A Quick Update via my phone

The boys Rim to Rim hike was thwarted by flash floods that occurred August 29. As you’ve likely seen on the news, it is devastating the damage in the Canyon around the Colorado River near the Phantom Ranch. But also because there are at least 20 individuals missing. Their hike was planned for August 30. Thankfully, they were not in the canyon during the flash floods. Yet others had different experiences.

Photo from South Rim shown below. The line/path on the right is a road and staging area for helicopter evacuations.

The canyon remains amazing and AWE inspiring yet it feels odd to stand at the edge and smile when I know there are helicopters evacuating people and construction workers and hikers  completely missing, and NPS search and rescue teams out looking.

Water is…

The other day I posted (instagram) the phrase “Water is life.”

Yeah, as you can see Water is also more than life, it can be death. This reminds me of the faith that we carry: we are people who hold deep sadness and great joy in our souls at the same time. That in fact, maybe in some sense, a biblical definition of Hope. We carry both and yet we Believe.

NPS post on August 31, 2026

Smiling when others hurt?

So how is it that I can smile at the edge of the canyon? How is it that the boys can head deep into the canyon as far as the trail will allow them today 8/31 days after the flooding? How is it that life seemingly goes on with deep sadness?

Truthfully, I don’t know.

But I do know this: No, it is not indifference to people in pain. No, it is not necessarily selfish because we allow, we “let in” the reality that lives may be lost, that others will be grieving. That action of letting others pain change us in tiny microscopic ways has a name.

Solidarity.

It could also be biblical Love. People of faith hold the HOPE but also the universal realization that harm caused to another, the hurt of another is our pain too…

May we continue to have softened hearts that carry Joy and Sadness simultaneous, Universal Spirit in your mercy…Help us.

✨✨✨

Thanks for supporting The Grounded Soul,

Marce

I have tree friends. Lots of tree friends. I also have people friends, cat friends, a few select dog friends, blue heron friends and even spider friends! And quite a few of my oldest, wisest tree friends live in the most unexpected places.

One of the best places to meet trees that are wise and undisturbed is within cemeteries. In a cemetery, established trees are somewhat safe from death due to human encroachment. That land will never be developed without great complication. Also, memorial trees are often planted so they are well-cared for and stand as living holy monuments.

In the late 1800s, new cemeteries were chartered outside of towns. The Rural Cemetery Movement is the term for this shift from cramped churchyards in town to expansive, park-like spaces that inadvertently created safe havens for the trees selected or planted on the site.

Meeting White Oak

Maple Grove Cemetery in Bluffton, Ohio is where I met White Oak (Quercus alba). I first saw her (Oaks are technically monoecious botanically speaking, yet this one feels feminine to me, so I use the pronoun her) in 2020 upon moving to Bluffton. I fell in love with her enormous wide branches. White Oak is a shelter, a protection, and a safe space for all beneath her. Her crown width is massive, and her history runs deep, she is estimated to have been planted around 1721!

Think about that timeline: an indigenous man or woman may have seen this seedling and been careful not to step on its new leaves, walking lightly on the earth so we can see this massive, amazing tree today (articles on Bluffton’s ancient tree found below).

As I was reflecting on my magnetism to this tree, I realized every time I’m near, I feel a sense of awe. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve visited; she is a wonder. Branches as thick as the trunk of some trees, yet it’s all held up perfectly - structurally sound. I often wonder how much life this tree supports: ants, spiders, insects, owls, woodpeckers, squirrels, mice, and more; NPS exstimates over 2,000 species of animals, birds, insects, and fungi are spoorted by a single mother tree, such as this Oak). She even has a plethora of poison ivy climbing up her trunk. You may wrinkle your nose at this vine, but think wider (while it harms us it has a purpose) the birds adore the white berries, so White Oak is supporting the entire local bird population by letting the ivy grow!

I can’t hug her through the poison ivy, so I lie under her canopy. It gives me an awesome perspective: branching, twisting bark, galls, and a large bird sitting 65 feet up.

I think I visit her just for that feeling of awe.

Awe and Wonder

“If I had influence with the good fairy who was supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I would ask that her gift to each child be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantment of later years...”

Rachel Carson, Silent Spring

The A.W.E. Acronym

I recently read the book The Power of Awe: Overcoming Burnout, Anxiety, and Chronic Pain by Jake Eagle and Michael Amster. It reminds us of something we already knew from childhood: awe heals. Their research showed that a 15-second A.W.E. practice 5 times a day builds a habit of calm, reducing anxiety and offering better protection against burnout than a weekend yoga class.

Here is their mindfulness method. It is the very practice I naturally gravitate toward when in Creation, which can be done anywhere in your day-to-day activities:

• A – Attention: Focus your mind on something you value, appreciate, or find amazing. It can be a person, a pet, a memory, or a small detail in nature.

• W – Wait: Pause for about 10 seconds. Keep your full attention on that object. This quietens the brain’s internal chatter.

• E – Exhale and Expand: Take a slow, extended exhale. Let your feelings expand as you calm your body and reset your nervous system.

I think we all already intrinsicly know that slowing down, noticing, remaining present, giving attention to beauty, being curious without having to understand, and breathing intentionally is healthy, helpful, and honestly, delightful. And it can be done in mere moments, so what cannot claim to be too busy for “micro-dose meditation.”

This happens to me often in my day, especially when I am outside. I often flow through these steps without thinking, and then I cannot help but photograph my awe moment!

Everyday Awe

You do not have to drive to Bluffton to see an oak tree to find awe; Creator sprinkled it all throughout your home, yard, neighborhood, and relationships. All we need to do is take the time to notice.

What will you see, experience, and delight in this week? Here are a few of mine from the last few days:

• Watching a spider deconstruct its web (I didn’t even know they did this)!

• Noticing a vine wrapping its way higher and higher up.

• Seeing an orange cat wash between each of his toes so carefully.

• Hearing the voice of a friend on an old video in my phone.

• Watching rain hit the leaves of a serviceberry bush and bound away.

• Watering your plants and watching the slow movement of the water into the soil.

• Hearing the first beats of a favorite song that makes me want to move.

• Receiving the text that someone I love is home and safe.

• Being enthralled with the way the evening sun hits an orange slice on my plate.

Roots, Sanctuary, and Liberation

The spaces where we find healing and grounding, like an old tree standing undisturbed in a quiet cemetery, reminds us that survival, quiet resistance, and deep connection to the earth are interconnected.

Environmental activist and Nobel Laureate Wangari Maathai spoke often of this profound rootedness, noting:

“Trees are living symbols of peace and hope. A tree has roots in the soil, yet it reaches to the sky, it tells us, in order to aspire, we need to be grounded.”

In her poem “If You Come as Softly,” Audre Lorde evokes that same intimate, quiet sanctuary found beneath forest canopies, where the earth bears witness to our shared vulnerability and healing:

“If you come as softly / As wind within the trees... / We shall sit here, softly / Beneath two different years / And the rich earth between us / Shall drink our tears.”

And as environmental writer and activist Terry Tempest Williams reminds us, turning to the natural landscape acts as a vital site of political witness, ecological grief, and deep spiritual resistance against a hurried, fractured world.

As Ralph Waldo Emerson gracefully noted:

Visit the White Oak

• Location: Maple Grove Cemetery, Columbus Grove Road, Bluffton, OH 45817

• Coordinates: White Oak: 40.89286° N, 83.90417° W

More Information & Local History:

• Monumental Trees: Ohio Registry

• Bluffton Icon: Our Oldest Living Resident Resides in Maple Grove

A Note to New (and Returning) Friends

A warm welcome to everyone newly joining this space! I am so glad you are here as we build a community centered around grounded living, nature, reflection, and intentionality.

• About the Author: I am Marcella Velandia Ciccotelli, a doctoral student, botanist, pastor and writer exploring eco-theology, the earth, spiritual grounding, and everyday wonder.

• If you know someone that would benefit from my work connecting Creation-centered spirituality to everyday life, please share this post.

• All photographs featured in this post are my own original captures. I hope you enjoy them! Please kindly respect my work and do not copy them without permission. Thanks!

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In this episode of To Be a Mystic, we explore how sacred mysteries are embodied in the everyday—through intuition, conscious awareness, and the people who hold us steady when the wind is cold. Drawing from Howard Thurman’s 1980 Spelman College commencement address and a quiet family memoir written by my great-uncle John H. Blackburn, we reflect on the tender tradition of keeping life alive and the profound power of mundane, everyday choices.

Credits & Attribution

Podcast Host & Production: Marcella Ciccotelli (The Grounded Soul)

Featured Memoir: Corinn’s Story (January 2000), written by Dr. John H. Blackburn.

Opening Citation: Howard Thurman, Spelman College Commencement Address (1980).

Closing Citation: Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way.

Episode Overview & Show Notes

In this episode of To Be a Mystic, we explore how sacred mysteries are embodied in the everyday—through intuition, conscious awareness, and the people who hold us steady when the wind is cold. Drawing from Howard Thurman’s 1980 Spelman College commencement address and a quiet family memoir written by my great-uncle John H. Blackburn, we reflect on the tender tradition of keeping life alive and the profound power of mundane, everyday choices.

Credits & Attribution

• Podcast Host & Production: Marcella Ciccotelli (The Grounded Soul)

• Featured Memoir: Corinn’s Story (January 2000), written by Dr. John H. Blackburn.

• Opening Citation: Howard Thurman, Spelman College Commencement Address (1980).

• Closing Citation: Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way.

Full Episode Transcript

I hesitate to give you a definition for Christian mysticism because it, by nature, is difficult to define. Christian mysticism, though, if defined, sounds something like this: The spiritual encounter with a sacred mystery that cannot be put into words, but may be embodied through feelings, conscious awareness, experience, intuition, darkness, or even unknowing.

This is a place where we explore that spiritual encounter with the sacred mystery of God. And even though it says it can’t be put into words, we try to put it into some.

In 1980, Howard Thurman delivered a commencement address to the graduating class at Spelman College, a historically Black liberal arts college for women in Atlanta, Georgia. The quote that sticks out to me, so prevalent as I listened to the recording, was this:

“As I look back on my own life, I am conscious of the fact that the deep, sustaining trunk line of my life has been kept alive by women.”

He goes on to explain, beginning with his grandmother who could neither read nor write, and his mother who had to make a way out where there was no way, saw to it that her children had opportunities to find their way. And the women teachers who, when he was a boy in a town where there was no high school for Black children, took their own meager resources to send him away to school.

He says:

“Wherever I have turned in my life, when the wind was cold and the night was dark, some woman has reached out her hand and held me steady until I could find my footing. So as I stand here today looking at you,” he says, “I do not see you as merely graduates. I see you as carriers of a great, sacred, and tender tradition of keeping life alive when everything else conspires to destroy it.”

Not long after listening to this recording, I reread a family story written by my great-uncle, John H. Blackburn. The title of his story is Corinn’s Story. Corinn is the name of his wife.

