There are moments in life that become sacred not because we planned them...
But because we were present enough to notice them.
This was one of those moments.
The warmth of the early summer morning had already begun to settle over the stone circle.
The rising sun mixed with the warmth of the fire burning at its center, while ribbons of smoke drifted gently through the air. As the breeze carried the smoke across our bodies, it felt as though the fire itself was offering a quiet blessing before the day unfolded.
In just a few moments, I would be guiding our group into a womb healing session.
As I prepared, one woman was especially on my heart.
She had experienced one of life's greatest heartbreaks.
The loss of her son.
There are some experiences that forever change the landscape of our hearts, and this was one of them.
Over the years, she had shared something beautiful with me.
Whenever her son wanted to let her know he was near, she would often find a frog or a toad.
Most often, it happened while she was quietly tending her gardens.
She would be pulling weeds or watering flowers when she would suddenly become aware of his presence.
Then, almost as though the world had gently whispered, "Look," her eyes would land on a tiny frog or toad patiently sitting nearby.
It had become their language.
Not one built with words.
But one woven through presence.
As I walked toward the tent to retrieve my drum, I heard one of the women in our group giggling.
It was the kind of laugh that naturally makes you smile before you even know why.
I looked toward her.
Then I looked down.
There, tucked beneath the shade of the tent, sat the tiniest little toad.
The moment my eyes landed on it, something shifted inside of me.
It wasn't a thought.
It wasn't my mind trying to make meaning.
It was quieter than that.
My body already knew.
There are moments when Spirit speaks so softly that our minds never have the opportunity to interrupt.
This was one of those moments.
I gently called her over.
Without saying much, I simply invited her to look.
The moment her eyes found the tiny toad, tears immediately filled hers.
She slowly knelt in the grass.
There was no rush.
No need to explain.
No need to convince anyone of what she was experiencing.
She simply extended her hand.
Not to catch the tiny toad.
Not to make anything happen.
Just to offer her presence.
And in its own time...
The tiny toad met her.
A single tear rolled down her cheek and disappeared into the morning dew.
The fire continued to crackle behind us.
The smoke danced through the circle.
The trees swayed gently in the breeze.
It felt as though all of creation had become still enough to witness the moment with her.
She carefully lifted the tiny toad into her hand.
There was such tenderness in the way she held it.
Not gripping.
Not clinging.
Simply receiving.
As I watched her, I realized something.
So much of our healing asks the same thing of us.
We spend so much of our lives chasing.
Searching.
Trying to force clarity.
Trying to manufacture healing.
Trying to make life reveal its answers.
But perhaps healing asks something different.
Perhaps healing asks us to soften.
To become available.
To stop chasing what is meant for us long enough that it has the opportunity to find us.
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
In that moment, I felt something I still struggle to describe.
The ache of a mother missing her son...
And the joy of feeling connected to him again.
Two emotions.
Completely different.
Both entirely true.
"He is here," she whispered.
I simply nodded.
Some moments are too sacred for explanations.
She smiled through her tears and slowly walked back toward the stone circle to begin the womb session.
As she stepped into the circle, I felt my own body take a deep breath.
A quiet wave of peace moved through me.
I don't know why some moments become sacred.
I don't know why a tiny toad found its way beneath that tent on that particular morning.
I don't know why some signs arrive exactly when our hearts need them most.
And truthfully...
I don't think I need to know.
What I do know is this.
Presence changes everything.
When we slow down...
When we soften...
When we become available...
We begin noticing that life has been speaking to us all along.
Not always through extraordinary miracles.
Sometimes through a conversation that arrives at exactly the right moment.
Sometimes through the warmth of a fire.
Sometimes through tears that finally fall after years of being held back.
Sometimes through another person's embrace.
And sometimes...
Through a tiny little toad waiting quietly beneath a tent on an early summer morning.
A Gentle Reflection
Before you move on with your day...
Pause.
Take one slow breath.
What has life been quietly placing in front of you that you've been moving too quickly to notice?
Perhaps today isn't asking you to search for a sign.
Perhaps it's simply inviting you to become present enough to recognize the ones that are already here.
You don't need to have all the answers.
Simply notice.
Because sometimes the most profound moments in our lives don't arrive with fanfare.
They arrive quietly...
Waiting for us to become still enough to receive them.