Brave Heart, Brave Soul. She who is brave is free.

"I chose you easy, but, not because I think it will always be easy, because with you I know that even on the dreadful, wretched, luckless days, when the troubles of the world are downpours of thick, clamoring, beating rain ~ you will laugh, take my hand, and whisper delightfully, Dance with me." ~ Beau Taplin/The Dance It's funny when I think of how Johnny and I met some 22 years ago. We were both so young, just getting out into the world, finding our footing. I was just out of college and he was a real country boy. He showed up for our first meeting in wranglers, boots and a black cowboy hat. I was absolutely smitten as he took my hand and led me out onto the dance floor. I was late, he was early but somehow our first meeting happened. We'd been talking on the phone for a month and had decided to take that fateful first step, meeting in person, for the first time in public, on a real date. I was beyond nervous, and so was this good looking American Indian, c...

Forgiveness is like a bridge, with water passing underneath.  It’s a word many of us like to use but fail to apply.  I’ve been faced with this same quandary, muddling around the perimeters of forgiveness.  We all have those chapters in our lives we wish could be forgotten, but that’s not exactly forgiveness is it? When we forgive we pardon, exonerate, show mercy. We don’t continue to carry around the wrongdoing, revisiting it like a parole meeting.  The problem with most of us is well we are human, so the offense, the infringement, the breach and the fault of the situation is not as easily let go.  We like to revisit the scene, like a CSI looking for evidence of the crime.  The problem with this practice is it leads to resentment, hostility, and bitterness because we can’t let go of the hurt we feel has been done to us. This practice and this kind of continual grudge holding only leads to contempt so we become the victim of our own grief, agony, de...

My parents love story started some 46 years ago. Two people, two families, two different paths, crossed and entwined into one story. Both knew pain, hurt and were wounded early in life. Their stories are not that different from yours or mine, they met, fell in love, were married and four years later I was born, their only child. Life was good; we traveled, shared family dinners, laughed, and suffered loss, moved from place to place with each of dad’s new orders and then later when his civilian jobs called. Close really doesn’t begin to cover the bond our family has always shared.  Growing up I saw my parents love story unfold, sitting in awe of the love they shared. When my dad first met my mom, she was a Philly beauty, just 19 and still recovering from a deep personal loss. My dad was a southern gentleman, 23, home from Vietnam, just out of the army deciding on what to do and where to go next. Their meeting to any stranger would seem like chance, but to those who know the...