Now, I only knew him ever as Uncle Johnny, because that’s what my mom called him, as this was my mom’s mom’s brother. I only met him a couple of times since he didn’t live close to me, but he crafted this beautiful story - this honor to his wife of 65 years -because he saw that the decisions that his wife made, the way his wife carried him through, and the way she gave him help changed his life. It helped him find his footing over and over again. And as Howard Thurman said, she kept the tender tradition alive when everything else conspires to destroy it.

Corinn’s Story

By John H. Blackburn

Chapter 1

I stood entranced. My one and only “other-world” experience occurred late one afternoon in August of 1929 -my first encounter with Corinn.

I was confused, depressed, stammering, and an adolescent of 16 years trying to adjust to what seemed to be a hostile world. In the space of a year, I had failed miserably. Expelled from Westtown Boarding School in May of that year, I compounded my problems with a discharge from Indian Lake Resort Hotel for cutting down hollyhocks. My work there was primarily as a busboy and a dishwasher. But on this fateful day, I was pulled off the dishes and told to cut the long grass and weeds from the lawn behind the hotel. I didn’t know a hollyhock from any other tall weed, so down they came, and I was fired.

After this discharge, I decided to take a walk through the nearby amusement park before I hitchhiked my way home. The park was entered over a curved and decorative Japanese bridge, and when I got to the apex, I met this sight: a charming, pleasantly beautiful girl with curly brown hair, shoulder-length, and deep blue eyes.

There she was, her smile contagious, and she was dancing - dancing along to the music of a blaring steam calliope. She was accompanied by two women who appeared to be her mother and sister. Their disapproving expressions yielded no inhibitory influence on her performance.

A happy, buoyant sprite of a girl, she wore a light-colored, knee-length dress, white ankle socks, and black patent leather slippers. She danced two steps forward and two steps back, two steps to either side. This was followed by a half-a-dozen skipping steps forward and a pirouette - all this with her hair doing a dance of its own.

Here was a look into a different world: a pretty girl so imbued with the joy of living, it was impossible for her to merely walk; she danced. My first look into a world I didn’t know existed. I stood and watched her out of sight. I was not the only one; opposing foot traffic slowed down and nearly stopped as she danced past.

My first reaction was, “My oh my, what wouldn’t I give to know that girl.” And then it dawned on me that perhaps the world wasn’t such a bad place after all if people like her were present. My first step up out of a long period of deep adolescent depression.

Chapter 2

My second sighting of this dainty sprite occurred nearly two years later, September of 1931. I was surprised and quite proud that I recognized her instantly - the same deep blue eyes and brown curly hair, and that pleasant half-smile.

She was with a group of young people who were housecleaning the main building on the Bluffton College campus to defray the cost of tuition. Dressed in baggy black bloomers with matching shoes and shirt, she was scrubbing the stairway that led to the administrative offices.

I was accompanied by my mother, Virginia, who would sign my matriculation application along with a “certificate of need” for a campus job. I was lucky; the college gave me a dishwashing job that paid for my board and room at the men’s dormitory in Lincoln Hall.

Corinn was absent when we left the building, but my spirits were soaring. They came back to earth with a thud, though, when I heard she was engaged to be married. Perhaps a godsend. End of the first year.

Chapter 3

Her engagement put her out of my reach. It was regarded as tantamount to marriage to be engaged, and one did not associate with another man’s wife with amorous intentions.

During that entire college year, all I could do was watch her at every opportunity. The seating in the chapel was an amphitheater style, so that one person got a good look at every other person.

At Christmas time of that year, I was part of a celebration where I twirled my Indian clubs, turned into torches. She was present and congratulated me afterwards. My heart pounded. Our second confrontation! It lasted only as long as she uttered her praise. Her arm was tugged, and she was led away by her intended.

I had to drop out of college at the end of my first year. I lost my job as a dishwasher, and my sister Margeree wanted a couple of semesters of art instruction, and family finances were not adequate to support two of us in college.

But this cloud did have a silver lining. Margeree became acquainted with my dream girl, found that she was no longer engaged to be married, and arranged a double date.

I was off and running. So started a relationship that has continued to this day. Several happy coincidences now occurred: I chauffeured Margeree to and from her art classes at the college several times weekly. Corinn was a student in the art department, and we became speaking acquaintances, which fostered her request that I pose for a small statue entitled “Man with a Hoe.”

Chapter 4

We had our first date on February 13th, 1933. It was a double date with Marjorie and her friend. We all went swimming at the Lima, Ohio YMCA and finished the evening watching a movie starring Boris Karloff in The Mummy. We parted that night with a tentative kiss.

From that time on, we saw each other at least once a week. I was happily amazed at our constant compatibility, which led inexorably to her suggestion, “Johnny dear, I love you so very much. I believe we ought to get married.”

So late one beautiful Saturday afternoon, we thumbed (hitchhiked) our way to a pawn shop in Lima, just off the square. The man there displayed a whole tray of wedding rings - all shapes and all sizes of wedding rings. We thought of the broken hearts that these rings represented. The price was $3.00. We had come armed with $10.00 between us. We did no celebrating; this was not an engagement ring, this was the real thing! We contentedly returned to Bluffton.

It was interesting to note that the people who gave us rides showed a distinct change of attitude on the return trip. Instead of eyebrow-wagging, after Corinn flashed her wedding ring, the drivers immediately commiserated with us, dropping remarks about the effect of the Depression on all of us, even giving us hints about where to find work.

It so happened that we both had jobs. Corinn worked at the Meter Works in Bluffton, and I was a medical laboratory technician at the Lima Tuberculosis Hospital.

It was not long before Corinn’s constant wearing of the ring convinced our respective families that we were intent on marriage, and their resistance softened. Corinn’s very kind and understanding father, the Reverend James Norman King, married us in the family living room on December 22nd, 1934.

We spent our bridal night in the cold Kalida house. We spent the weekend there and then we returned to our jobs. Two months later, Corinn had an appendectomy, which brought us together again - Corinn being able to live with me in Lima for a short time while she was recovering.

Almost immediately, Corinn decided that I needed to return to school and complete my pre-medical program. Along with this pronouncement came the word that she was pregnant.

Now, I had a reasonably well-paying job with good prospects of getting a better one. I was happy with the way our marriage was working and was a bit confused at this change of course. I am proud, however, that I took her advice. I didn’t like the prospects of three more years of college, but I reasoned that Corinn loved me and would only give me good advice, so I’d better pay attention to her.

Chapter 5

I did, and emerged three years later from Bowling Green State University with a B.A. and B.S. degrees. During this time, Corinn gave birth to a sweet baby boy. She worked at the Meter Works, took care of the family home, and cared for her mother, who was dying of breast cancer.

It was with some misgivings that I was admitted to medical school at The Ohio State University. The dean who conducted the pre-admission interview told me frankly that my 2.6 cumulative grade point average was lower than they liked to admit. However, I had such glowing letters of recommendation that I was to be admitted conditionally.

My sweet wife accompanied me to Columbus for the interview and, knowing it would take several hours, busied herself at finding me board and room. She bought a newspaper, read the ads, and driving the car in a strange city, found me quarters at a reasonable price, all within walking distance of the university. What a talented “helpmate,” besides being so pretty!

The first year of medical school was very hard for both of us, since we had to live 100 miles apart. Sadly, Corinn’s mother died during this year. This freed my capable wife who, within weeks, rented a three-story row house close to the university. She and the delightful little boy descended on 10th Avenue, and for me, the atmosphere was completely altered.

Smiles and laughter became the order of the day. So with my charming wife to supply my board and room and a quiet place to study, I graduated at the top of my class with a cum laude on my M.D. diploma.

I then sailed through the State Board examination, only to fall afoul of one of the worst internships in the State of Ohio, as I learned later. I learned nothing practical - i.e., care of the severely traumatized patient, how to set a fracture, how to suture living flesh, how to perform a spinal puncture, and a dozen other diagnostic procedures.

Chapter 6

December 29th, 1941, Sara was born under the auspices of Mount Carmel O.B. department and a kindly doctor. Her arrival was cheered not only by her father, but several other interns and externs. This baby could hardly wait to get her cord cut before she was looking for her first meal.

A very sad year for both of us, knowing the draft board had certified me as Armed Forces material. As a result, I received my marching orders to report to active duty on July 1st, 1943 at Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania. This was a historic military post used for basic training for physicians. For 13 weeks I remained there.

At considerable sacrifice from others, Corinn and I did manage to see each other in Philadelphia for a weekend. After another six weeks at Carlisle, I was transferred to a war gas treatment facility in Maryland. This lasted two weeks, and then I was sent to Camp Grant in Illinois.

Now came a rapid succession of change: another Illinois post, then to Camp Sibert in Alabama. I hoped my stay would be in Alabama, but due to circumstances beyond my control, within days I was transferred to the 7th Hospital Train unit in Tennessee. Two weeks later, we were to travel to New York, the point of embarkation to Europe.

I notified my wife, my sweet wife, and she managed to spend the weekend with me in a dilapidated hotel in town. Knowing we would not see each other for months, and perhaps years, made this last meeting anything but joyful.

Two days later, I was on a troop train bound for the Port of New York. The chief officer was a major from the South. He was quite cross most of the time. The two other medical officers were very subdued. After several encounters with his temper, I, like the other two, turned quiet and spoke only when spoken to. There were four nurses and a dozen enlisted men. This plethora of medical officers was explained to me later as acting as personnel resources for other medical establishments overseas.

This turned out to be true, and our first “payload” overseas was handled by one nurse, enlisted medical personnel, and myself. The major satisfied himself making numerous quick tours of inspection with a scowl. Those not standing at attention at these times were reprimanded. He also entertained himself by quarreling with civilian train personnel.

And what happened to Corinn in the States? She and our children were living with the Blackburns, my family, in a large 10-room house in Kalida, Ohio. She stuck it out for six months and then went back to her hometown bank to successfully borrow $3,000 to buy a house in Bluffton. Her only assets: a 1939 Plymouth automobile, her own charming personality, and my income of $125 per month as an Army officer.

So that is how we hunkered down to do our best to survive the war years. I’m not going to tell any “war stories” except to say that, faced with thousands of casualties, I was appalled at the slaughter of young men and the wreckage of nations. I could fill a volume. Suffice it to say, I have never recovered from the mental depression brought on by this situation.

Homecoming

Corinn gave me about three months of rest and relaxation in a loving home with three people before she threw the machine into gear and started me off again.

In rapid succession, she sold the house in Bluffton for twice what she paid for it, found two part-time jobs for me in Columbus, and rented a brick house on North High Street. One job was at the Veterans Administration in Columbus, and the afternoon job at the Ohio State University Health Clinic for students.

In several months, the Veterans Administration played out. Ever on alert, Corinn contacted the State Industrial Commission, who seemed glad for me to work a morning shift examining claimants.

