Month: July 2025

 The Blessing Behind the Bench: How Disappointments Build a Life Worth Living

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What if the no’s you received growing up were the hidden yes’s your soul needed to thrive?

Things that seemed devastating to us as a child or adolescent often turn out to be wonderful gifts. There were a couple of ball teams I didn’t make. Not making the teams, at the time, was devastating to me. I was disappointed and I thought I disappointed my father. Those disappointments and many others created a strong drive in me, over time, to work hard and be successful. I don’t think I would have been as successful in my life as I have been if it wasn’t for the disappointments. As I look back on my disappointments, I can thank the different coaches for not selecting me. My life would’ve been totally different if I had been selected and if I had been successful as a ball player. I’m happy with my life and the journey I’ve taken, so the disappointments must have been good for me. Somehow, without thinking about it, I turned the disappointments into a triumph. How often have you done this? I imagine you have many examples of disappointments that you turned into triumphs. Instead of ruminating on a disappointment reflect on how it transformed your life. As an adult, I’ve always operated with the notion that the path I’m on is the right path for me whether I chose it or not.

Three Questions to Deepen the Theme:

  1. Can you think of a moment in your life when not getting what you wanted turned out to be a blessing in disguise?
  2. How have past rejections or failures fueled your growth or redirected you to a better path?
  3. What story of personal disappointment can you now view through the lens of gratitude or wisdom?

Between the Showers ~ A Poem by Amy Levy

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What if the most unforgettable moments don’t come during life’s storms or sunshine—but between the showers?

Between the Showers

Amy Levy

Between the showers I went my way,
   The glistening street was bright with flowers;
It seemed that March had turned to May
   Between the showers.

Above the shining roofs and towers
   The blue broke forth athwart the grey;
Birds carolled in their leafless bowers.

Hither and tither, swift and gay,
   The people chased the changeful hours;
And you, you passed and smiled that day,
   Between the showers.

Source

Reflection:

Amy Levy’s Between the Showers captures one of those rare and aching moments suspended in time—when the rain pauses, the sun peeks out, and the heart opens briefly to something both beautiful and impossible to hold onto. In just a few lines, she evokes not only the transformation of a city from gloom to bloom, but the emotional shift within a soul touched by a simple smile. It’s a reminder that life is often lived not in dramatic climaxes or deep lows, but in subtle in-betweens—the quiet seconds when something inside us shifts without fanfare. That fleeting smile, like the sudden change from March to May, becomes immortal not because it lasted, but because it didn’t. And yet, we carry it forward, like a glint of sunlight caught in a puddle.

Questions to Dive Deeper:

  1. When have you experienced a brief moment that left a lasting emotional impact—one that passed quickly but changed you?
  2. What might Levy be suggesting about time, nature, and human connection through her use of the phrase “between the showers”?
  3. How does the imagery of seasonal transition (March to May) reflect deeper emotional or spiritual awakenings in your own life?

Light for the Journey: From Tears to Stardust: How Love Turns Lions into Light

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Ever felt love transform you in ways words can barely touch? Rumi did. And he left us this soul-stirring road map from sorrow to starlight.

“I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.”
― Rumi

Reflection:

Rumi’s words take us on a breathtaking inner journey—from death to life, from sorrow to joy, from weakness to wild strength, and finally to peace. His lines aren’t just poetry; they’re a spiritual biography of every soul that has ever been touched by love. Real love—whether divine, romantic, or soulful—doesn’t just make us feel better; it remakes us. One moment we’re curled in grief, the next we’re laughing through tears, made fierce by the fire of connection. Then, almost without warning, that same force softens us—into starlight, into stillness. Rumi reminds us that love’s power lies in its paradoxes: fierce yet tender, overwhelming yet calming. If you’re in a season of weeping, trust that laughter waits. If you’re fierce now, know the evening star is in you too. Love transforms. That’s its gift. That’s its miracle.

Writer’s Prompt:  No Moon, No Mercy: The Night the Lights Never Came Back On

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Three Essential Quotes About Good Writing by Ray Bradbury

  1. “You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” (On writing as both obsession and salvation.)
  2. “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” (Bradbury echoing the spirit of Chekhov, underscoring the power of imagery and sensory detail.)
  3. “Write a short story every week. It’s not possible to write 52 bad short stories in a row.” (His advice on consistent practice and letting creativity flow without fear.)

Starting paragraph for a thriller


It was a moonless night. The kind of night that didn’t whisper secrets—it devoured them. Streetlights flickered, then died, one by one, until the neighborhood sank into complete black. No stars, no silver trail of clouds—only thick, tar-like sky pressing down. Detective Mara Quinn stepped out of her car and into the suffocating dark, flashlight in hand, gun at her hip, breath held. Dispatch said it was a false alarm. Dispatch didn’t hear the phone call that came after. A whispering voice. One name. Hers. The smell hit her first—iron, copper, something burnt. Then came the silence—not the kind that rests, but the kind that watches. The front door of the old colonial creaked open just a sliver, swaying on its hinges. Inside, her partner was already gone. No backup. No sound. Just a string of Polaroids scattered on the porch, and on each one: her face, asleep, unaware, timestamped. Tonight, the dark wasn’t just outside. It had come looking for her.

Eat Well and Forget the Scale

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Ditch the Scale—Feed Your Body, Not Your Fears

You are not a number. Eat to feel better, not to chase the scale.

Obsessing over numbers can damage your mindset and sabotage healthy habits. A study from the Journal of Health Psychology found that self-weighing is associated with negative body image and disordered eating, especially in women (Pacanowski et al., 2015).

