Words from the Heart

Today, I am delighted to have a fellow educator and writer as a guest blogger for the Women on Writing Blog Tour of her new book.  B. Lynn Goodwin, author of Never Too Late: From Wannabe to Wife, shares her honest, and often, humorous thoughts on relationships, marriage, hope, faith and most of all, Love! I hope you will enjoy reading her post.  Please feel free to leave a comment. Those who do, will have an opportunity of winning a copy of her book, Never Too Late: From Wannabe to Wife.  Compromise and Acceptance       In my memoir Never Too Late: From Wannabe to Wife , I wrote,    “I never believed that opposites were attracted to one another until I met Richard. Part of the allure was that we got along so well despite our differences. Part of the fear was that I might be on a pink cloud.    “He wanted to marry me as soon as possible. I wanted to wait. He said he needed the influence of a good woman. I avoided the...

Image via Wikipedia  Vermont College Quad - Site of the Council of All Beings This past week, I spent an amazing day with some of the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers . The Grandmothers are a group of indigenous elders from around the world, who come together to teach peace, understanding among people and healing of ourselves and Mother Earth.    The trip to see them was unexpected, as I had learned only a week before of their visit to Vermont.  I traveled up to Vermont with two dear friends, who also were eager to hear and see the Grandmothers. ~~~~  As we walked across the beautiful campus of Vermont College to the site of the Sacred Fire, the sun was shining.  People from around the world were gathering around the Sacred Fire. As the fire was being lit, the wind picked up.  Clouds billowed high and dark around us.  Only the sky overhead stayed blue.   Earlier in the day, I wrote to the woman who was one of the organizers to ask ...

I was driving to work a few days after the horrendous earthquake in Haiti listening to NPR on the radio. The reporter was telling how survivors had gathered in a central area to wait for aid...water,food, medical care. She told how occasionally someone in the crowd of hundreds of survivors would break out in song, how others would join in the chanting and how it relieved the tension of waiting. During the reporter's wanderings through the crowd, she came upon an elderly woman who was seated under the shade of a small tree. The woman was completely alone. As the reporter approached, she realized that the old woman was singing, "Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Amen!" She sang it with all her heart; her own little tune, over and over again. In speaking to her, the reporter found that the little grandmother had lost everything she owned. She had no home, no money, no family or friends. She was totally alone, except for her great faith in her God to which she sang a ...

She was a little under eleven years old when Martin shared his dream with her. As with all children, she took it at face value, believing in the possibilities like she believed in pixies in the garden. While she was not the only one he had shared the dream with, somehow, she felt she held a special place in its becoming reality. As a child, she could talk of the dream in realistic terms without the practicality of the adult world raining on her. Then the unthinkable happened, her innocence was stolen by the crimes of adults who lived on fear. Martin’s dream was shattered by a hate so real she stopped sharing it. The dream became a secret she kept locked in her heart, only to be taken out when she felt safe, or most often, alone. Others did not understand the need to make the dream real. The few times she felt brave enough to even mention the possibilities of such a dream she met with ridicule. Childish sentiment, utopian imaginings, illusions of grandeur…all terms given for he...