I was just beginning to adjust to these jobs when Corinn announced one evening that she was buying a house in the country. Not only that, she had signed a rental contract to rent the downstairs of an antique house to use as a medical office in the town of Worthington. All this came as a bit of a shock, but again, my thought was of a positive nature: Corinn loves me, or she wouldn’t have suggested anything!

Worthington Years

In a matter of a week, she had found me an office space and notified the Wendt-Bristol Drug Company, who were more than glad to set me up in business by providing all the medical items, including furniture.

So with the necessary equipment at hand, we opened the office with a small stenciled piece of glass in the front window, reading John H. Blackburn, M.D. We saw five patients the first day, and they never stopped coming until we took down our sign 35 years later.

But that is not the end of the story. Who negotiated the loan to buy a better car, to pay off the Wendt-Bristol Drug Company and the carpenter to alter the rooms to more suit a medical practice? All in addition to supervising two active school-aged children, and spading up a quarter acre for a garden?

Who was it that floated a bank loan when I decided it was absolutely necessary for me to drive a Jaguar? Why, it was my lovely wife, of course. Who did you think? I was so busy, you know. She did all of this in addition to making appointments, getting out the monthly statements, ordering medical supplies, and paying bills. And so it went through the years of a busy life together.

Final Chapter: Retirement and the Honeymoon Years

When it came time to retire and to sell the house and property, who was it that negotiated with real estate agents? Why, it was the same blue-eyed beauty that bought the home place years before for $13,500. She now sold it for $88,000.

I don’t believe she particularly wanted to leave Worthington, but I was adamant. And we liked Flagstaff, so that was our next objective. Again, my beautiful beloved stepped out of a car one August afternoon and proclaimed, “This is it! There’s no use looking further.”

The house was the object of her attention. It struck me as somber, sort of a Wuthering Heights type of dwelling, painted dark green, almost black. It stood on a small rise of ground overlooking a small meadow-like valley surrounded by pine trees, two of which were enormous. Happily for me, I kept my misgivings to myself.

Yes, she bought it and almost immediately painted it white, and I had to agree then that it was an ideal place for us. The big story is that she painted two-thirds of it herself and corralled some friendly neighbors to complete the job. All I did was hold the ladders for her. For the life of me, I cannot remember what excuse I used for my inability to help with the painting itself.

And so began our honeymoon, long delayed. I can truly say we have never been happier. We have survived many, many, many medical emergencies, including cancer. At the present time, I find myself under the influence of COPD in its last stages. But here we are. We are not complaining.

65 years of marital bliss sounds very trite, but there is no better way to express the situation as we perceive it. Our life expectancy is now measured in months and not years.

(End of story by John H. Blackburn)

Reflection & Conclusion

Upon reflection... beyond being amazed at how lovingly he speaks of his wife who managed things so well, I am also amazed at how things intertwine. As I said, I didn’t know Uncle Johnny well, but I lived in the same areas. I lived in Bluffton, frequently traveled to Lima. My parents, once retired, were in Kalida. I lived in Ottawa. And now, in my travels with siblings and even parents, and with the United Methodist Church, the area that he called “the country life of Worthington” is now so close, so connected to the city of Columbus. All places where my feet walk this day.

In my house, I have a painting that Corinn created (see above). The part of her life that he didn’t talk about as much was her art and her beautiful paintings. I have paintings that both Margeree and Corinn painted, and how awesome it was that they attended art school together for a time in Bluffton.

As you’ve heard me say before, I never knew my grandmother, Margeree, as she died before I was born. But I do still feel connected to her, her family, through her art, through the words of Johnny, through the places that they walked, and through the family members that still communicate with my mom.

I am thankful. Thankful to God for how life works. When you’re in it—and I feel like Johnny alluded to this, too—when you’re in it, you don’t know how it’s going to turn out. But there’s a decision here, and a decision there, a piece of advice there, and a cheerful thought there, and all of those lead to decisions that make a life.

The other quote that I read this week said that there’s rarely celebration in the mundane decisions of life, but it’s those decisions that make our life. In a way, this piece is John celebrating, upon reflection, all those little moments of decision, all those plans that Corinn had - and not only did she dream, but she acted. How beautiful!

(Written in January 2000 by John H. Blackburn. Recording, edits and comments by Marcella Ciccotelli, 2026.)

Thank you for listening. If you’re seeking a weekly reminder to slow down and to connect with the natural world, visit marcellaciccotelli.com and come join our community at The Grounded Soul on Substack.

May Divine Spirit guide your steps, keep you mindful, and leave you deeply rooted.

The Tale of Two Cats

My son’s big orange tabby tomcat is the bully of the neighborhood. I have never seen him afraid of anything. He stands up to dogs until they back away, and he routinely forces me to vacuum right around his paws while other cats run for their lives from the sight of the sucking machine.

Recently, after we returned from a brief vacation, something shifted. This cat, whose absolute favorite routine is exploring the backyard at night, suddenly refused to go outside. I would open the door, and he would simply stand there, staring deep into the darkness with his tail down and unmoving. Then came the fireworks. They were not the beautiful, colorful kind, but the basic variety that just made a horribly loud, screeching bang. The moment the noise hit, this cat who is normally afraid of nothing flew up the stairs, hid for hours, and left my other two cats just watching him like he had gone a little mad.

It was an intense fear response to an unpredictable sound. As the fireworks faded, he eventually came back down. He was more cautious, yes, yet he returned to his normal life. He does not live in that panicked state any longer, now that we are 15 days out from the July holiday.

In the very same house, I have a cat named Leo, who is a sweet boy with big green eyes. Leo does not just experience a passing fear response; Leo (mostly) lives afraid (unless you are absolutely silent and unmoving). Leo gets startled if I breathe too loudly. He panics when I put my shoes on. He is instantly terrified the moment the outside door opens until he finally realizes it is just me. He is even afraid when I change how I wear my hair (yes, he sees cat-ear headbands). Leo has cultivated a way of existing with a baseline of fear.

What are we cultivating?

Watching them helped me to look at the lines we draw in our own lives. How often have you pondered the difference between a natural fear response and actually living afraid? The thing with living afraid is that you are so used to it, sometimes you do not see there is another way to be.

Living always afraid stops you from living. It prevents you from doing the things you would normally do. Being cautious, on the other hand, means you literally just take more precautions. You use your logic wisely, listen to your own intuition, and stay safe. Do we know when we have crossed over the line?

Today, many of us are no longer orange cats reacting to a sudden and occasional firework. We have quietly become Leo. We are living afraid. Not only are we living that way, we are practicing it! In church communities we talk about spiritual disciplines only in terms of goodness, yet we can actively cultivate habits and ways of being that are deeply unhealthy. If we are constantly consuming stressful, dramatic, and negative information from social media, we are training ourselves to be afraid. We are cultivating an “unspiritual discipline,” practicing the belief that we are constantly unsafe and that we cannot rest.

Defining Fear

In the Hebrew scriptures there are distinct concepts for fear (Pachad, Yirah, Eima, and more).

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath explains the Hebrew words for fear: pachad and yira. Pachad, he described, is the “gut-clenching, run-for-the-hills kind of fear.” In other words, pachad is a negative feeling, a dread. On the other hand, he defined yira as an awe, “the fear that elevates.” Yira is inspiring; it is a state of being where we experience a transcendence greater than ourselves. It means having a profound, breathtaking reverence for the vastness and majesty of the creator. When we possess a true reverence for the Universal Spirit, the paralyzing dread of Pachad loses its grip.

At times we use the terms fear and anxiety in similar ways, so I looked up anxiety in the New Testament, the word used for anxiety is merimnao, meaning to be drawn in opposite directions or divided into parts.

Jesus uses merimnao six times in this single passage during the Sermon on the Mount. He repeatedly commands, “Do not be anxious (merimnao) about your life...”

And 1 Peter 5:7 can be read, “Cast all your anxieties (merimna) on him, because he cares for you.”

I spent a lot of time thinking about these definitions and our lives today. Anxiety and fear fracture us because they are rooted in the belief that we need to control every single piece of our lives. When we fall into the choreography of every detail, we are subconsciously declaring that the Sovereign Lord of the Universe is unable to keep us safe. We are acting as if our Higher Power cannot do for us what we must do for ourselves.

What can we control?

Over twenty years ago, I was home from the hospital with my days-old baby and I was a total wreck. I was so worried something would happen to this tiny person that I could not eat, sleep, or function. How would I protect him from the world? I held him, rocking. Wondering. Afraid.

After hours of this panic, my husband said, “You cannot live this way. Remember, God has this. You, Andre, all of it, us.”

A voice in me said “Listen.” I began imagining giving this adorable baby over to the Divine Spirit, fully trusting Creator to care for him and have him. I would be his mom and do my absolute best for as long as I was intended to be, yet I released my tight grip and gave up control. I realized that if the Divine Spirit can watch over the world and everyone in it, then I could trust Creator with this one tiny human.

Until I made that internal transfer of who is in charge (surrender) I could not take a deep breath. The moment I let go, I felt peace in the form of actual heaviness leaving me. It was a deep, full-body sigh of relief as I sat by the window watching the sun rise, holding my infant son. From that moment forward, I chose to trust in the ultimate goodness of the Universal Spirit. I could then again - live, move, laugh and enjoy this baby.

Divine Spirit wants us to live with goodness, experiencing an actual, expanded joy rather than a life shrunk by hesitation and worry.

Led or Pushed?

We easily recognize fear when it sends an orange cat scrambling up the stairs or leaves Leo trembling at the sound of putting on shoes. Still, most of us assume we are not the ones operating from a scarcity or fearful mindset. We tell ourselves we are just being pragmatic. We tell ourselves we are just being realistic. When I am unsure, I ask a Godly friend to honestly tell me if they sense I am living in fear or joy or somewhere in between.

We resist joy because we are afraid of what happens if we let our guard down. It feels unknown. So, we practice the daily discipline of over-functioning to keep the unpredictable fireworks of life at bay. Thinking we are actually controlling something outside of ourselves. The invitation of Divine Spirit is to stop trying to hold up everything alone.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” — Psalm 56:3

My mind sees this and says, “I will try my best to put my trust in you, God.” Meaning, I do it imperfectly.

The path forward is not about being perfectly fearless like the orange cat in his best moments. It is about knowing what to do when the world turns loud and unpredictable. When we choose trust over control, the grueling work of hyper-responsibility ends, and actual, expanded joy begins.

Shall we try together?

Practice: When You Forget How to Let Go

It is one thing to realize we are living like Leo, baseline-afraid, waiting for the next catastrophe. It is another thing to actively step out of that posture. In her book The Intuitive Way, Penney Peirce offers a beautiful “troubleshooting guide” for the exact moments we find ourselves caught in a cycle of control.

1. Interrupt the Response

The moment you notice yourself wanting to fight, avoid, or hyper-responsibly manage a situation, stop. Name it. Like my orange cat flying up the stairs, your body is simply having a fear response. Do not punish yourself for it. Take a deep breath, and say to yourself: “Whoops, there I go again. I do not have to know or do anything about this right now. It is okay to feel what I feel.”

