JUDY EMERSON Author and Personal Coach

So that wasn’t it.

Not that time.

That time when the fantasy of love would sweep me up into a cloud of perfection.

Not that time.

When every thought in my head would be seen and heard and understood.

Not that time.

When every want would be anticipated and soothed.

When every hope would be fulfilled and celebrated.

In Technicolor.

And angels would sing.

Not that time.

That time mom and dad were scared kids.

Wounded, longing.

Swept on a rush of feelings

Until crying toddlers became an ocean rising,

They kept their heads above the waves

Without knowing how to swim.

Mom’s survival was just like mine, later on.

Mistakes were made.

Same story, different day.

All of it needing Grace.

Just move your finger along the timeline

To that other time when

I thought, 0h here it is at last.

He would get me out of there

He would make me safe

He would know what I needed,

When I didn’t know myself.

All of it needing understanding.

But not that time.

And not those other times.

Not those times when they did the best they could see to do.

And I did the best I could see to do.

All of it needing Grace

All of it needing forgiveness

All of it needing understanding

That wasn’t clear at the time.

This time

Is every moment

Again, happening now.

In this moment

Now

Here’s an opening

A possibility

To be present

To listen to my fear.

Still afraid of that time.

Oh.

That time is past.

That time isn’t this time.

This is now.

This is the time

I find love

Now.

When I look for it.

In this moment.

Now.

Not in some great tidal wave OUT THERE

Not erasing the ache in one fell swoop.

This time

This small moment

Now

Is an inside job.

It’s me and God

Both of us loving what is

Staying present to what is

Present to birdsong

And the shine on a glossy leaf.

And noticing

Those times I got through

What I didn’t know I could survive

God was loving me all along

All those times.

Teaching me to love myself

Every time.

This time

Now

This time I’m choosing

To be true to who I am

To let go of the fantasy of rescue

To let go of judging.

This time

Now.

The ache sits right next to the Serenity

Of letting go.

The peace is in taking off the mask

Of laying down the armor

Of using my old sword as a plowshare.

It’s surrender

To the love in every breath.

This time.

Now.

-Judy Emerson