I recently accepted a lovely invitation for a visit to the shore. Schedules being what they were, I had just 27 hours, but those sun-washed, beach hours became time out of time.

The hours puffed up and expanded as if there were yeast-fed. There was time to revel in the moment, time to inhale ocean breezes, time to play tag with sea foam, and, even, time to stroll the boardwalk with lemonade and caramel corn at hand. It was grand.

The shift in time and perception began the moment when I found myself comfortably settled on the deck overlooking the ocean. In what felt like the immediate flip of a switch, I found myself dropping into a channel of being-ness. I was in heaven; grade A, first class heaven on earth.

Any stress I held seemed to slip off my shoulders as I inhaled salt-infused air and settled into the rhythms of the surf. The rushing roar of the water was like a lullaby soothing and comforting all the rough edges. The sound of the waves literally transported me into another dimension.

Later, as I sat in late-night solitude and tranquility on the deck, I felt a communion with the cosmos. I felt gratitude for all. I was awash in the beauty and bounty before me. And in that state of happy connection, there was a wee voice that echoed ominously. There was the startling and, somewhat embarrassing, whisper that told me I have been afraid to say, “Yes,” to God in a complete way.

This was a painful epiphany. Up until this moment, I felt I had an open, clear, all-systems-go connection with the Divine. In fact, I had felt a tad smug in my abilities to say, “Yes,” to the big things. I have repeatedly and willingly made those radical right turns. Uncharted territories have become old hat. I have grown comfortable with not knowing and just taking the one next step that was presented to me. And each of those leaps of faith was a very big deal to me - and they changed my life.

So, why is it that I can make the big leap across the chasm of unknowing, but when it comes to simply crossing the street, so to speak, I find myself hunkered down and turning my back on the new road before me.

Clearly, like St. Paul, I like the clarity and certainty of the big conversion experience. It’s the smaller choice points, and choice is always the operative word, that seem to stop me in my tracks. I enter into some state of denial and rationalize my non-action.

This makes me think of “monkey bread,” a new discovery found while strolling the boardwalk. Monkey bread is a loaf of bread composed of small balls of dough clustered together, somewhat like grapes if their vine was circular. Once it’s baked, you pull the bread apart.

There are days I feel like monkey bread; everybody wants a piece of me. I find myself pulled by assorted life demands. I get overwhelmed; I shut down and want to submerge myself in my turtle shell.

It’s hard to hear, much less see when I am encased in my shell with my head tucked all the way in. I don’t want to try anything new. I simply want to stay in my turtle sanctuary with a prominently hung “Do not disturb” sign.

And, then, as they say in the UK, the penny dropped. I got it. I understood.

Yes, I have said, “Yes,” but not always, not consistently and not to all the hands proffered or the doors presented. The irony is that I also had not said, “No,” enough so that I was rested, refreshed and balanced enough to consider opening the new door.

I owe you an apology, God. I did not stay in my seat at the banquet table. I kept jumping up or running out of the room. I lost that peace. It’s like that magnet quote that hangs on my refrigerator by some wise, unknown person; it reads, “Peace, it does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.” Amen.

My vision was distorted: I did not recognize my connection with it all. There were times where I refused to see the opportunity before me, the adventure at hand. I was clinging to what was familiar. I only saw my little corner of the multiverse and forgot that I am, energetically speaking, part and parcel of it all. There is a whole world before me, and I had forgotten to look up from my desk.

I am embarrassed to admit that I am a woman over 50 who still struggles with some fear - and some very silly fears at that. And, I still deal with the ego dance. My turtle home is safe and comfortable; it offers protection, and it keeps me hidden.

And, yet, I also know there have been no missteps. Some quiet moments have been for healing and knitting together the splintered parts of me. Some moments have served to replenish and restore me; other moments have allowed the quiet voice to be heard and the guidance to be known.

I now choose to see differently. I have taken off my blinders. I want to say, “Yes,” to all, large and small, green and glorious, which makes me think of the wonderful e e cummings poem:

i thank You God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

Cummings also said, “I imagine that yes is the only living thing.” I think he is quite right.

Today, I choose to live more fully; today, I say, “Yes, God” to everything.
© copyright 2008 by Adele Ryan McDowell