My start of the week epiphany

Monday didn’t start as planned.  I didn’t get up when the alarm went off.  I didn’t have the short but anchoring early
morning chat with my partner that I treasure.
I didn’t go to the gym.  By 11am I
felt like I was already behind on the week.

Then an unexpected parcel arrived containing a box of Turkish
delight.  When taking the delivery, I
spotted the cheery primroses, a surprise present received at the weekend and
placed by the door only the day before.
Turning back into the room, there were the yellow roses that had
accompanied the door-side plants.  

In that moment, these three literal gifts offered me another
gift.  They served as a reminder of the
good things in my life, things that are usually there in some form or another
but often get overlooked, forgotten in the maelstrom of life.  The light can be easily overshadowed by
dark.  A looming but not pressing
deadline can sour an otherwise enjoyable weekend.  One critical statement skews our memory of
otherwise glowing feedback.  An acrimonious
ending may shape our recollection of an entire relationship.  

Sometimes it may feel as if the light in our lives has
disappeared entirely.  Last week saw Epiphany,
a festival which celebrates the story of the wise men visiting baby Jesus.  The visitors see a star in the distance and
travel towards it, but they don’t actually follow the light in the night sky the
whole way – the star only reappears when they get nearer.  I feel this is a crucial detail, and a hugely
inspiring one, encouraging us to carry on anyway.  Keep journeying because at some point along
the way, the light will return, and it will seem all the brighter following the
darkness.

My three gifts weren’t gold, frankincense and myrrh but
Turkish delight, primroses and yellow roses.
Nonetheless, they were a reminder to look for the light.  And the start of the week didn’t seem so bad
after all.

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I’ve just started to read Martha Beck’s “Finding Your Own North Star”. I’ve only got through chapters one and two and already it is blowing my mind. How can a few “Write down a time when…” exercises drop a plumb line into your soul and retrieve the secrets you’ve been keeping even from yourself? Staring at the blooms before me feels like the only way to keep hold of things.