Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

Leave a comment

For good.

They were the whitest things I had ever seen. So delicate. When my mom handed them to me, I couldn’t believe they were my size. They weren’t winter gloves. And my birthday had passed. It wasn’t yet Easter. “Could I try them on?” “Of course,” she said. I slipped my chubby little fingers in the first one. And then the next. I wriggled the tiny faux pearl button into the opposite string on my wrist. I put each arm out. One at a time. And gazed at them, as maybe only little girls do. “Are they for good?” I asked, meaning for special occasions, holidays. “Yes,” she nodded. “They’re for YOU.” I beamed. It was me. I was the special occasion.

I wore them all day. Pulling my stuffed animals and baby dolls in my rusted wagon. Up and down the gravel road. I’m sure they got dirty. But I only remember the pureness of it all. Of the love given freely. My mother never waited for a special occasion. I knew I was loved. Every day.

We have a wine refrigerator. In it there are wines from the grocery store. Some that were gifts. Some that were purchased at very exclusive vineyards. I don’t pretend to know a lot about wine. I have caught myself at times thinking, when pulling out a bottle for a Tuesday evening, is this too good for a Tuesday? Should we save it? I shake my head and know – we are the good, the special, the occasion to be celebrated.

I encourage you to light the candle. Drink the wine. Wear the nice clothes. Eat the chocolate. Speak freely and often the words of love! For good!

Leave a comment

This little light of mine.

I have lit candles in churches from the top of the red rocks in Sedona, Arizona to the Sacré-Cœur in Paris. In Rome. And New England. Minneapolis. Sometimes I say a prayer. Names of those I love. Wishes. Hopes. Sometimes I just breathe. Not in search of miracles. And I have chased them for sure, but it seems my handful (heartful) of miracles never came in moments of flee, but only moments of calm. It makes sense then, I guess, to give thanks in the same way, in the quiet glow of a candle.

I was gifted two new candles recently. And the real gift is, they know me!  I love candles. And I light them immediately. I can no more imagine saving a candle, than saving love. I want to experience it now! So I lit the new candle in my bathroom yesterday, and for the first time, it seemed so clear — I wasn’t just lighting a candle — I was lighting a candle! (Sacré-Cœur). Every moment is special, sacred. Prayers and thanks are as real and magical in the ordinary as the extraordinary. 

My heart smiled. It is not a cathedral, but it is my heart, my life, and as the song says, “I’m gonna let it shine.”