Instead, shift the focus to what nourishes you. Choose foods that make you feel energized, clear-minded, and satisfied. Think fiber-rich veggies, lean proteins, healthy fats, and whole grains. Eat when you’re hungry, stop when you’re satisfied—not when the plate’s empty or the calories are met.

Your worth isn’t measured in pounds. It’s measured in how you live and how you love. Choose vitality.

The Storm Will Pass: Grief, Grace, and the Power of Presence

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What do you do when life hands you a storm you never saw coming? In this poignant episode of Journey from Grief to Healing, Ray shares the gripping story of a friend’s near-tragic loss during the Texas floods—and the six-hour silence that tested a family’s strength. Reflections on poems by Mary Oliver and Katherine Mansfield give shape to the emotional rollercoaster of grief, reminding us that storms eventually pass, and love is our most precious gift. A must-listen for anyone learning to hold on and let go all at once.

5 Points to Ponder

  • What does it mean to live as if life is truly “wild and precious”?
  • How can grief sharpen our awareness of the people who are still with us?
  • Why is silence sometimes more powerful than words in moments of pain?
  • What personal storms have shaped your understanding of love and loss?
  • In what ways can poetry help give meaning to what feels unspeakable?

Breaking Up with Plastic: It’s Not Me, It’s… Literally Everywhere

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I thought ditching plastic would be easy—until I realized my blueberries, my cutting board, and even my smug little eco-cloth were all secretly synthetic. I’m basically living in a Tupperware container with rent.

I recently read a lengthy article on the negative effects of plastics on one’s health. The article’s writer was so concerned she paid for a blood test to see if microplastics were present in her blood stream. She freaked out when she received the bad news. Those plastic boogers were running through her blood stream as if were their personal playground. She took the results to her doctor. The doctor told her that she believed most people on the planet have a similar problem and it is not good. That’s all I need to hear to take on my great plastic challenge. I thought it was going to be easy freeing myself from plastic. Turns out it is not so easy.. Plastic is ubiquitous in my home and I imagine it is in everyone elses home. I buy forzen blueberries. It’s in the packaging. I clean my counters with microfiber cloths to save on paper. It makes up microfiber cloths. My cutting board is going out. My microfiber cloths are going out. My non stick pans are joining the parade. My brain is getting dizzy from thinking about the presence of plastic in my life. Perhaps if I stop thinking about it, plastics will disappear. C’mon, Ray, come back to reality. I’m not ready to head off to a remote spot in the Rocky Mountains, kill a bear and use it’s skin and hair for my clothes and its flesh for my food. I’m going to be in solidarity with the rest of humanity and eo the best I can with the plastic menace. What are you doing about plastics in your life? Maybe we’ll get super powers and clear the world of evil. Let’s start with plastics.

I Remember ~ A Poem by Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton’s I Remember isn’t just a poem—it’s a haunting key to a summer so intimate, even time forgot to tick.

I Remember

Anne Sexton

By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color—no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.

Source

Reflection

In I Remember, Anne Sexton invites us into a summer stripped of time, formality, and even footwear. The poem is less about recollection and more about immersion—the raw texture of heat, shared space, and quiet rituals of closeness. The world becomes sensory and blurred: colorless grass, warm gin, invisible beetles. Her memory doesn’t cling to milestones but to the mundane made sacred—a ribbon in her hair, a shared door, the simplicity of being. That final line, “the door to your room was the door to mine,” encapsulates a bond so deep that even boundaries dissolve. It’s about a time when intimacy wasn’t spoken—it was lived. And remembered not with clarity, but with longing.

Light for the Journey: The Gentle Gift of Repition

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What if the secret to joy isn’t novelty, but finding wonder in what never changes? Chesterton flips our grown-up mindset on its head.

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” ― G.K. Chesterton,

Reflection

G.K. Chesterton’s words remind us that children instinctively recognize something divine in repetition. Their fierce, free spirits shout, “Do it again!” not because they are bored, but because they delight in the familiar miracle. Adults, weary from the grind, lose this awe. We call it monotony. But maybe what we’ve really lost is innocence, gratitude, and attentiveness. Chesterton dares us to believe that God Himself never tires of painting the sky, blooming flowers, or waking the sun—because joy, not duty, drives the divine. What if every sunrise is not a mechanical rerun, but a whispered “Do it again” from a delighted Creator? Perhaps the invitation for us is not to escape the routine, but to see it with new eyes—like children do. Maybe the sacred hides in the repeated. And maybe—just maybe—our Father is younger than we are.

Writer’s Prompt: Pedals, Chains, and Vengeance: The Ride Turns Dark in Colorado

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They started their ride for freedom. But on Day Two, she vanished. Now he’ll ride through hell itself to get her back—and take them all down.

Opening Paragraph :

They had trained for months, mapping every mile, dreaming of the freedom the open road would bring. Lena and Mark pedaled into Colorado with nothing but their bikes, backpacks, and the shared promise of an unforgettable adventure. By the second day, they had reached a small town tucked beneath the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. It was charming in that too-perfect way—until Lena didn’t return from the café. Her bike was there. Her phone too. But no Lena. The sheriff called it “a lovers’ spat” and suggested she’d taken off. Mark knew better. The moment he found the torn strap from her helmet in an alley behind the café, something snapped inside him. Whoever had taken Lena didn’t know him. Didn’t know what he was willing to do. But they’d learn. What began as a scenic cross-state trip would now become a brutal journey through Colorado’s shadows—where every trail leads to danger, and Mark’s only companion is rage.

Three Questions to Dive Deeper:

  1. How far would you go to save someone you love—and would you cross moral lines to do it?
  2. What clues would Mark need to uncover a hidden human trafficking network in a remote region?
  3. How might the harsh Colorado landscape mirror Mark’s emotional descent into vengeance?

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