2. Be With What Is

Stay right here in the present moment. Stop trying to force a situation or push a reality that has already outgrown its old form. It is entirely okay not to know the future, and it is okay not to do anything right now. Let things be exactly as they are.

3. Release the Pent-Up Energy

Our bodies store the physical tension of our white-knuckle grips. Let that heavy energy go. Cry if you need to, go for a walk, dance, move, or simply make a sound to release the physical pressure of the dread.

4. Cultivate the Pause That Refreshes

Learn to appreciate the quiet spaces where nothing is happening. Allow your mind to suspend its endless planning until a new, creative urge emerges naturally. Fill that space of waiting with a small, quiet smile knowing God sees you.

A Closing Prayer

Divine Spirit, help us to notice when our minds are being pulled in opposite directions. When the world feels loud and unpredictable, remind us that we are safe in your ultimate goodness. Teach us to interrupt our panic, to sit with what is, and to appreciate the pause that refreshes. We release our tight grip on tomorrow. We step out of the shadows, trust you with the dark, and rest in your expanded joy.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate your support.

I’ll be completely honest with you: when the idea of traveling to Utah two years ago came up, I wasn’t entirely sure I would like it.

I wanted to go, of course, I love exploring (and now in 2026 my son Andre is working at Bryce Canyon). But initially, I imagined Utah as a vast, barren desert - a place without trees. Without water. Just a sandy brown place.

And while that might hold true for the lower elevations, ascending into the higher elevations of Bryce Canyon, Cedar Breaks and Escalante National Monuments completely shattered that expectation.

There, I found trees. Lots of conifers, thriving against the elements: Ponderosa Pine, White Fir, Douglas-Fir, Bristlecone Pine and more.

But what completely captivated me wasn’t just the green. It was the rock.

I found myself utterly mesmerized just seeing the erosion and the weathering. I stood there staring at the sheer power of water, wind, ice, and thawing, and the magnificent things they create over time. Looking at those deep canyons, my mind drifted backward in time, landing on a memory I hadn’t thought about in years.

The Single Opinion

Long before my love of botany blossomed, I was a premed biology major sitting in an introductory geology class. And I really, truly loved that class. Even though it was foundational, it opened up a world where Earth minerals, rocks, volcanoes, and earthquakes combined with weather processes, glacial histories, and vast oceans that sculpted the Earth. I remembered being fascinated by moraines (The Defiance Moraine) and all things weather.

I was so fascinated by the weather and the earth formations that I remember telling a person close to me that I wanted to change my major from biology to geology, specifically focusing on weather patterns.

This person looked at me and very specifically said: “That’s stupid. What are you going to do, be a weather person on TV?”

And I let that. One. Single. Small-Minded Opinion. Stop me.

I let someone else’s limiting belief inside the power and importance of Earth science stop me right in my tracks.

It’s funny to look back on now, because when my next love popped up - my love of botany - people said similar things. “What are you going to do for a job?” But that time, I didn’t even hear them. There was no changing my mind. I knew botany was amazing, I loved it, and I added it right onto my biology major anyway.

I often wonder if I ignored the critics of botany because I was still upset that I had let someone else decide my path before, or if geology just hadn’t been the ultimate thing I was passionate about. But the truth is, I have always remained completely fascinated by geology, weather, land, and how things are formed. I still collect rocks and crystals to this day.

Standing in Utah, looking at those ancient rocks, I had a moment of clarity which said: I may forgive my younger self.

I forgive her for listening to a voice and heeding it blindly, without being able to articulate or see what she really wanted. Because in the grander design, nothing is lost.

The Theology of the Split Road

I used to think that if I missed an opportunity, it was gone forever. But I’ve learned that if you are passionate about something, even something you once loved and walked away from, and you are able to reflect and talk to your Creator about it, that love stays in you.

And opportunities often come around again. Especially the opportunities for learning.

It reminds me of what I always used to tell my youth group kids.

Your problem in life isn’t going to be determining good from bad. That you will see clearly. The hard thing in your life is always going to be determining which of multiple good paths to take.

If you are standing at a crossroads right now, trying to make a hard decision between two good things, I want to tell you: do not be afraid. God is with you on either one of those good paths. And if you really are meant to be on another road, there will eventually be a split in the road toward that!

Sometimes we look at our lives so short-sightedly. At 19 years old, there is no way I could have had any idea that decades later I would be going back to my alumi MTSO to study Ecotheology. There was no way for me to know that the Creator would end up combining my love of botany, the earth, and the Universal Spirit all into one single calling.

Dreams Don’t Die

I write this to give you hope. Your path doesn’t have to look as big or grand as the schooling opportunities I am navigating right now. It can be so much simpler.

Maybe when you were 19, you wished you had spent more time by the water. Maybe you loved a specific place and thought, I’m never gonna be able to go there, or live there, or be anything connected to that. And now, years later, you either are, or you suddenly have the choice to be.

We talk about dreams as if they are things that come and go, or things that die and are gone forever. But if it is truly a desire of your heart, if it is a deep passion you connected with, it remains in you. It stays there. Even if you are doing something totally different right now and your life looks like it isn’t possible, you simply do not know the beautiful changes that 10, 20, 30, or 50 years can bring.

So today, just make the next right, good choice. My mottos are: “Next Right Step” and “Breathe” these are reminders to listen to and trust the Spirits guiding in your life, it means living with ease and connection. (Third motto: “Leap and the net will appear!”)

Know that the thing you left behind, the thing you once said no to, if the passion holds true somewhere deep within you, the Divine Spirit will bring it around again.

A Practice for the Trail Ahead

Sit quietly for a moment, take a breath, and cast your mind back to your 20-year-old self - or any season of your past where a dream felt cut short.

1. Identify the Weathered Dream: Write down one thing you used to love, or a path you wanted to take, that was stopped by a single opinion, a limiting belief, or a door that slammed shut.

2. Offer Forgiveness: Write a brief sentence of grace to your younger self for listening to that outside voice. They were doing the best they could with the sight they had.

3. Look for the Subsurface Root: Ask yourself: How is that ancient love still quietly alive in my life today? In what small way can I invite it back in this week?

📸 An Exclusive Utah Photo Gallery

A Special Gift for Our Paid Subscribers

To my paid community family: your financial support allows Spiritus Creative and The Grounded Soul to thrive, and I am so deeply grateful for your presence here.

As a small thank you, I’ve curated a mini-gallery below of my favorite high-resolution shots from this trip to Bryce Canyon area. These are the specific textures, deep canyon walls, and resilient pines that inspired today’s reflection. I hope they bring a sense of expansive, grounded peace to your holiday weekend.

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How to Listen to My Voice: Please click the [ ▶ Play ] audio button at the very top of this email to hear the actual podcast episode recorded by me.

(Note: If you use the Substack app’s “Read in App” or headphones button, a generic robot voice will read the text instead. To hear my real voice, make sure to press the main Play button!)

For those without time to listen ( 5 min 50 seconds), see transcript below.

Show notes for Podcast Episode 10

In This Episode, We Explore: The Senses of Summer: Tuning into the unexpected joy of warm rain on a hammock, the scent of fresh soil, and the electric blue of blooming Salvia.

The Wisdom of the Trees: Recognizing the constant protection, grounding energy, and heartbeat-like rhythm of the trees that surround our homes.

The Miracle of Growth: Cultivating a deep, healthy pride in nurturing life from a tiny seed into a delicate bloom.

An Inward Journey: Closing with a guided body awareness reflection to help you sense your body from the inside out and step into Spirit presence.

This solstice blessing, entitled Sharing Joy is based on this sentence by Joyce Rupp: “If I could share my joy with you, I would constantly send you blessings from the depth and the beauty of each day.” While the beginning sentence is hers, the remainder of this poem was written by me sitting in my yard on June 21, 2026 - The Summer Solstice.

Sharing Joy

If I could share my joy with you, I would constantly send you blessings from the depth and the beauty of each day.

I would invite you to know the tiny sway of laying in a hammock as warm light rain surprises your skin. And fills your nose with the smell of earth.

I would invite you to hear the whisper and know the wonderings of the moment when there is just enough darkness to see the first star of the evening.

I would invite you to ground yourself. Safe. Next to an oak tree named, Red, so that you may hear the rhythm of water flowing under his bark. Realizing that it mirrors the beat of your own heart.

I would invite you to let yourself smile as you notice how the green eyes of my cat perfectly match the bright lime new growth of the hemlock needles. Under which he sits.

I would invite you to know what it is to expand upon deep, healthy pride that comes from knowing. That you yourself, nurtured a tiny seed, that now, 2 months later, is creating an amazing, delicate, blue flower. A miracle that you got to be part of.

I would invite you to connect to the tiny hummingbird as it speeds by you. It is curious. Yet on its way to the tubular inflorescences of the electric blue salvia. It visits each flower.

I would ask the trees to speak to you as they do to me, reminding us that they are constant protection around your home. Helping you. Absorbing negative energy, always present.

I would invite you to relax. And breathe deeply. To sigh. As my gray kitty does right after she finds a safe and comfy spot. She lets out a sigh, as if to say, “Now. We rest.”

If I could share my joy with you, I would invite you to hear the soft voice of a summer breeze. That gently moves, the pale green leaves, and the deep maroon fruit of the serviceberry. As the robin sits nearby watching.

I would guide your hands to hover over what is near you. Just hover over the tips of grass blades, rocks, a crystal, a bark piece. The bark of a tree, a leaf. In order to connect with the living energy of us all.

I would invite you to feel my hand in yours. Reminding you that you are not alone. That as our skin touches and our auras mingle, we stand together. We are one. With all things. One another. Our Creator. And everything that The Great Artist has made.

Connect & Deepen Your Practice

Thank you for reading!

Visit the Website: Explore more nature-based wellness practices, podcast archives, and creative works at www.marcellaciccotelli.com

Subscribe & Review: If you enjoyed this episode, please leave a review on your favorite podcast platform—it helps our community grow!

Practice for the Week: Sometime today, kick off your shoes, close your eyes, and try to feel the skin of your toes from the inside. Take a deep breath, sigh it out, and let yourself rest.

The drawings and photographs shared in this space are my original creative works. They represent my personal rhythm of grounding and my ongoing conversation with Divine Spirit. I am so grateful to share them with this community; please respect this creative labor by not reproducing or using these images elsewhere without my permission. Thank you.

Opening stanza adapted from the poem "Blessings" by Joyce Rupp (from her book, "May I Have This Dance?").

In This Episode, We Explore:

The Senses of Summer: Tuning into the unexpected joy of warm rain on a hammock, the scent of fresh soil, and the electric blue of blooming Salvia.

The Wisdom of the Trees: Recognizing the constant protection, grounding energy, and heartbeat-like rhythm of the trees that surround our homes.

