The Weight Of That Wheelbarrow

One of my favorite things in recent years is reading to my Dad; 

his favorite stories come from master storyteller, Bob Goff.

While I was reading from UnDistracted, Dad stopped me and asked for me to read this sentence again. Read it again? Must have struck a chord with him, I thought. So I read it again. And again. And again.

As I reflect, it seems to perfectly complement this metaphorical display just down the road from Dad's house. The wheelbarrow has tipped over and out comes this beautiful floral arrangement, which begs the question:

Who's ready to empty that wheelbarrow?

What might we be carrying that's super heavy, 

that we'd benefit from dumping, 

from letting fall to the ground, 

from no longer lugging around?

Here's an example: We flew home to Wisconsin recently, for our nephew's wedding week. With very few delays, the flights went surprisingly well, we got to try a hybrid rental car, we reconnected with so many friends. I got to read my book to my mom and she got to meet and hold her first great grandchild. We took long walks, ate out at our favorite restaurants, took a farm tour and got to pet some calves, put several puzzles together, spent a few glorious hours at the lake house, and all-in-all had the most fabulous family togetherness time under the most incredible blue skies. 

Until one incredibly hurtful interaction, the weight of which hangs so heavy on my heart that it threatened to drown out the joy and overshadow the sunshine behind my smile in this four-generation Kodak moment.

Like a cow chewing its cud, I've been ruminating on those piercing words,

letting them linger like that searing heartburn that just won't go away.   

Then I saw this sage advice from Brené Brown.

Wise beyond words, my new goal moving forward,

to let go of the toxic weight in that wheelbarrow of mine.

It's not going to be easy, but we're wired to do hard things, right?

It'll take time and I'll have to dig deep

to unearth those aforementioned replacements,

especially anger with perspective and grace,

but it'll be worth it, because forgiveness is

the perfect way to empty that wheelbarrow

and see what beauty might grow in its place.

And it's a priceless gift that we give to ourselves, to keep us going.

Thank you for letting me share my heaviness today;

do let me know, dear reader, if ever I can help you

empty the weight of that wheelbarrow of yours.