Skip to main content

A Story


I had a meeting a few months ago with a woman who wanted to hire me to write a book that would be a message of hope for children who have a life-threatening illness. 
This was a challenge for me as it was a different sort of picture book than those I’ve previously written. Plus-it was her story that I was to write. 
However, as I listened to the reasons why she wanted to share this message with children-I felt drawn to try for her. 
So I did. 
I used a lot of yoga when writing the book-I united both what I knew and what I needed to learn. I gave the child character strength and flexibility. I leaned into the discomfort of writing a book that was so clearly dealing with pain. 
I read the completed story to the woman and then gave her space to receive it. To go home and process. 
I wasn’t sure if she liked the story. Or what her family would think.
I won’t share more details of the story I wrote or the pain, hope and healing that brought her to me-as these details aren’t my story to share. But the part that I will share is her response. 

The yoga that I accessed in writing it—included one of the most potent components of the practice-listening. There are a thousand ways to listen when on the mat. When we sit in silence at the end of our practice, with eyes closed and steady breath-we are uniting with silence and connecting with stillness to-listen. I’ve learned through years of practice that this listening to relations, in relationships-off the mat, is a sacred part of yoga-from the mat and out into the world. 
But I don’t always get it right. 
It’s a lifelong practice for me. 
A few weeks went by. Then…
I received a small package from her in the mail at my writing services studio. Inside was an Angel holding a book. 
There was a handwritten note. 
It said, “…I can’t thank you enough for hearing every beat of my heart.”
I am so grateful for how this beautiful world works-that I was blessed with the humbling opportunity to listen and write the story a woman- who believes in hope and healing, wanted to share with the world. 
I continue to be blessed with grace-filled teachers. She is one of them. 🙏


Popular posts from this blog


  A bit ago, the Arts Mill had a call for art for the BIG show. I was excited to participate-NSAA is near and dear to me. And it would be my first attempt to paint (and sell) a large canvas. I was pretty proud of the painting I created.  I submitted it. It was not accepted into the show. It was REJECTED. I’m not going to pretend this didn’t sting. Or that thoughts of “well, it’s clear I’m not a painter. I wonder who I should donate my paint supplies to?” didn’t cross my mind. But I always go through the “poor me” stage. After all-being an author means that rejection isn’t new to me.  When I dusted myself off from all of that, I asked the Arts Mill’s director, if I could pay her for a critique of my art now that the show (without my painting) was over. (I get critiques for my writing-why not have a critique on my painting?) She was straightforward and shared her exquisite wisdom in a gentle and kind way, which is the perfect blend for learning. The painting that came forth next on that


  A week before Christmas, I visited my dad in the memory care unit. His face lit up when he saw me. “Sheri! My sister! You are here!” I’m mostly used to it now-- that I am sometimes his sister to him, sometimes his daughter. Sometimes I’m someone he simply knows he knows but he’s not sure how. After our visit that day, I remembered and found an email he had sent nine years ago. It was a photo of he and I, on a quiet boat ride just before sunset when the lake was still and the loons were calling. In the email subject line he had written only this quote: “Those were the days, my friend, I hoped they’d never end.” He emailed me that a year before my mom died. And just before his memory started to fade. As this 2021 sweep around the sun comes to a close, I’m reminded. With the wedding and the move of two daughters. Gatherings for yoga, sound, and meditation on the mat. Writing and art and editing. A book released. Hikes and bonfires, and shared bottles of wine. Relationships that are new,

Good way to end the day

  Laughter and wine, blankets and a dropping sun.  Then hushed tones to witness a champagne sky as the fire falls behind the water.  The rhythmic sound of clapping waves is joined by gentle clapping of spectators who gathered together in a quaint village to celebrate the ending of a day.  I’ve said it before when I was a part of a similar evening, at the other end of the country… how wonderful it would be if EVERY collection of 24 hours, strangers to each other and friends that are forever would conclude their day by gathering together in appreciation and awe. What a beautiful way it would be to end each day.