The Miracle of Growth: Cultivating a deep, healthy pride in nurturing life from a tiny seed into a delicate bloom.

An Inward Journey: Closing with a guided body awareness reflection to help you sense your body from the inside out and step into Kingdom presence.

Connect & Deepen Your Practice

Read the Written Reflection: You can find the full text of today's poem, along with regular essays and nature photography, on our Substack newsletter at The Grounded Soul / link here.

Visit the Website: Explore more nature-based wellness practices, podcast archives, and creative works at www.marcellaciccotelli.com

Subscribe & Review: If you enjoyed this episode, please leave a review on your favorite podcast platform—it helps our community grow!

Breath Practice for the Week: Sometime today, kick off your shoes, close your eyes, and try to feel the skin of your toes from the inside. Take a deep breath, sigh it out, and let yourself rest.

The world often tells the deeply sensitive that they are “wrong” and “too much” - too soft, too anxious, or too fragile. But what if we see differently? So that in the eyes of Divine Spirit, to be sensitive is to be fundamentally graced and highly favored…

…to be Blessed.*

A Psalm for the Sensitive Souls

Blessed are you who were labeled sensitive, shy, or introverted from the time you were small.

Blessed are you who feel like you don’t quite fit into this world.

Blessed are you who feel stuck in a job or a life that doesn’t feel right.

Blessed are you who feel safer in a small town rather than a big city.

✨

Blessed are you who prefer one-on-one connection to large groups.

Blessed are you who feel drained by crowds and overwhelmed by noise.

Blessed are you who tend to isolate, needing a long time to recuperate after being with people.

Blessed are you who replenish your spirit in deep solitude and in nature.

✨

Blessed are you who overexplain out of a deep desire for connection.

Blessed are you who apologize even when it is not your fault.

Blessed are you who walk on eggshells around a family member.

Blessed are you who love someone who is emotionally distant.

Blessed are you who crave compassion, but are given independence and a pep-talk.

✨

Blessed are you who worry but look entirely chill on the outside.

Blessed are you whose thoughts are spiraling while you hide the swirling within.

Blessed are you who live with chronic pain and pretend you’re fine.

Blessed are you who hear the voice that says “you aren’t being treated well” - and push it aside.

Blessed are you who want to share a truth, but know defensive people around you will turn the truth against you.

✨

Blessed are you who pretend power and control mean nothing to you, while inside you desperately want to manage, fix, and change everything around you to feel safe.

Blessed are you who feel afraid of being trapped.

Blessed are you who absorb the stress (and joy) of others like a sponge.

Blessed are you who are unable to watch violent movies or even look at the news.

✨

Blessed are you who have a low threshold for physical pain - splinters freak you out.

Blessed are you who feel everything with a fierce intensity.

Blessed are you who feel the very clothing on your body, hyper-aware of the world pressing in.

Blessed are you who simply need a lot of room to breathe.

✨✨✨

*A note for those who get this on a deep level

We often do not feel blessed by these “gifts,” because the truth is we need to learn to protect ourselves in the world. (Yes, that’s another post for another day. And something I am constantly working on.) But if you are a highly sensitive person or know someone who is and who is struggling, here are resources within the Christian tradition, Science and other faiths as well. I believe sensitive souls are of great value to this world. We at times call these people empaths. While every human has some empathic traits, first resource below tells us about 20% of the population self-define as “True Empaths.” She explores the many types of empaths - physical, emotional, intuitive, telepathic, precognitive, dream, plant, earth and animal.

Resources beyond scripture:

The Empath’s Survival Guide: Life Strategies for Sensitive People by Judith Orloff, MD

The Intuitive Way: The Definitive Guide to Increasing Your Awareness by Penney Peirce

Have a Beautiful, Terrible Day! Daily Meditations for the Ups, Downs & In-Betweens by Kate Bowler

May I Have This Dance? by Joyce Rupp

Share The Grounded Soul

This is part of a series on self-compassion:

Part One - Doing Things Differently Now

Part Two - A Psalm for the Nauseous

A note on the images: The photographs featured in today’s essay are from my own creative spaces taken in June of 2026. I love capturing these quiet textures of creation to accompany my words, and they belong to The Grounded Soul.

If you like what I write and share support me with a one time gift

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Coming up for those in the Defiance area:

Tree-Hugging, Seminary & the Socially Anxious Revisited

A note: Originally published as a podcast above, here I have included the updated, edited text of my reflection below. As we cross into the midpoint of 2026, I invite you to use this story as a gentle reminder to pause, look back, and check in on your own spirit.

I had exactly one class of seminary under my belt. I laugh when I think about those times because I was the type of student who took the super-slow approach - a toe-dipping method, if you will. I was absolutely not going to take a full course load; I was going to take one single class at a time.

And mostly, the reason for that was because I was terrified.

I certainly couldn’t admit that back then, but I remember exactly how it felt. I was convinced that I did not qualify to be in the same room as all of those scholarly, deeply knowledgeable people. Looking back now, I can see how Creator blessed me in that very first semester by placing me with a professor and advisor named Dr. Diane Labody. If I had started out with anyone else, I am not sure where I would be today. I am so grateful for her guidance.

It wasn’t that I lacked academic confidence entirely—I had already proven I could handle graduate-level coursework when I earned my Master’s in Education in 2018. But seminary? Seminary felt otherworldly. I kept thinking, “I don’t know enough to be here.” (Which, by the way, I now realize is entirely the point!)

Finding Sanctuary in the Parking Lot

If we are being honest, I have a bit of a controlling aspect to my personality, as many of us do. When I can’t control a situation, my anxiety spikes. I tend to try to stay in spaces where I can predict or expect what’s happening around me.

Going to seminary shattered that control. My social anxiety was through the roof. Everything felt hard: getting up incredibly early in the morning, navigating these massive steps completely alone, making sure my kid was taken care of before I left, and facing a three-hour drive. Then came the social pressures—learning how to make new friends as an adult and wondering who on earth to sit with at lunch.

For that entire first year, I will be completely honest with you: I didn’t hang out in the library, and I didn’t sit in the student lounges. I did spend a little bit of time with the campus trees, but not very much. Why? Because most of the time, I was hiding in my car.

I would sit in my car during breaks, bargaining and pleading with Divine Power, questioning whether I actually had the strength to walk back inside that building.

An Unexpected Grace in ‘Polity’

I made it through that first class. As the holidays wrapped up, things were incredibly busy with my work as a youth director in Defiance. But as January approached, I knew I needed to figure out what I was supposed to be doing next. I logged onto the student portal and realized that my school, MTSO, was starting something called “J-Term” (January Term). I had heard the rumors: J-Term is grueling. J-Term is intense. Don’t take it if you don’t have to.

Naturally, the Universal Spirit who loves my soul was looking out for me once again, because I had signed up for United Methodist Polity.

Now, let me agree with you right here: no one is genuinely excited about driving three hours through the winter snow multiple times a month to attend a class called Polity. For those who don’t live in the world of church vernacular, “polity” is basically the rules, governance, and structure of a denomination. Some traditions call it a Constitution; others call it the Book of Discipline. It’s essentially a how-to manual focusing on how things shall be done to organize a church. It sounds incredibly dry, right?

But once again, Creator shined upon me through my professor, Rev. Tom Snyder. Somehow he knew—as if he’d done this hundreds of times before—that his classroom was filled with people who were still discerning, still wrestling, and still wondering if they even belonged there. Rev. Snyder seemed to understand exactly what it felt like to be a stranger in a strange land, and he spoke directly to that reality during every single class.

The Magic of Star Words

Our very first day of class landed right around Epiphany, January 6th. Rev. Snyder started the session with a devotion involving “Star Words.”

You might laugh at this, but at the beginning of my seminary journey, I was the kind of student who took notes so diligently that I wrote down everything. I even treated the morning devotion time as an academic assignment!

Rev. Snyder walked around the room and placed a yellow paper star in front of each student. Those bright stars were about the size of my hand, and everyone received one—but no two stars had the same word scripted on them. He then handed out a worksheet and simply asked us to reflect on the questions provided.

I have misplaced a lot of my old seminary papers over the years, but I still have that 2019 Star Words worksheet. In fact, I have saved every single Star Word I have ever received since. That ritual was so profoundly powerful to me that I adopted it in every single congregation I served thereafter. Because it felt so sacred to my journey, I felt a deep need to pass it on.

The Gift of The Connection

Just one week after receiving that first star, on my long drive home from polity class, I had a wrestling match with God. I was still arguing to the Creator of the Universe that I wasn’t qualified. I had entirely convinced myself that I couldn’t lead a church, allowing false narratives to swim freely through my mind.

Yet, what happened next was beautiful. Rev. Snyder hadn’t used the rules and polity of the church to give me excuses for why I couldn’t do it; instead, he used them to take away my excuses. It was the exact opposite of what I expected.

He taught us about “The Connection”- the amazingly powerful way we connect as a global church body. He reminded us that we are not lone rangers. We are all bound to one another, and clergy are deeply connected to support, guide, and step in for each other when the load gets heavy.

He didn’t look directly at me and say these exact words, but through his actions, his vocabulary, and his spirit, this is what my heart heard him say:

“You’re right, Marcella. You aren’t qualified to lead a church alone. I’m not qualified to lead a church alone. None of us are. Those who are currently leading are not qualified to do it by themselves. You won’t remember how to do everything. You won’t do everything right. You won’t know every rule in the book, but that is completely okay—because we have each other.”

On January 15th, 2019, I finally called my District Superintendent, Barry Burns. I told him I wanted to change my path. There was a newfound, glimmering belief that I could lead a church as a lead pastor, so long as I had help—both divine and human. I was scared out of my mind to say those words out loud, but I clung to the promise of the connection. I chose to see the freedom the structure brought forth, rather than the fear.

Caught Up in the Light

My Star Word that year was Tenderness.

When I look at that 2019 worksheet today, it’s a bit yellowed and torn around the edges. I kept it tucked safely inside my Bible for a long time. It’s almost comical to look back on now, because even though I was hiding out in my car during every lunch break, deeply doubting my calling, on that January day I wrote these words on the page:

“How beautiful to think and remember that God holds me (and you) tenderly.”

And then, in the margin, I had scribbled a question: “Who needs a gentle, tender touch today? Creator, guide me.”

I realize now—especially while being on a brief leave from the traditional church setting—that the Universal Spirit is profoundly gentle and tender in its leadings, even when stretching us to grow. A Divine Power was tender with me in my deepest fears, which allowed me to be just tender enough with myself to finally say yes.

Friends, as we approach the middle of this year, I hope you will take some time to revisit or receive your own star words- you can do this at any time of the year.

As you ponder your word, remember this: you don’t have to be qualified. The word written on your star doesn’t mean you have to instantly embody perfection. It is simply showing you a quality of the Divine that you are being invited to reflect upon.

As you sit with it, you may begin to recognize that very quality blooming within yourself and in those around you. But above all, focus on the bright starlight surrounding the word. Don’t get hung up on the text; get caught up in the Light. The Light of that star is holding you exactly as you are, simply asking you to notice.

