Driving the forrest laden roads of Margaret River this morning, I had one simple poem echoing through my heart.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
This Gaelic blessing is often read at funerals and weddings, marking transitions, when we celebrate and mourn a change of season.
The reason it was resounding in my heart was I was revelling in my new season. I wished I had planted my roots deeply in the season I am currently in earlier. I felt like Thelma, driving down a country lane, so grateful for the life I am currently thriving in.
I have wrestled, questioned, worried, held on, grappled, rolled my eyes and dug my heels in deep.
One could say I have found myself facing backwards rather than forwards, worrying that the best days of my life were over. A irrational feeling from a Mumma suffering from many sleepless nights.
As I sung loudly, loving the company of my morning drive, I wished I had bid farewell to my season with this Gaelic blessing.
‘See ya later old life, I’m accepting and loving my new.
I’m facing my future with a smile and moving on.
The days that have past were good for that season but it is now a new day.
I open my heart and life to the new, knowing that God has me planted in the palm of his hand.’
What if we carried this sentiment into the transitioning of seasons?
Blessing and bidding them goodbye, knowing that the best is yet to come.
Seasons when friendships transition.
Times when we finish a job we loved.
Years when we should let go and don’t want to.
What if we blessed the season goodbye and wished it our best rather than hanging on so tight that we are dragged into the next kicking and screaming?
I am loving my life and I am not ashamed to admit it.
Staying home with my babes, exploring my creative pursuits, hanging out with other creative Mummas, writing, speaking, spending the whole day unashamedly in my pjs, singing the abc’s at the top of my lungs, dancing with my three year old, making play dough.
Three words;
Bring.
It.
On.
Amanda Viviers
