#gratitudetraining

Which title do we like for this? “Cradled by Grace” “Where Grief Meets Hope” “The Energy That Remains” “When Miracles Find Each Other” -

There’s a moment in part two of the trainings, during breakthrough, where the weight of your body is lifted off the ground. Your team carries you, cradles you, as if to say: you don’t have to hold yourself up anymore, not in this moment. You are safe to surrender, safe to trust. I think of her when I think of that moment.

She is the kind of woman who doesn’t just send a selfie but a window into her soul, framed like a photoshoot, as if she knew I needed to see not just her image but her intention. She speaks of family and children and of a life shared, yet she honors the pace of my steps, the tender slowness I carry after losing the love of my life. She makes me feel considered, thought of, and cherished.

And she understands, because she has also walked through fire. She too has lost her husband to cancer, she too knows the sharp edge of grief that never fully leaves, only softens. In her, I see someone who carries both sorrow and hope, someone who has chosen not to be broken by loss but reshaped by it. That kind of resilience is rare. She is a miracle.

I imagine sitting in dyads with her, eyes locked, silent, unflinching, until time itself melts away. In that gaze, words are unnecessary. It is a mirror of the soul. Physical beauty fades, as it always does. Wrinkles form, skin loosens, bodies weaken. I know this deeply as I watch my grandmother, frail in her hospice bed, dignity surrendered to nurses and caretakers. Yet even in that decline, there is love. There is energy that refuses to be diminished.

That is what matters. Not the status, not the wealth, not the titles, not the degrees gathering dust. Energy outlives possessions. Love transcends appearances. The fine lines of age become maps of a life well-lived, etched into faces that once shone with youthful glamour. When the world strips us of everything material, only the energy remains... the kind we invested, the kind we shared.

With her, I feel that energy already. A pulse of something familiar, something worth the risk of opening my heart again. She speaks of raising her twins vegan, of nourishing them with the same values I hold dear. She speaks of church, of wanting me to guide her and her children into God’s house. She speaks my language, the language of faith and of the work we both have done... Clearings, resolution, communication, truth. God brought us together. It feels like the angels celebrate in Heaven with parties full of toasts and popping Champagne when we kiss. I feel interconnected with this soul already and it's so soon...

I’m not just waiting to touch her skin. I’m waiting to touch eternity where it lives inside her. To trace with my hands what God wrote in her bones. To map the quiet universes between her breaths.

I want to meet her not only in a room, but in every hidden place inside her soul. To slip past fear and pretense, to the raw center where bodies and spirits recognize each other before names are spoken.

I imagine our souls braided like rivers. Currents mingling, our laughter rising like prayer, our silence holding more than words ever could.

This is not just desire. It is a pilgrimage. A slow, holy approach to a temple where skin is only the doorway and love is what waits inside.

Physically, emotionally, mentally, energetically — all the ways we are made. All the ways we are meant to intertwine. A communion of two beings, not to consume but to complete, not to conquer but to connect.

When that day comes, I want to arrive with an open heart and clean hands, to love her in every dimension, to honor the miracle of being allowed to hold another soul so closely.