Listen to the Creator. Let the Divine guide your steps. You will be abundantly okay.

Above is a look at my 2026 Star Word and worksheet. Sitting with this at the midpoint of the year, I am struck by how prophetic the Divine leadings can be. In 2019, my word was Tenderness when I was a terrified student hiding in my car, wondering if I belonged. This year, as I prepare to take the next major step on my journey and return to advanced graduate studies in Eco-theology, my star word is Wisdom.

The Creator didn’t just qualify me; the Spirit grew me. Take a moment to look at your own word today. How has it been meeting you, stretching you, or preparing you for your next step over the last six months?

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Memories from MTSO

Coming up!

For those who live in the Defiance area:

Thank you for reading,

Marce

I was going on a walk. It was an early March, hopeful day. My body was asking me to move. One half-mile in, I feel nauseous - really nauseous. As if I had read my body’s signals wrong, or the physicality of me suddenly had “changed its mind”?

Thankfully, I entered the old cemetery. I stop. I felt worse and better at the same time. Stood at the base of an Oak tree covered with a tired Bittersweet vine. The vine a canopy above me; still holding leaves tightly as if to say, “Spring is not yet...”

I paused for a proper amount of time and I began walking again. I made it maybe 25 steps and my body said, “No.” I stopped at another Oak tree with a stone wall at its base.

Juices continue to flow upward. The opposite way. The weirdness in your throat, icky stomach, excessive saliva. I held my body instead of berating it. I gave myself a hug and I said, “I’m here for you. We’re gonna feel icky for a bit, but trust. I trust my body - she knows how to regulate herself.”

Later, I decided that I was weary of sitting near my own vomit. On to the next tree, “Oh! Mr. Oak!” I leaned on the side of the bark facing the sun, my back against the warmth, and I asked Universal Spirit for help.

Mr. Oak seems to be encouraging me to sit. And there I remained at the base of a third Oak tree; My face flooded with the sun, the breeze cold.

My back absorbing the vibrational energy of the wise old Quercus. I hug myself and stroke my opposite arms, My eyes looking forward at a stone with the word FATHER written on it. ALL capital letters. A Creator’s reminder, as I take this as Divine Father.

I picked up a stick. Mr. Oak had many things around it: Large sticks, small sticks, pieces of bark, leaves, acorn bits, acorn caps, And something bid me to create.

No. I did not feel much better, but I heard birds. I felt the sun on my face and I remained present in the moment, fascinated by

Soil

Sticks

Bark

Grass

I allowed endless patience so that my physicality could find its right balance again.

Honestly, the prospect of standing and walking home feels terrible,

But we’re not gonna think of that.

We stay present - this day with not a walk but…

A learning - to listen to the Temple where your Spirit resides, where Creator resides. Is that what honoring the Temple of my body means?

I’ve never done that before.

I always heard the lie of - push harder, dig in, dig deep, fight, never give up.

Do not accept your body or life as it is.

I am learning The Way. The Way, FATHER , The Way of Love is very different than I thought. Keep teaching me.

Trust.

Body.

Temple.

Speak.

Author’s Note: While nausea can be a symptom of many physical ailments, for me as one who works closely with her physicians, it is almost always the direct somatic language of anxiety - a physical manifestation of an internal emotional storm. This means, like a panic attack, it lasts only so long.

I share this because when our bodies react intensely to our mental health, it is easy to meet ourselves with frustration, confusion, or shame. Learning “The Way” means shifting away from that judgment, choosing instead to offer unconditional comfort and a presence of love to the temple when it needs it most.

This is a series on self-compassion, Part One may be found here.

A note on the images: The photographs featured in today’s essay - from Riverside Cemetery, Defiance Ohio, taken on a March 2026 day - are glimpses from my own daily walks and creative spaces. I love capturing these quiet textures of creation to accompany my words, and they belong to The Grounded Soul.

Sometimes life goes sideways. You know the days or seasons well, I am sure - as humans a - “walk in the park life” - does not exist every day. I have a well-worn path when life gets me down - toward talking to God and reading the Word. It works for me, as powerfully as nature. I often ask for a place to land, when I am distressed. I begin reading The Psalms. In January, there was a low moment and after time, prayer and tears God graciously gifted me the powerful words of Psalm 116 - this was the verse I was bestowed. It is verse 7-8.

Return, O my soul, to your rest,

for the LORD has dealt bountifully with you.

⁸For you have delivered my soul from death,

my eyes from tears,

my feet from stumbling.

It is deeply sacred to me, and yet that is because I know the entire psalm. Its superscription reads Thanksgiving for Recovery from Illness. Was I ill, technically no or perhaps yes - sick of seeming chaos and trouble in the world.

Today I share a practice I use of writing psalms in my own voice - as a prayer to God - my way. It’s not always done all at once and some days it sounds different and yet it connects me back to the Source. Here is one of my versions of Psalm 116:

I welcome you to try it even with one single verse. I often did this with my Youth Group, as a learning tool. It’s not exact or replacing scripture in any way - it alone for me is prayer. I share the method here in case it helps you. I do not consider this study method sacreligious, especially since it is between me and my Creator. In fact the method is ancient. Look up the word - Targum .

“The earliest Targums date from the time after the Babylonian Exile when Aramaic had superseded Hebrew as the spoken language of the Jews in Palestine. It is impossible to give more than a rough estimate as to the period in which Hebrew was displaced by Aramaic as a spoken language. It is certain, however, that Aramaic was firmly established in Palestine by the 1st century ad, although Hebrew still remained the learned and sacred language. Thus the Targums were designed to meet the needs of unlearned Jews to whom the Hebrew of the Old Testament was unintelligible.” (Britannica.com)

The Original Psalm - NRSV

Thanksgiving for Recovery from Illness

¹I love the LORD, because he has heard

my voice and my supplications.

²Because he inclined his ear to me,

therefore I will call on him as long as I live.

³The snares of death encompassed me;

the pangs of Sheol laid hold on me;

I suffered distress and anguish.

⁴Then I called on the name of the LORD:

‘O LORD, I pray, save my life!’

⁵Gracious is the LORD, and righteous;

our God is merciful.

⁶The LORD protects the simple;

when I was brought low, he saved me.

⁷Return, O my soul, to your rest,

for the LORD has dealt bountifully with you.

⁸For you have delivered my soul from death,

my eyes from tears,

my feet from stumbling.

⁹I walk before the LORD

in the land of the living.

¹⁰I kept my faith, even when I said,

‘I am greatly afflicted’;

¹¹I said in my consternation,

‘Everyone is a liar.’

¹²What shall I return to the LORD

for all his bounty to me?

¹³I will lift up the cup of salvation

and call on the name of the LORD,

¹⁴I will pay my vows to the LORD

in the presence of all his people.

¹⁵Precious in the sight of the LORD

is the death of his faithful ones.

¹⁶O LORD, I am your servant;

I am your servant, the child of your serving-maid.

You have loosed my bonds.

¹⁷I will offer to you a thanksgiving sacrifice

and call on the name of the LORD.

¹⁸I will pay my vows to the LORD

in the presence of all his people,

¹⁹in the courts of the house of the LORD,

in your midst, O Jerusalem.

Praise the LORD!

Do you have a current go-to Psalm or verse?

Leave a comment

A few updates from The Grounded Soul

1. Future essays: We are also still in a three-part essay series on “Identity.” Watch for A Psalm for the Nauseous soon.

2. Past essays: “Hole in the Wall” creative project received some major upgrades. Mary and baby came to visit too! (See link to post - A million reasons)

3. The Grounded Soul is on YouTube - check it out for meditations, sermons, and shorts.

Thank you for reading. Stay grounded. Stay a bit silly and always connected to Creator!

-Marce

A note on the images: The photographs featured in today’s essay - from the lush summer flowers to the hidden details of the "Hole in the Wall" project - are glimpses from my own daily walks and creative spaces. I love capturing these quiet textures of creation to accompany my words, and they belong to The Grounded Soul.

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There is a massive difference between surviving in a body and actually honoring it. I chose the latter.

I don’t know when I began this journey of “my body matters” - perhaps I’ve always been on it since the first shame rose up in me as a child, when I was reminded repeatedly: “You don’t look thin like your… friend, sister, neighbor.”

Oh?!? That’s what I’m supposed to look like?

I never heard a message that said, you are beautiful as you are. (Note I said “I never heard it,” because likely the shame was already so loud and heavy it drowned out all else, even truth.)

Somehow, I was supposed to turn into the Barbie that I played with in her dreamy pink house. (Who has a pink, multi-level house anyway?) I saw zero similarities between me and the Barbies. Well, now that I think back, we did share pronouns: she/her.

The message instilled in me was: “I’m not that. I am not OK. I should be that, and instead, sadly, I am this.”

Lies.

I could tell you all the mistakes that I saw in the mirror, but we each likely have our own “wrongs.” I once wrote down everything that I thought was wrong with me (physically and emotionally), and it filled many pages. I no longer have that list - the one that reminded me that my eyelashes were straight and at times pointed down, or that my legs were “too muscular” even in early childhood photos. I could write a book on how my hair looked different from every other person‘s hair in my class: big and wild and curly when it should have been tame and shiny and straight and blonde. I dyed it every color -except blonde -in my teen years. Because what do we do when we know we cannot turn ourselves into “the perfect image” after years of trying? We go rogue. Or at least I did, grasping the opposite end of the spectrum. Put on a mask, do not show pain, dress weird, go full Goth, or just go way off the charts. Make people look at you and say, “What the...?” (Oh, dear teenage self!)

Jump to today, 2026.

I’m 53 years old. I am tired of trying to control everything. So, I don’t.

Do I still struggle with shame about my body? Yes.

Do I compare myself to others? Yes.

Do I hate my body and mind at times? Yes.

Do I talk about this in public? No, until today.

And YET... I am learning compassion.

Over the next few essays, we will touch on this journey of self-compassion in a world that delights in making us (women especially) feel powerless and ugly so that beauty must be purchased, in a world that teaches self-deprecation as a virtue.

These lyrics from SOFIA ISELLA’s “Everybody Supports Women” ring in my head:

Everybody wants you to love yourself until you actually do

Your ambition is swallowable if you tell the story right

Say that you hate yourself and self criticize

But if we smell desperation on your neck and face

We’ll drag you across your own public stage

We burn her name in the back

Anything with her name attached

Her newspaper’s in the trash

I just keep thinking man

What a waste

What a shame

I was starting to like her, but now she got great

We’d never hate her to her face

But I hope she knows

She knows, she knows, she knows

Hmm

I don’t like your tone

I don’t like how much you’ve grown

It’s so boring to not be yanking muscle off of a woman’s bone…

We’ll love you if you just make us feel better about ourselves

Truth.

Universal Spirit has a much different story to tell about me and you. The words are not loud, and they’re not splashed on social media or across the ad interruptions on YouTube.

