My Kingdom
Louisa May Alcott
Sitting to-day in the sunshine,
That touched me with fingers of love,
I thought of the manifold blessings
God scatters on earth, from above;
And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
Far more than we merit, or need,
And all that we lack is the angels
To make earth a heaven indeed.
The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
The spring brings a promise of flowers
That summer breathes to fruition,
And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
The woodlands re-echo with music,
The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
There is sunlight and beauty about us,
And the world is as fair as can be.
But mortals are always complaining,
Each one thinks his own a sad lot;
And forgetting the good things about him,
Goes mourning for those he has not.
Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
We look on the dust at our feet;
We drain out the cup that is bitter,
Forgetting the one that is sweet.
We mourn o’er the thorn in the flower,
Forgetting its odour and bloom;
We pass by a garden of blossoms,
To weep o’er the dust of the tomb.
There are blessings unnumbered about us, –
Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own – not the Giver’s –
That we have not an Eden below.
grateful
Our Blessings ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Our Blessings
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Sitting to-day in the sunshine,
That touched me with fingers of love,
I thought of the manifold blessings
God scatters on earth, from above;
And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
Far more than we merit, or need,
And all that we lack is the angels
To make earth a heaven indeed.
The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
The spring brings a promise of flowers
That summer breathes to fruition,
And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
The woodlands re-echo with music,
The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
There is sunlight and beauty about us,
And the world is as fair as can be.
But mortals are always complaining,
Each one thinks his own a sad lot;
And forgetting the good things about him,
Goes mourning for those he has not.
Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
We look on the dust at our feet;
We drain out the cup that is bitter,
Forgetting the one that is sweet.
We mourn o’er the thorn in the flower,
Forgetting its odour and bloom;
We pass by a garden of blossoms,
To weep o’er the dust of the tomb.
There are blessings unnumbered about us, –
Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own – not the Giver’s –
That we have not an Eden below.
Healthy Living Tip ~ Gratefulness
Be grateful
Simply being grateful can give your mood a big boost, among other benefits. For example, a recent two-part study found that practicing gratitude can have a significant impact on feelings of hope and happiness. Start each day by acknowledging one thing you’re grateful for. You can do this while you’re brushing your teeth or just waiting for that snoozed alarm to go off. As you go about your day, try to keep an eye out for pleasant things in your life. They can be big things, such as knowing that someone loves you or getting a well-deserved promotion. But they can also be little things, such as a co-worker who offered you a cup of coffee or the neighbor who waved to you. Maybe even just the warmth of the sun on your skin.
Source
Life is for the Living ~ Langston Hughes
Life is for the living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music.
And death a note unsaid.
– Langston Hughes
Gratitude Became my Grieving Turning Point
Gratitude Became my Turning Point
M continued to encourage me to be grateful for Babe. Being grateful was difficult because I fixed my focus on what I lost, not what I had. It was only later when I realized being grateful was the grieving breakthrough I sought. It was only later when I realized I couldn’t be grateful and sad at the same time. Here is a journal excerpt where I continue to express my gratitude for Babe.
“You taught me to love. You taught me about love. You were, and still are, love. Each moment we spent together, you taught me another love lesson. Each time you touched me, you taught me about love. Each word you spoke to me was a message of love. Each time you looked at me, you filled me with love. How can I choose to do anything else but love? You’re a gift. I buried your body, but I did not bury you. Ciao—until …”
I finished my brief journal entry. I was smiling. My heart was at peace. The images of Babe lingered with me. For the moment, life was good.”
Ordering information for the paperback or ebook version of Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again may be found at https://optimisticbeacon.com/dancing-alone/
Excerpt From: Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again by Ray Calabrese. This material is protected by copyright
Relearning to be Grateful
Relearning to be Grateful
M told me losing the ability to be grateful is common among men and women who grieve. She encouraged me to “relearn gratefulness.” She suggested I begin by journaling my gratitude for Babe. Here is an excerpt from Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again:
“I am grateful for how Babe helped me lighten up and not take life so seriously. I am grateful for how she saw in me what I couldn’t see for myself. I am grateful each time I heard her laugh. I am grateful for the times we made love. I am grateful for each of our dates. I am grateful for how Babe taught me to manage a household. I watched and learned from her. The lessons she taught me helped me to keep the house clean, cook, make things neat, and manage money. Little did I know, God was using Babe to prepare me this part of my life.
I am grateful for the small things. I can still see her childlike excitement at decorating for Christmas, her delight while she cooked a meal, or her enjoyment as she sipped a cup of coffee. I am grateful for watching her get all dolled up for me. I told her many times she was born beautiful. I am grateful for her excitement whenever we planned a trip. She would start packing two weeks early. “I am grateful for the moments when I was anxious and she’d put her hand on my neck. As if by magic, my tension and anxiety would instantly disappear.”
Ordering information for the paperback or ebook version of Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again may be found at https://optimisticbeacon.com/dancing-alone/
Excerpt From: Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again by Ray Calabrese. This material is protected by copyright
Can You Sing a Song ~ Joseph Morris
Can you sing a song to greet the sun,
Can you cheerily tackle the work to be done,
Can you vision it finished when only begun,
Can you sing a song?
Can you sing a song when the day’s half through,
When even the thought of the rest wearies you,
With so little done and so much to do,
Can you sing a song?
Can you sing a song at the close of the day,
When weary and tired, the work’s put away,
With the joy that it’s done the best of the pay,
Can you sing a song?
Joseph Morris
Today’s Reflection ~ Gratitude
“Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.” – Kahlil Gibran
Joy ~ Poem by Sara Teasdale
I AM wild, I will sing to the trees,
I will sing to the stars in the sky,
I love, I am loved, he is mine,
Now at last I can die!
I am sandaled with wind and with flame,
I have heart-fire and singing to give,
I can tread on the grass or the stars,
Now at last I can live!
by Sara Teasdale
“Song of Joys” Poem by Walt Whitman
Song Of Joys
O to make the most jubilant song!
Full of music-full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments-full of grain and trees.
O for the voices of animals-O for the swiftness and balance of fishes!
O for the dropping of raindrops in a song!
O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!
O the joy of my spirit-it is uncaged-it darts like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time,
I will have thousands of globes and all time.
O the engineer’s joys! to go with a locomotive!
To hear the hiss of steam, the merry shriek, the steam-whistle, the
laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance.
O the gleesome saunter over fields and hillsides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds, the moist fresh
stillness of the woods,
The exquisite smell of the earth at daybreak, and all through the
forenoon.
Excerpt from Song of Joys by Walt Whitman
retrieved from: https://www.poetseers.org/early-american-poets/walt-whitman/whitmans-poetry/a-song-of-joys/index.html
