Meet Me At The Clothesline - Episode 18

This is a story about being held, about forgiveness that arrives without effort, and about discovering a deeper connection to something greater than ourselves.

Transcript

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Welcome to Light in the Garden, a soft place to land, breathe, and remember who you truly are. I'm Lulu, and this podcast is my offering. Here we explore the quiet places where the human and the divine meet, through stories from the road, the lake where I spent many hours, and the long path of my own becoming. Each episode is simply a companion for your heart. So thank you for joining me today. I'm so glad you're here. This episode is called Meet Me at the Close Line. The sky was a crystal clear blue, and the temperature was absolutely perfect on that spring morning in central Tennessee. And on that day, I completely missed the beauty as I carried a large laundry basket filled with clean white diapers out to the clothesline. I was in deep despair that morning. The previous day had started off just fine. My friend Diana and I had plans to take our baby girls to the movies, just a girls' day out. The babies were young enough, still nursing, so we could easily soothe them while we watched the film. When the movie was over and we emerged from the dark theater into the late afternoon sunlight, we hugged and went our separate ways. When I arrived home I immediately felt something strange in the air. Something was not right. In fact, everything felt wrong. My two young sons were upstairs in their rooms, which in itself was odd. They were usually right there at the door to greet me with hugs. Instead, my then husband met me at the door, an ominous sign. He told me that Crystal, my great Dane, had gotten loose and had attacked and killed a neighbor's dog. The neighbor had insisted that Crystal be destroyed on the spot. So my husband complied. He went to the gun cabinet, got his rifle, loaded it, went back outside, and shot my dog. I think it's important to say here that Crystal was not dangerous. She had never shown aggression toward her family. She had been irritated on walks when the neighbor's dog came at her. Not an excuse, just context. She was not dangerous, not to people. And then he put her, this one hundred and ten pound animal, into a black trash bag, the kind you use for yard debris. He called her babysitter to sit with the boys, and he drove her body somewhere, a place I still don't know to this day. I went into a rage. Maybe she could have been re-homed. Maybe something, anything, could have been done differently. And if she did need to be put down, it could have been done with some measure of kindness. So we could have said goodbye. He took that from me. He took that from the boys because of pressure from a neighbor. So I screamed at him to get out. Out, out, out. And he did. I cried, I called friends. I was a complete mess. But life goes on, doesn't it? The next morning, after fixing breakfast for my children, I went outside to the clothesline. I remember talking to God, then yelling at God. I remember sobbing as I picked up one diaper after another, shaking each one out, hanging them one at a time with wooden clothespins. I remember asking, What am I supposed to do? I cried out for help again and again. Please help me, please help me. And as I hung the last diaper, something shifted. A deep, unmistakable peace came over me. And as I began to walk back toward the house, I felt, listen, I literally felt an arm around my shoulders, holding me close. The anger, the display, the despair, the hopelessness, gone, completely gone. In that moment, I was saved from myself, from the rage, from the overwhelming flood of feeling. I went back into the house, a different woman. I cleaned the house. I played with the kids. I cooked a nice dinner. And when my husband came home and walked through the door, I said, Hello, sweetheart. And I will never forget the look on his face when he said, Am I still your sweetheart? This was a miracle, dear listeners. A true miracle. Yes, Crystal was just a dog. But it was the way it happened. And somehow, though I cannot explain it, the light within my heart reached out and touched the light within my husband. We never really spoke of it again. Life simply continued. And you might wonder if I truly forgave him. I've wondered that myself. But I do know this, without a shadow of doubt, before that day my relationship with the creator of the universe was casual at best. After that day, something began. Slowly, over time, it grew into a deep and powerful connection, connection with the presence that met me at the clothesline, that saved me from myself, that brought light into my life and taught me about love. Unconditional love. And though the father of my children and I are no longer married, and though I remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday, there's no charge in me anymore. There's no surge of anger. The forgiveness happened right there. The day spirit wrapped its arms around me at the clothesline. And that is a miracle. I'd like to offer a longer breathing space now, an invitation to let this teaching land in your body, not just your mind. I call it Held in Gentle Light. Go ahead and get comfortable, however your body wants to be right now. And if it feels okay, just let your eyes gently close. Take a slow, easy breath in, and a slow breath out. Nothing to fix, nothing to figure out, nowhere to go. Just arriving right here. Bring your awareness to your shoulders. Let them drop just a little. Unclench the jaw. Soften the space behind your eyes. And let your hands rest easily and just notice your breath moving in and out. No need to change it. Now imagine a quiet, peaceful morning. The sky is wide and open. A soft, endless blue. The air is gentle, just the gentlest and slightest touch against your skin. You are standing in a place that feels simple, familiar, easy. Nothing extraordinary, and yet everything is calm. In this space you are not alone. There is a presence here with you. Not loud, not overwhelming. Just quietly near. And as you stand here, you may begin to notice a warmth just at your shoulder. A gentle, steady presence beside you. No need to turn, no need to question. Just feel. And slowly, very naturally, it's as if an arm rests around your shoulders. Lightly, kindly, steady and sure. There is nothing being asked of you. You don't have to be different. You don't have to understand anything. You are simply held. Let yourself rest into that for a moment. Supported, accompanied, completely okay, just as you are. And notice what begins to soften without effort. Breath is deepening. Body is easing. Something inside of you unwinding. You don't have to make anything happen. Just allow. Stay here for a few quiet breaths. Feel the steadiness, the quiet companionship, the simple, gentle care that is always available to you. And when you're ready, take a slightly deeper breath in. And when it feels natural, when you feel ready, open your eyes and carry this with you, the knowing that you are never ever walking through your life alone. Amen. Remember, my dear friends, even in the ordinary moments of your day, there is always light waiting in the garden. So until next time, take good care of yourselves and of each other. And I thank you from the depths of my heart for visiting me today. If you enjoyed this podcast, share it with your friends. A deep bow of honor to each of you. And finally, if you have found value here and would like to spend some one-on-one time with me, I offer spiritual companionship. Sometimes it really does help to have a steady presence beside you as you listen for your own inner wisdom and find your way forward. Until next time, my friends. Much love.