Truthfully, it will be hard to believe after years and decades of shame and hiding your real thoughts.

But no matter your gender, let’s explore together: identity, self-compassion, self-kindness, and the character of the Divine that resides within you.

These upcoming topics differ from my usual essays. They are not meant to be about self-pity or complaint, but a contrast between who the world says we are and our true identity in Spirit.

• A Psalm for the Nauseous

• A Psalm for the Sensitive

• A Psalm for Trying to Get It Right

I pray that we see the extravagant, abundant, overflowing Love that Creator has for you, just as you are.

Creator, we offer ourselves to you—to build with us and guide us exactly as you see fit. Please free us from the trap of our own egos, fears, and self-centeredness, so that we can better align with your purpose.

Take away our struggles, not just for our own comfort, but so that overcoming them can stand as proof to the people we want to help. Let our lives be a living example of your power, your love, and your way of living. May we always walk the path of your will…

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Show notes:

In this episode, we explore what it means to step out of the frantic rush of daily life and anchor ourselves in the present moment. We dive into the profound practice of constant, minute-by-minute awareness - treating our routine tasks not as distractions, but as living invitations to connect with the universal spirit. From the simple physical surrender of our daily actions to the realization that the divine is closer than we think, this episode is an invitation to slow down, breathe, and find the sacred in the ordinary.

Resources & Deep Credit to the Creative Souls Who Inspired This Episode:

Frank Laubach (The Game with Minutes): A massive thank you to the revolutionary spiritual practice of Frank Laubach. His lifelong experiment of turning his mind to the creator for just one second out of every minute completely reshaped how we view mindfulness today.

Gift for Listeners: You can explore his original, life-changing practice for free! Access the online PDF of The Game with Minutes by Frank Laubach and start your own gentle experiment today.

Game with minutes PDF

Joyce Rupp: We extend our deepest gratitude to Joyce Rupp for her profound written wisdom on intentional living and spiritual grounding. Her books beautifully guide us on how to nurture the soul through the natural rhythms of life.

Thomas Merton: We reflect on the timeless and contemplative words of the great monk and writer Thomas Merton. His beautiful quotes remind us that the divine spirit is not a distant concept, but a presence wrapped into the very fabric of our immediate reality.

Eric Weiner (The Concept of “Thin Places”): Special appreciation to author Eric Weiner for his brilliant insights into how certain spaces and moments across the globe become “thin places”—moments where the distance between the physical world and the divine spirit completely fades away, allowing us to perceive the sacred all around us.

Thank you for listening!

Support the Journey

If this episode brought a sense of stillness to your day, please consider subscribing, leaving a warm review, or sharing it with another soul who might need a moment to pause and breathe today.

Subscribe now

If these audio essays bring a sense of stillness to your day and you’d like to support the creation of this space, you can Buy Me a Coffee here ☕

Buy me a coffee

Resources & Deep Credit to the Creative Souls Who Inspired This Episode:

Frank Laubach (The Game with Minutes): A massive thank you to the revolutionary spiritual practice of Frank Laubach. His lifelong experiment of turning his mind to the creator for just one second out of every minute completely reshaped how we view mindfulness today.

Gift for Listeners: You can explore his original, life-changing practice for free! Access the online PDF of The Game with Minutes by Frank Laubach and start your own gentle experiment today.

https://levaire.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/The-Game-with-Minutes-Frank-Laubach.pdf

Joyce Rupp: We extend our deepest gratitude to Joyce Rupp for her profound written wisdom on intentional living and spiritual grounding. Her books beautifully guide us on how to nurture the soul through the natural rhythms of life.

Thomas Merton: We reflect on the timeless and contemplative words of the great monk and writer Thomas Merton. His beautiful quotes remind us that the divine spirit is not a distant concept, but a presence wrapped into the very fabric of our immediate reality.

Eric Weiner (The Concept of "Thin Places"): Special appreciation to author Eric Weiner for his brilliant insights into how certain spaces and moments across the globe become "thin places"—moments where the distance between the physical world and the divine spirit completely fades away, allowing us to perceive the sacred all around us.

Connect with the Journey

If this episode brought a sense of stillness to your day, please consider subscribing, leaving a warm review, or sharing it with another soul who might need a moment to pause and breathe today.

Join our written community on Substack:

If you want to dive deeper into these reflections, view our companion photography, and join a gentle community of like-minded souls, subscribe to our publication: The Grounded Soul on Substack https://open.substack.com/pub/thegroundedsoul

Enjoying the podcast? Help keep this sacred space blooming by supporting the show: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/thegroundedsoul

Not The Greatest Showman’s: “A Million Dreams.” Close though. Every night I lie in bed… a million dreams are keeping me awake… It feels like my brain holds a million creative ideas.

Here is my truth: part of my healing process from overwork, self-abandonment, and anxiety has been intentionally spending time on creative projects that might seem, to many, quite useless. Yet this is my way to “feel a feeling” without running from difficult emotions.

Art therapy is a proven lifeline.

Studies show that engaging in any form of creative self-expression significantly lowers cortisol levels (the body’s primary stress hormone), regardless of an individual’s artistic skill level. It shifts our brains out of survival mode and into a state of play.

My friend once said to me, “You have a complicated relationship with words.”

And it’s true. In writing, it seems I can say whatever needs to be said (albeit not with correct spelling or grammer (see?! I know, it is with an “a”). On the other hand, when it comes to sitting down with someone and verbally explaining my day -it doesn’t come out like most people. Instead, it comes out in pictures. I can describe my day in images, no problem:

“The sky was azure! I saw a lone crow in the field; it made me smile. Later, I spent time in a waiting room. I stared at the carpet - it was gray. Too gray. I drank a lot of water. I made sure the people with me drank a lot of water. I went on walks outside so I could see something other than the gray carpet, and I smelled grass, saw green, heard pansies screaming for water, and yet most of it was gray outside too because I was surrounded by concrete. The sky saved me.”

Now, some people may think that’s a completely normal conversation. Others, like my husband, are left scratching their heads: “I don’t understand. Just tell me what you did today and how you are!” To which I say: I just did.

The Miniature World

When in overwhelm I write, go outside, or draw; I realized my healing is creating the things that are trapped in my head. For instance, I do not even know how to sew, but I can see a repurposed outfit in my head out of clothes siting in my give-away pile. I think this way about everything inside my home and yard, and if I’m being honest -even about other people’s houses. (I’m not about to go adding whimsy to other people’s property, but don’t put it past me!)

Something got done recently! For years now, we have had an opening in the stairway wall. It used to hold a speaker. It’s about 5x7 inches, completely empty, and it actually goes all the way through so you can see a glimpse of the kitchen ceiling. Walking up the stairs daily, I think: That would be the most adorable little gnome or fairy garden. It lived in my head for a long, long time. Recently, during my non-negotiable “I must be creative for a couple of hours” time, I created something.

Imperfect Play

I didn’t think too hard about it. It’s quite imperfect. I was waiting for the day I could make it amazingly perfect. But today, I looked at the way the beads were lining up, realized it wasn’t exact, and said, “You know what? I’m going to put something there for now. I’m going to have fun making it, and I’m not going to worry about perfection.”

I promote grounding on this Substack. I talk about being in nature, standing barefoot on the grass, breathing deeply, or hugging a tree. And I know some of you want absolutely nothing to do with that! That is completely fine. The point isn’t the specific activity I’m sharing; the point is that I am giving myself permission to do things that not only bring me joy, but help me expereince my Higher Power in the present moment. It allows the Divine Spirit within me -the creative fun part - to emerge.

May we give ourselves permission to do things that bring us joy. Even the unique and (perhaps even) seemingly unnecessary ideas that Creator God grants us.

People tell me all the time, “Well, I’m not creative. I’m not an artist. I can’t draw.” I stand by the belief that everyone is creative. Even the most intellectual, analytical people are creative. You are creative in how you choose to read, how you structure a research paper, or how you solve a problem, like fixing a car that won’t run or helping a leaning tree stand up straight. We look at what we have, we brainstorm, and we find a unique solution. That is creativity.

Finding Your “Other” Ways

Here is what I know about myself: I need more than one way to be creative. You might say, “I love cooking, and that’s my creative outlet.” Wonderful. But can you always be cooking? No. I love to be outside, but can I always be outside? No. We need backups.

I keep a bag of clay near my chair in the evenings. Sometimes I’ll just grab a chunk of it and start molding something. It’s usually silly. It doesn’t make any sense, it has no practical purpose, and it isn’t for anyone else. It is just me expressing a feeling.

When I first started trying to figure out what my creative outlets were, I turned to Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. Her advice was to look back: What did you like to do when you were a kid? That wasn’t an easy question for me. But a few small snippets surfaced, and they helped me begin my list of ways to find joy in the busyness of a hectic week.

If you come to my house today, you will find bins and bins of creative supplies. So when I’m not sure what’s going on in my heart and soul, when a situation feels too complicated for words, and the weather isn’t right for me to go outside... I start opening the storage bins.

Creating as a Spiritual Discipline

Using our inherent creativity can be a profound spiritual practice. The beautiful paradox is that while I was crafting this little miniature house facade with its tiny doors and resident gnome, I wasn’t actively thinking about Creator God. I wasn’t thinking about anything except what would look fun. And that is exactly the point. I was entirely in the moment. The Divine is always found in the present moment.

In her book, The Spiritual Disciplines Handbook: Practices that Transform Us, Adele Calhoun speaks beautifully about the discipline of Practicing the Presence. She writes: “Practicing the presence is an invitation to see and experience every moment as a gift of God. It is to live alive to union with the Trinity... It includes developing a rhythm of living that brings God to mind throughout the day, that intentionally invites us to recollect ourselves... receiving each moment as sacred.”

She reminds us of John 5:39-40 (The Message), where Jesus warns those who get stuck only in words and rules: “You have your heads in your Bibles constantly because you think you’ll find eternal life there. But you miss the forest for the trees... and you aren’t willing to receive from me the life you say you want.”

Sometimes, we have to look up from the pages, put down the heavy words, and look at the forest and/or the tiny gnome hidden in the staircase wall.

An Invitation to Recover

As Dr. Archibald Hart noted, “People in a hurry never have time for recovery. Their minds have little time to meditate and pray so that problems can be put in perspective.”

When I am creative - even when I am being whimsical and silly - I dedicate that time to Creator. It is an act of honor, because Divine Spirit is the one who gave me these wild, “million ideas” in the first place.

Try this spiritual exercise this week: The next time you do a small, seemingly “useless” creative task whether it’s doodling, molding a piece of clay, planting flowers or arranging a tiny corner of your home - don’t worry about making it perfect. Just dedicate that time to being fully there. Do not be discouraged if your mind wanders; simply begin again.

I’d love to hear from you: What did you love to make or do with your hands when you were a child? Does that activity still have a place in your life today?

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What was once safe is now restricting your freedom.

