Once in a while you find yourself in a place where space transcends time.  Where minutes lose their grip and space breathes life into your soul.

This summer I was off the grid on a family vacation in Yellowstone.  We started in the town of Big Sky, Montana; a name that sounds redundant.  Aren’t all skies big?... Until you are there.

The expansive sky, prairies, and mountains invite you to feel the grace of space.  Grace . . .  as Webster's defines, the “unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration.”

Our souls aren’t linear.  They don’t ask for timelines.  They ask for the roundness of space.

It was our first attempt at a big family road trip.  And as predicted, we had a whining backseat with their own requests, “I just want to shop!”, “Geysers give me headaches!”, “When are we going to start having fun?”

Eventually the grace of space seeped in and they opened, softened and blossomed with energy.

Like a small child, our soul can’t put its needs into words. Instead it sometimes shuts down, leaving us with a nondescript heaviness or cries out, leaving us with an aching tightness.

My family experienced the healing that comes from the grace of space.  Now comes the classic post vacation question: How can we continue to create space to tend to our souls in our over-wound, time-based world?

I think it starts with mindfully clearing space in those moments that we do have.  Full attention, single tasking, consciously slowing down, and listening for quiet in the mind or the depth of our breath . . .  our internal space.

If that doesn’t work, take one moment to connect with grace.  Look up at the big sky, feel some grass, smell a flower, listen for a bird, find the roundness of your soul in tonight’s moon.

It was a full moon last night.  My eight-year-old daughter religiously put her shoes by the front door for the Full Moon Fairy to deliver money by morning.  I’m not sure where she was introduced to this tradition, but it doesn’t much matter.  It is about hope and magic - two beautiful elements of childhood that get diluted as we grow.

Hope is important.  It can hold you up, center you, move you forward, or calm you down.  Hope is desire.  It can be as light as a breath blowing out a birthday candle or from your deepest place inside. Hope is a yearning with a bright light in the middle; it’s a steady glow that brings us energy.

Magic is all about being open. Open to the unknown, to the unseen, to what feels bigger than our intellect can grasp. It is about the unexplained, the mysterious, the serendipitous.  You can’t control it.  In fact, there’s a greater chance for it to show up in your life if you let go, close your eyes and let it happen.

Hope and magic are about trusting the unseen.  

I caught a glimpse of the beautifully round illuminating moon last night.  I saw it in its fullness and its softness.  I felt its glow.  

I invite you to peek at the moon tonight.  Breathe energy into your own place of hope.  And receive the moon’s invitation to trust.  You may even want to leave your shoes at the door.