Hey God,

I’m here, checking in with You.

I’m wondering what to write about today; I’m feeling as though before I begin writing the blog I need to have a topic.

Yet, today when I take a moment and check within, there seems to be a blank slate, an empty canvas.

I feel like an artist with each key I tap on the keyboard . . . the tap, tap, tapping is serving like a stroke taken with a drawing pen or paint brush.

It’s kind of fun, discovering as I create word-by-word today’s blog posting what the topic is.

Interesting how well trained I’ve become in thinking I need an agenda to get started on something rather than allowing myself the joy of discovery that comes through an organic creation.

Right now I’m aware of feeling so blessed.

I just completed 20 hours in a volunteer training program with Hospice Austin.

I saw a video this morning that deeply moved me. . . moved me into experiencing a deeper healing around my dad’s death some 30 years ago.

At that time, there was so little known about Alzheimer’s.

I still can vividly recall some of the challenges we faced as a family, watching Dad fade away from his once active dynamic fatherly role.

Yet, through those challenges, we grew as a family unit . . . we grew in our loving for each other and for Dad.

There was a particular scene in this morning’s video that hit such a responsive chord in my heart, triggering a memory of me sitting at Dad’s hospital bed side just before he passed on.

The scene in the video showed a hospice worker and a Alzheimer’s patient.

The patient could not speak. The patient was very withdrawn into her own inner world. The patient’s movements were very limited.

The hospice worker was so present with the patient, meeting her right where she was in that moment.

The hospice worker was singing to the patient, Jesus Loves Me.

The song . . . the lyrics . . . the beat . . . were clearly connecting heart-to-heart the patient and the hospice worker.

The patient began tapping her hand and moving her body in near perfect rhythm with the hospice worker’s singing voice.

Witnessing this video, I felt myself traveling to Silvis, Illinois and Illini Hospital on a Friday, March 9, 1979.

I saw myself sitting in the hospital room with Dad; he was confined to his hospital bed. The sun was setting in the western sky.

Dad was on the edge of passing on.

On the stage of my creative imagination, I created a new, revised scene for Dad’s passing on.

I sat at his side, holding his hand and singing to him,

Jesus loves me.

This I know

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong;

They are weak, but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

The Bible tells me so.

Oh, what a healing experience it was for me to create and play out this scene on the stage of my creative imagination.

It all seemed so very real; and it seemed as though the child in me, Bobby . . . the child that Dad so loved . . . was touching the child in my dad.

I don’t recall my dad telling me very much about his childhood.

I do know upon the death of Dad’s mother that he, at a very young age, was thrust into taking on the role of being an active care giver for his younger sister and brother, thus leaving behind his childhood.

Yeah, I recognize more clearly now, God, the value in writing sometimes with no topic in mind.

The organic writing process is almost like the game Follow the Leader.

The writing becomes a moment-by-moment journey of discovery, traveling with You, following Your lead in exploring the present moment.

It’s like pulling a golden thread of awareness and awakening more fully to the magnificence of life and what truly is happening right now.

Loving You,

Robert, aka Bob