I didn’t know my soul could long for more than just heaven. I didn’t know my soul craved the scent of pine and fir, the spray of salt, the prayer of a heron standing in a river. Until too recently, I thought my soul was only for the afterlife. What I have since come to understand is that our soul is here for something so much more than being chased away from the gates of hell.

I remember a particular time in my twenties when I was in a hurried, harried state, wearing extra large bossy pants, slamming doors and snapping at my dad who was soaking up my frustration while waiting for me to be ready to leave my apartment. After he has enough, he gently places his hand on my shoulder and asks, “Jaclyn, what is the matter? Why are you speaking to me like that?

“I KNOW MOUNTAINS because I have stood on precipices and breathed.  I know prairie because I have lain on my back and been absorbed by the sky.  I know the ocean because I have immersed myself in it and felt the pull of its current. If I want to know life, I need to experience its wonder and breathe it in with every breath. If I want to know possibility, I need to see its immensity and allow it to absorb me. If I want to know faith, I need to surrender to it and feel it pulling me in its unseen direction.”

I wish I could describe how challenging it was to allow my Substack to go public. Not because of outside resistance, but because of inner resistance. That critical in-your-head voice that often says stuff like:

“You’re not good enough.”

“Who would want to read this?”

“They will laugh and judge you.”

“No one wants your vulnerability.”