as many of my favorite authors. It was given to me over the holidays by a dear friend. I’ve been playing it non-stop as I’ve been going through old papers and getting caught up on my filing. As a long-time fan of Louise Hay, I can’t recommend it enough! If you’re looking for a cheery push in changing your thoughts and your life, it might be the perfect gift to give yourself. Enjoy!
The Dark Slide
© 2008 Laurie Smith
Our three-year-old son Devin and I were at a new playground. It was dusk, and we had just enough time to explore it before nighttime came and it was time to go. As I pushed him in his stroller back home, he started talking about it—the Dark Slide.
“Why is that slide so dark?” he began. “Next time I will go down it.” As I listened to his questions and his conversation with himself about the mysterious sliding board, I realized I had no idea which slide he was talking about. I hadn’t noticed one that was particularly dark, or that he wanted to go down but didn’t.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go back again,” I promised, curiously. “Then maybe you will go down the Dark Slide.”
The next afternoon after his nap, we headed out again in the stroller toward the newly discovered playground. As soon as we got there, he headed straight toward it. The sliding board was long and winding, completely covered by a roof and made to look like an elephant’s trunk. In that moment, Devin decided he was a train and, rather than going down the long, dark tunnel, he had other important places to go.
Devin the Train journeyed down a ladder, hung from rings, and traveled down the “other” sliding boards. Whenever he would arrive at the top of the Dark Slide, the train would come to a halt, and he would look down into it—the long dark tunnel.
“It’s not that dark inside,” I cajoled. “You can do it!” I peered up into it from the bottom and shouted his name so he would know how close the bottom was. As the sun went down behind the trees and the slide got even darker inside, I suggested we come back the next day when it would be a bit brighter, so he could try the Dark Slide—if he wanted.
The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we returned again to the playground. The sun was bright and high in the sky, and we were the first to arrive. Today, Devin was not a train but a jaguar. Devin the Jaguar crept up the play structure and even sat in the top of the Dark Slide, looking out a little window he discovered there.
I told him the little window at the top looked like the kind they had on airplanes. He smiled. I told him the inside of the slide, which was green, actually seemed to “glow” with green light inside. He liked that idea. I tried out the slide for him, and reported wonderful results. I offered to go through it with him. But, no, he wanted to try it alone. I pleaded, pretended to not be interested, then, unable to resist, cheered him on again.
I hated to watch his struggle—one I knew so well myself—as he contemplated the unknown, doing something he really, really wanted to try, but wasn’t sure what would happen when he did. He came close, so close to trying, but each time he did, the little jaguar decided he had other things to do.
Then, another little boy arrived. As Devin hung back above the Dark Slide, peering down the cavernous green tunnel, this little child pushed by him and sat at the top. Clearly, the newcomer had done this before. He looked out the window that had so fascinated Devin. “Come on down,” the child’s caregiver called to him from the bottom.
Devin crouched down and spoke sweetly to the little one. “It’s okay,” he said. He patted the little boy on the back sweetly. “It’s not that dark in there. It glows green! You can do it.” The little boy smiled back at him, delighted by this new friend. “De…De…” he said, trying to say Devin’s name.
The little one lingered at the top for a big longer, looking out the window at the top, smiling at Devin, exploring the world in that special, slow way young ones do who have no knowledge of anything like a clock. “You can do it,” Devin nodded reassuringly. Then, the small child was off! He flew down the long, Dark Slide and out the other end.
“He did it!” Devin jumped up and down at the top, applauding madly, a huge grin on his face. “He did it! Yah!” His new friend couldn’t have been happier for all the attention.
Then it happened. Bolstered by the worldly experience of seeing someone so young and vulnerable go down the Dark Slide and survive, Devin again sat at the top. He again looked out the window. We again chatted about how it looked like the window of an airplane. Then, before I knew it, he pushed off and down he went. When Devin came out the other end, his hair was standing on end—not from fear, but static—and he had one gloriously huge smile on his face.
That was the first of many trips down the Dark Slide Devin took that day. When it finally came time to leave the playground, Devin got an enormous hug from his new friend. As I pushed the stroller, he overflowed with stories of the jaguar’s adventures through the long, dark tunnel, which I happily soaked up the whole way home.