How Traveling is Much Like Love

When you set off on a journey 

you leave the familiar behind. 

You have a vision and hope

for all that you will

see and do. 

You quickly discover that

however much you have planned–

things won’t happen 

as you expected. 
You spent too much

for something that 

did not last;

your timing is off 

and you rushed through

where you might have

savored more. 
What looked beautiful and inviting 

was a disappointment. 

You are surprised by how much

you delight in the 

unplanned route. 
You may be tempted to

punish yourself with

the interior litany

of flaws in your choices,

but

if you catch yourself so,

find a shady spot 

with a view,

take a deep breath

and pay attention 

to all around you. 
You never know

who is walking 

the path toward 

you

and what 

glory is

around the corner. 

©Laurie Lynn Newman

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Light and Dark

What fear makes

your hand tremble

and your heart hammer

for what is hidden from

sight

and has the

power to keep you 

awake

in the early 

morning minutes
when there is a chill

in the air

and a feeling

that you are

alone

in all 

the world?
In the darkness

you must remember 

that

the sun will rise

again

and with it

the anthem of the

wakened rooster

and the 

morning chorus

of crows. 
When light

slowly seeps across

the indigo sky

it is easier 

to breathe and hope

that all will be

well. 
But, it is in the

darkness

and the wisdom of no light
 that

trust is 

born. 

©Laurie Lynn Newman

Photo: by Donna Burklo. (used by permission )

Hindsight and Now

Looking back, I 

glimpse

the racial hatred that

simmered in my own

extended

family

and the church 

I attended 

when visiting 

my grandparents. 
I helped my grandpa

hand out bulletins

as people 

walked into 

the sanctuary. 

In the early seventies 

I remember him,

tall, weathered,

blue-eyes

matching his light blue

summer Sunday suit,

standing at the church

doorway, 
discussing with another

church deacon

the problem of 

those “n—-s!

taking over.”

He repeated a similar 

diatribe against

Negroes (the appropriate word 

used then) at the family

dinner table one 

evening, along with

the hateful words

“greasy, lazy”.

I was shocked then,

because I loved my grandpa

and I knew his behavior was

wrong. 
Years later, I met

my beautiful friend,

Mary. 

She was an ordained 

Episcopal priest, 

who had also been

a model. Her elegance

and style made her 

seem younger than her years. 

She told me the story 

of moving as a child, with her large,

sharecropping family 

to a new town. 

Together, they walked

a couple of miles

to a new church. 

They were barred from 

entering the sanctuary 

because of their 

dark-colored skin. 

I gasped as Mary told me this. 

She gave me a steady look, saying:

“You know this happened.”

She said it as a firm 

fact.
And the years rolled away 

as my hindsight confirmed the

truth of her experience 

and our nation’s 

sin. 

I had only been 

too comfortable 

in my own life

to forget for a time,

the scars that

others bear for 

the blame, 

scapegoating 

of

the other. 
Having privilege 

means, in part,

blindness 

to your own 

privilege. 

Just now, none of us

can afford to

not see

where the blame and hatred

that boils up generation,

after generation,

is driving 

us. 
©Laurie Lynn Newman 

How to Live When Things Are Not “Normal”


1.  Wake up. 

2.  Remember that this day is gift. 

3.  Get out of bed. 

4.  Notice beauty. ( Are the birds chirping?

Is there a cool breeze?  A sunrise? A smile?)

5.  Give thanks. 

6.  Take care of yourself. (Stretch. Walk, if you can, or run, skip, swim  or do Tai Chi). 

7.  Keep abreast of the news, but only once. Do not replay it one thousand times. 

8.  Find someone to share food with. Have a picnic. 

9.  Put the phone away for some minutes and take deep breaths. 

10.  Listen to music. ( If you can find someone playing in person, and make music together, even better!)

11.  Create something. 
12.  Live as though today is the most precious moment. 

©Laurie Lynn Newman

Where the Heart Is

Now, left with some

days and weeks mostly free of obligation 

with a calendar that is blessedly blank,

the wanderlust that lives in me

is quietly musing

while I sit on the front stoop

and watch the hummingbird 

sample the red and purple blossoms. 

The jogging mom pushing 

the baby-buggy greets me

and I hear the persistent drone

of honeybees. 

I have so many questions:

How did we, as a country,

allow ourselves

to slide into such unbridled 

darkness?

Where is the balance between 

engaged activism and wise acceptance?

What do my sons need most from me

as they make their first grown-up

choices? When to stay silent

and when to speak?

How do I see what is not illusion 

but truth , in all its fearful 

brilliance

and quiet

shade?

©Laurie Lynn Newman

Lake-walk


This day may be full

of all that needs to be done

and then some. 

And your shoulders might ache a little

with the weight of responsibility. 

It may seem like rest

and peace is a concept 

flitting even beyond your dreams. 
But somewhere,

pillow-clouds are floating above

a serene lake

while the sun warms the earth. 

Dragonflies are sailing over thistle

and sage is swaying a waltz 

in the purple field. 
If you are too tired to dream,

then simply hold

open your heart 

and your mind to 

hope. 

It will find the quiet nook

in you and 

sing. 

©Laurie Lynn Newman 

After-Rain


In the dust-blown desert,

parched as a runner

at marathon’s end
rain comes suddenly 

lightning forking the darkened sky,

the popping of thunder
gun-like and stark:

a reminder of nature’s strength,

frightening and exquisitely powerful. 
Within seconds, water is sliding

over rocks and dirt

and pooling in puddles. 
From the earth arises

a fragrance that pricks the nose

with freshness. 
The air is charged with energy and 

the sweet earthy  petrichor. 

We breathe it in, we breathe it out.