Listening- A Great Gift

Just the title

Someone To Tell It To

invites an opportunity to be heard,

to be listened to.

With the speed and brevity

of the internet,

social media,

and popular forms of communication,

there is

no substitute

for truly

listening ears

and an open,

non-judging heart.

The process of offering safety

to a person,

whatever they need

to say and share,

is the greatest gift

and can help a person

to heal,

no matter

how deep

the woundedness

he or she feels.

Ordained ministers

Michael Gingerich and Tom Kaden,

came together

to use their experience and skills

and offer what

so many crave,


without even knowing,

what is making

life challenging,

even unbearable.

We live in a society

with too much information,

24 hour news cycle,

accessibility to


in letters

that don’t even fully

spell the word.

How can someone

be truly

heard and understood?

Michael and Tom share in their book

how they meet


wherever they are

in their life’s journey.

Actually meeting with someone

in a non-threatening place,

not for counseling in an office,

but wherever the person

feels comfortable,

can help

open the person to the

possibility of saying

what they need to share,

finding that being heard

in a non-judgmental way,

their burdens are lifted,

a perspective formed

and body and soul

easing into breathing

in their life force

on the way to healing,

whatever it is.

Parallel Lines


the Boston Marathon

from a warm and dry

vantage point,

the runners,

wheelchair competitors

are the focus.

Reaching the one hour mark,

then the two hour mark,

the white street lines

catch my attention.

This is the second

Boston Marathon

since the horrific day


two brothers


pressure cooker bombs

near the finish line.

Shock, chaos, blood

drastically changed the

color of the day.


of lives,



punctured the crowd.

Days later

in the dark

shots rang out a mile

from home

as the brothers

in a car,

took a hostage,

killed again

and tried to disappear.

The older brother died.

The younger drove over his brother

and headed to the next town.

For fourteen hours,

one million people

were in


We could not leave our homes.

Helicopters overhead,

sirens blaring,

the younger

was found in

a covered boat,

in someone’s backyard.


begins the second part

of the trial.

Death penalty

or life in prison?

An eye for an eye,

a primal

human dilemma.


Families deeply affected by

death and loss.




in prison.

Will the wounds heal

with grace

with this




What will the jury


The Golden Rule

A local church

has a sign,

“Come if you are spiritual

but not religious.”

In conversation,

in polls taken,

many people define themselves

as spiritual but not religious.

Perhaps this is a trend,

but for each person

there may be individual explanations

or definitions

what that means.

At a time when

world news bring

daily reports

of religious conflicts,


horrendous violence,

what does religion mean?

Christians, Jews,


Each religion

seems to have


traditional, liberal and many variations and

definitions within each.

During hundreds of years of history,

religions have been the

source of conflict.

At other times,

the values of religious spirituality

have helped people live

in peace.

Conflicts, killings, destruction

make news.

Will the human race find

the qualities which

help people

live and work together?

Every human being


treat each other person




to be


The Golden Rule

is a

good place to begin.



On the Edge of Awareness

There are times when feelings seem to be

just on

the edge of our awareness.

A sudden, uneasy sensation.

A fluttering of the heart.

Signals of feelings waiting

to be



such sensations

are just


passing perceptions.

Other times,

I realize

that a fluttering is

a signal of a feeling waiting

to be acknowledged.


I recognize

that I have received

a message, but only

in retrospect.

When and How

When and how

A jagged report

startles us all.

A plane goes



In glorious scenery

the remains of a plane

the scattered sacred

bodies of

more than a hundred.

The opera singer’s baby

perhaps the youngest.

Teenagers on

an adventure

and learning.

Who was


for crossing that threshold

we all will cross

some day

in some way?

There are

many ways

to die.



Hit and run driver,

a pilot who may have planned

the abrupt descent.

The spikes of the mountains

the valleys below.

Together but scattered.

What will we ever know.

Some die in old age,

of prolonged illness.

Others not having any idea

that the primal fear

of falling

will take them away from loved ones.

How do each of us

bridge ourselves between this world and

the next?

How can the idea that

we have little or no control

guide us to live

in this moment.?

There is no one answer.

Each of us

can cherish each


Moment by moment.


A menu stained with a ring of brown gravy had a scrabbled, scattered list of names-Terrence Griffin, 1853 Bray ,. Elizabeth Doyle, Roundwood. She was told many times by her grandmother, her father and her cousin on her mother’s side that her ancestry was Irish.

As a young girl, she remembers her grandmother pointing out her last name on a newspaper map of Ireland. The names all over the map were so small and she had no idea of the geography- north,south, east and west.  Faint recollections linger of her grandmother pointing, saying that was where her family was from.

Learning to dance the Irish jig, copying the unique interlacing designs from the colorful Book of Kells, and enjoying the favorite and traditional Irish melodies, reinforced her sense of identity as being an Irish American as she grew up.

It wasn’t until she had grandchildren of her own that she looked for that old menu as a starting place for finding more about her Irish ancestors.

A couple of years ago, she was visiting Dublin with her husband. A huge snowstorm back home delayed their return. A trip to County Wicklow, an hour from Dublin was possible. Bray and Roundwood where Terence Griffin and Elizabeth Doyle had lived before sailing to American were a reasonable day trip.

Beautiful scenery emerged  traveling to Bray, a seaside town. Walking along the boardwalk, she imagined her great-great grandfather living there. Did he live on a farm? Did the family live by the sea?

After a pub lunch, the driver said he had some disappointing news. Roundwood, a high mountain, was frosted by snow and while he could drive to the top, it was too slippery to drive down.

Heading back in the car to Dublin, the drive apologized that they could not visit Elizabeth’s Doyle’s town.

As they rode along, a horizontal section of a frosty rainbow appeared on the left. A few miles further beyond a curve, a  mirror image of the rainbow appeared. A few minutes latter, the sun peaked through the gray sky and a full rainbow, bigger that she had ever seen, emerged from the top of Roundwood’s hilly mountain across to the Irish Sea. The frosty colors immediately gave her a sense that her ancestral faeries knew she was there. She could feel their presence. When she said that out loud, her husband was quiet. The driver said, “things like that happen in Ireland.”

Whenever she tells the tale, that same feeling prickles every hair. She has told her liminal experience of the trip to Bray and Roundwood many times and no one has doubted her meeting her ancestral faeries in the “thin place” which Ireland is known to be.