I'm Listening to Your Heart
The Courage it Takes
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Contemplative Journaling/Coloring Prompt for Fall: Letting Go
With the advent of October, many of us find ourselves shifting gears toward the last quarter of the year. We may be taking note of what has or has not been accomplished so far. We may be taking a clear-eyed look at what can reasonably be attained in the traditionally-busy months ahead. We may be wondering how to lighten the load, that we might travel with ease and clarity.
I want to offer you a FREE downloadable coloring/journal page that invites reflection on the question: What am I invited to let go of in this season?
Simply visit the link here to download or print the document. (Note: Your printer may say the margins are outside of the printable area. No worries, just click "ok" and go ahead and print as-is.)
I hope you enjoy this contemplative prompt and, if you find you'd like to discuss your experience, please reach out to schedule a time to talk: Chripczuk.kelly@gmail.com .
On Seeking and Finding Contemplative Experience
I write for a local ministry's newsletter once a month. For awhile now, I've looked back through old writing and offered that for their publication, but this month I wanted to share something new. Problem was, I didn't have any "fresh" contemplative experience to speak of (it's a contemplative newsletter) and I realized you can't force contemplative experience, you can only make yourself available. Sometimes, even that feels like it's asking too much.
In the end, I ended up sending this poem I wrote the other day. It seems that one key to contemplative awareness is the willingness to show up where we are, as we are.
With love,
Kelly
Some mornings, it’s easier
to fill the bird feeder
than to fill my soul.
I’d rather trim
the rose bushes
than prune
my heart of its
unnecessary
attachments.
So, I do.
And when
I’m done,
the window
in front of my desk
is brighter,
more open,
and my heart
holds hope
yesterday’s
cardinal will return
and I will
watch him
as he watches
me.
-K. Chripczuk
1
For When There Is Fear
Love Leads Us Out, Love Draws Us Back Again
* This piece of writing is 6 years old. Much has changed in those years and much has stayed the same.
All four kids took turns rummaging through the large metal pot that my husband uses to store old nuts, bolts, washers, and nails. After choosing their wares, they made robots, tiny friends composed of wing bolts and screws. They each made three or four and named them based on appearance and abilities.






