Jodi Hills

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


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The light within.

It’s only two laps in the pool. The time it takes to check the mailbox. Or the final crisping of the crust on the baguettes baking in the oven. Less than the length of my favorite song. Just two minutes. But we begin to lose this precious two minutes of light every day now. 

It’s impossible to hold on to. I try to grab it like a birthday balloon, but the string floats out of reach. This time. This lit time. And it seems frightening at first. No way to capture it. Time is like that. So what’s to be done? My only thought is this — we can still light it. Not with sun, but with attention. With glowing thoughts perhaps. Smiles, yes, that could work. There is a light to joy, isn’t there? Yes, yes. I believe it. So instead of worrying about what is slipping through my hands, I give thanks for what is captured in my heart. And I am lit from within. Minute by glorious minute. With each bite of the fresh bread from the oven, the kitchen shines a little brighter. The reflections dance off the pool that I swim, and the gravel I walk. 

The sun is merely our head start, our best example…the lead which we must take on daily, with hearts and minds that know no time constraints. I wrote once, “nothing is lighter than joy.” I meant weight at the time, but I think it works the same with absolute shine! Either and both, I’m going to carry it with me.


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The grand torch.

I can’t say I ever followed boxing. Of course I had heard of him, Muhammad Ali. But my limited impression was mostly bravado. But then in 1996, when he appeared on the Olympic stage, fragile, all in white, I took notice. Arms trembling, he moved gingerly across the stage. No “floating” or “stinging”…but what I saw, what we all saw, was pure strength. I held my breath as the shaking flame tried to grab hold. Seconds passed. And then it took. The flame shot up to the official grand torch, and the sky lit with the power of vulnerability.

We have a tendency to ooooh and aaaah at the fantastic — at human feats of strength. And we should. But the truth is, they are happening all around us, all the time. I suppose the only real difference is the lighting. Not engulfed under an Olympic size flame, but rather within the subtle glowing of grace. Not emboldened by uniform or flag, but inner strength. Those who dare to brave the challenges of heart and body, and face the day with kindness still. 

In a couple of days, the Olympic torch will pass through our French city. A grand event, for sure, but it makes me smile, as I look at the pictures of my mother on the wall…my grandfather, my grandmother…the torch has already been passed.