I have journals filled with psalms. No, not Psalms from Holy Scriptures, these are written by - not King David or a psalmist - but me. Psalms by a girl from Ohio, who messes up a lot, loves trees, and all things sparkly, all things whimsy, and yet knows she is “an embodied soul, an unceasing spiritual being with an eternal destiny in God’s great universe” (a phrase by James Bryan Smith). I call them psalms, not poems, because they are steeped in Spirit, they are to Universal Spirit and also from Spirit. They emerge from a part of me that seems wiser than myself, therefore calling them psalms reminds me they are not mine alone.

On this blue sky, beautiful spring day, I share a psalm I wrote, with the reminder that grief is not only a word connected with the death/loss of a Loved One. Grief as an emotion is connected with any loss: perceived or real. Loss of mobility, loss of innocence, loss of a dream, loss of a pet, loss of a beloved tree, and even a loss of the way you thought life would be.

An Unrehearsed Psalm: This and That

Divine Love,

I thought it would be different

I thought it would happen that way…

It didn’t.

Instead, this happened.

This.

Out of nowhere

Wait. What?!?

It’s not supposed to be this way because I planned…

I hoped and I imagined…

That.

~

“Going like a river would be wise right now,” says the wisdom inside me.

Depth of self says, “Let’s build walls. Let’s build a dam. Let’s resist. Resist. Resist!”

Quietly. Resist this.

On the outside, pretend to be like a river. A slow chilling river…clear…

But be a crashing wave inside, build waves of height

Build the walls out of fear, resentment, pity and scraps of the past

Higher. Stronger.

~

Excuse me (Hand raised with questions)

Do you live behind the walls and feel sorry for this happening?

Do you secretly, quietly hope others notice your silent desperation? Hoping someone notices the crashing waves inside while you expend all your emotional energy looking like a calm, sweet river, wondering why no one sees the waves?

Do you wonder why no one is comforting you, the you who pretends to be fine?

~

My Dear One, the safe walls you build are no longer necessary. You do not need more protection, you have the Ultimate Protector. And, you are allowed to fail. You are allowed to be disappointed. You are allowed to have read the situation wrong. You are allowed to share feelings. You are allowed to have missed the realization that you did not foresee this.

What was once safe is now restricting your freedom.

Self-imposed walls -

So that you won’t hurt

So that you won’t be seen

So that you won’t fail

So that you won’t seem to be a fallible human

- have not brought you any closer to that.

~

Let’s walk into the arms of Love. Let’s walk out of the walls and say, “I really wanted it to be different.” Then, be held by Love and hold Love. Breathe. Cry. Wail, as needed. Grieve for that.

After a long minute of being held, when you feel ready, breathe in for 4 and exhale for 8 long seconds and unfurl from Love’s embrace. Still connected, hands linked and looking Love in the eyes, standing quiet, listening…

After another long minute, Love nods knowingly, holding your left hand securely and turns and leads you to the path marked “This Way.”

“Each person’s grief is as unique as their fingerprint. But what everyone has in common is that no matter how they grieve, they share a need for their grief to be witnessed. That doesn’t mean they need someone to lessen it or reframe it for them. The need is for someone to be fully present to the magnitude of their loss without trying to point out the silver lining.”

(David Kessler)

You Matter. Your Mental Health Matters.

May is recognized as Mental Health Awareness Month in the United States. This observance aims to raise awareness about mental health issues, reduce stigma, and promote resources for individuals affected by mental illness. It has been celebrated since 1949.

I pray you seek professional help if you find yourself in a state of prolonged grief. Link: The Center for Prolonged Grief

Thank you for reading,

Marcella ~ AKA: that girl from Ohio, who messes up a lot, loves trees, and all things sparkly, all things whimsy, and yet knows she is “an embodied soul” protected by Divine Spirit.

While the rhythm of this meditation finds its origins in the Buddhist tradition of Metta, the invitation to cultivate a ‘loving-kindness’ is a universal one. For those of us walking a Christian path, this practice is a modern expression of Hesed - Love manifested through kindness. By grounding ourselves in these intentional phrases, we aren’t just reciting words; we are tilling the soil of our own hearts to allow empathy and compassion to take root. Whether you approach this as a psychological tool for mindfulness or a sacred conversation with the Universal Spirit, it serves as a bridge to help us see ourselves, our neighbors, our enemies, and all creation with new eyes.

“To Be a Mystic” Podcast also available.

Link to Meditation

Transcript

Loving Kindness Meditation - LKM

…allow yourself to remember your goodness and be open to your basic goodness. You may remember times when you have been kind or generous recall your natural desire to be happy and to not suffer. If acknowledging your own goodness is difficult look at yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you. What does that person love about you?

Or you may recall the unconditional love you felt from a beloved pet. It may help to use your imagination and picture yourself as a young child standing before you -that allows tender feelings of kindness to flow more easily.

As you experience love notice how you feel in your body - warmth or heat in the face, a smile - this is loving kindness - a natural feeling that is accessible to all.

Rest in the feeling of unconditional love for a few moments, breathing it in and out now offer these words to yourself

May I be filled with loving kindness

May the totality of who I am be held in loving kindness

May the whole of me feel connected and calm

May I accept myself as I am

May I be happy

May I know the natural joy of being alive

Repeat those words again

May I be filled with loving kindness

May I be held in loving kindness

May I be connected and calm.

May I accept myself as I am

May I be happy

May the totality of who I am know the natural joy of being alive

Now slowly open the circle of loving kindness by bringing to mind someone dear to you, someone whom you care about, who is always been supportive reflect on this person's basic goodness. sensing what it is in particular that you love about them in your heart, feel appreciation for this dear one, and begin your offering

May you be filled with loving kindness

May you be held in loving kindness

May you feel my love now may you accept yourself as you are

May you be happy.

May you know the natural joy of being alive

Repeat this process with maybe a neutral person, someone you see regularly, but you don't know well a neighbor, the mailperson - repear staements above.

And next if it is possible for you, bring to mind someone whom you have had a difficult relationship with someone who you often don't feel compassion for Remind yourself to see this person as a whole being

Repeat the process and finally allow your awareness to open in all directions yourself, dear ones neutral persons, difficult persons, and all beings, all humans, all animals, all plants, and trees, all living everywhere, whether in richness, poverty, war peace, hunger, or abundance

may all beings be filled with love and kindness

may all beings be happy May all beings awaken and be free

may all beings find peace

On Language: In this recording, you’ll hear me use the word "mailman." While the sentiment of kindness remains the same, in the copy I was reading includes language that has shifted to be more inclusive of all the people who serve our communities. We’re all growing - even in our meditations!

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Whether you are seeking a moment of stillness in a busy day or looking to cultivate more empathy for those around you, this guided session offers a simple path toward presence and peace.

In this episode, you’ll find:

A guided meditation focusing on self-compassion, neutral neighbors, and global healing.

Deepen the Practice:

For a transcript of this meditation and a deeper dive into how nature and mindfulness intersect, join our community at:

https://open.substack.com/pub/thegroundedsoul

Additional Resources:

If you’d like to read more about the intersection of Loving Kindness and spiritual practice, I recommend this thoughtful resource:

https://loyolaspiritualitycenter.org/loving-kindness/

“It’s not dirt.”

What you grow plants in is not dirt. I admit that as a horticulturist and botanist, I get stuck on words—or rather, I get persnickety about them. I have known many a farmer to call soil, "ground," and in other languages, it is often simply called "earth." Call it whatever you wish, but to me, dirt is what I sweep off the floor.

Today, the desk lost. It was on my to-do list to work on Substack stuff, but it was too amazing outside. I wanted to follow where Spirit/Soul-keeping was leading me, so I traded the screen for the yard.

One of my favorite things about container gardening is the control it gives you. If your soil is hard as a rock and doesn't drain—which is true for much of the Great Black Swamp area—containers ensure your plants have a good growing medium.

The Day of "Creation"

Today was the day I jokingly say I "create soil." Of course, I am not the creator of the growing medium, but it is the day I basically refresh the existing mix to ensure healthy plants for the coming season without having to buy all new container mix.

What’s wild about this adventure is that it’s not only good for the plants; it’s amazing for the soul almost immediately.

The Truth

The single most important factor determining how well your plants do isn't necessarily light or buying a good plant; it begins with the foundation. Soil. Or rather to confuse, soil-less mix. Yup, we use “soilless mix” in containers. It looks like soil, but it has zero sand, silt, or clay from the ground. It’s a sterilized mix of peat moss, coconut coir, perlite, and pine bark.

My Process: Creating Soil (Growing Medium) ~ Soul Grounding & Growing Medium Prep. Step-by-step:

1. Have Fun. This is the first step for your medium and your soul. If you go about it as a chore, it won’t work. If you have no desire to do this, leave it for someone who does! Purchase already made containers! Zero judgement.

2. Gratitude. Giving myself the time to spend the whole day outside on a perfect day matters. Being thankful for the time matters. Not feeling guilty for spending the day doing this, matters.

3. Find a Tarp. Dump all your containers out in a pile.

4. The Sifting. Take out the big chunks of roots and rocks.

5. The Fun Part (The Grounding). Once the big pieces are out, I take my shoes off and walk through the soil. I’m not stomping; I’m walking gently to find the old roots and sweeping my feel around to find that no longer needs to be there. You can do this with hands or a trowel, but what fun is that???

6. Add New. My ratio is usually about 1/3 new potting soil mix added to the pile. The photo shows the exact bag I use. Do not go cheap on potting soil.

7. Take a Break. Let the sun dry the mix out so the consistency becomes even. And yes I really did nap for 10 minutes! Also soul healthy!

8. Clean the Pots. While they’re empty, spray them out and check for damage or clogged drainage holes. All pots NEED drainage!

9. The Final Touch. I sprinkle in worm castings (an organic fertilizer)—usually a 8-10lb bag for a pile this size. Mix it again, and it’s ready!

I would show you finished plantings but it’s too early here in Ohio for many annuals, but the mix is ready!

A Reflection

I have so much peace and joy right now because I spent the entire day outside with zero cares and zero guilt. I’m sitting here , completely clean (toes and all), with tea next to me, a candle lit, and a cat by my side.

I am exhausted, but in a "good ache" kind of way. I believe our bodies crave this physical work after a winter of hibernating at computers. I can’t recall the last time I felt this “good ache.” I am so thankful for this April day with mindfulness and good work combined. My soul is happy.

A Practice for Your Week

If you find yourself in the garden or even just near a patch of grass this week, I invite you to try one thing: Take your shoes off. Spend five minutes just standing or walking on the earth. Don’t think about the to-do list or the messy “dirt." Just notice the temperature and the texture. Let your body remember what it feels like to be supported by Earth. f that’s just not an option touch grass with your hands.

Thanks for hanging out with me this week,

Marcella

Eco-Chaplain 🌏, Forest Therapy Practitioner 🌲, Soil-maker 🤣& UMC Elder ✝️

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