A Walk with Rod

Posted on October 21, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

My friend Rod Janz and I went for a walk on the Okanagan Rail Trail in Vernon. Here is some of our conversation. (The title photo is of Fred and me in Banff National Park.)

By the way, you can find the blog post about belonging that I was referring to in our conversation here. You can find a Living from the Heart podcast (in which Rod interviewed Brent Unrau and me talking about belonging) here.

One more detail. The snake in the photo looked way bigger than it actually was. (Otherwise you would have seen a way bigger reaction!)

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The Story Isn’t Over

Posted on October 11, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

The day after I walked with a friend
and lamented about
my journey of letting go of
how I wish my mother would love me 
and accepting how she does, 
she had an up day. 

Her brain was back. 
She was full of vitality 
and questions. 
She wanted to know about her pills, 
why she woke feeling nauseated 
and what she could do about it. 
She asked her caregiver where she lived 
and enjoyed hearing about the birds she saw that morning.

She wanted to know about me.
How was I settling into Vernon? 
How did the sale and purchase of homes go? 
Did I want any of her furniture?

When I drove her home after a visit to our new place, 
she smiled and said,
“All the time I drove on this street, I never dreamed 
you would be living here.” 

She loved me 
the way I love to be loved.
And now I have to change the story 
I tell myself. 

You remember us, O Beloved, as we journey through life;
help us to live the Mystery.
—Psalm 106:4, Nan C Merrill, Psalms for Praying

Credits and References: 
Scenery around Rattlesnake Point, Kalamalka Lake Provincial Park, Vernon, BC by Adam Jones. Used with permission. 
The Story Isn’t Over by Esther Hizsa, 2025
Easter with Mom by Fred Hizsa
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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Claim Your Home

Posted on October 6, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

The Spirit is the one who makes
all things new, and ever
awaits our “Yes” to the 
Dance. 
… come. Claim your home in the
Universal heart.
from Psalm 110, Nan C. Merrill, Psalms for Praying 

Hold…
what happened 
lift it up in your cupped hands,
up out of the urge to deny, react, or change it. 
Lift it right up to your eyes. 
See it and name it. 

Feel…
the shock, anger, and rage,
the embarrassment and shame, 
the disappointment and loss. 

Feel… 
your breath, the Spirit, 
the Comforter, 
coming into and out of your pain, 
inviting you to dance.

Feel Love’s hand on your back,
Love’s strong embrace 
and confident lead.

Know… 
We are human. We make mistakes. 
We are one in God’s Universal heart.
If someone gains by your loss, 
welcome gratitude. 
We have all we need. 

Heal…
Let go of what’s not your fault. 
Let go of what is.
Forgive others. 
Forgive yourself. 

Claim your home in the Universal heart. 

Help me open my heart, so I can hold
All that I need to hold
Help me open my heart, so I can feel
All that I need to feel
Help me open my heart, so I can know
All that I need to know
Help me open my heart, so I can heal
All that I need to heal 
Music and Lyrics by Alexa Sunshine Rose

Credits and References: 
Heart by  g. Used with permission.
Claim Your Home by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Verbundenheit by Alice Popkorn. Used with permission
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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Clouds

Posted on September 27, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

I knew what was wrong 
and why I was bothered. 
It made no sense, 
and I told myself that. 

But the sadness didn’t go away 
even when I ate more for supper 
and snacked on one thing after another. 

In the morning, 
I was able to name it. 
I felt left out. 
I didn’t belong. 

I sat with that sad feeling 
and the little girl in me 
that felt it so intensely. 
I came alongside her.
God and I held her hands
and listened
and felt. 

Then I knew why she’d been 
so happy lately. 
I’d had one experience after another 
of being invited in, 
of belonging, 
of being loved. 

But that joy faded 
and this sadness rolled in 
like a thundercloud.
And here we are 
feeling it and holding hands, 
as it rolls away.

The avoidance of our inner demons — our fears of change and death, our rage and jealousy — only imbues these adversaries with greater power. The more we run away, the less chance we have of escaping. We must face suffering, move into it; only then can we become free from it. —Mingyur Rinpoche

Credits and References:
Image “One little bird against furious elements” by Ib Aarmo. Used with permission. 
Clouds by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Anvil Cloud over Canadian prairies by M. Orchard. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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False Alarm

Posted on September 19, 2025 by Esther Hizsa
 

My body didn’t get the memo 
that things that spark my anxiety 
and spike my cortisol–
an email from the lawyer, 
booking a flight, 
any change of plan– 
don’t threaten my life. 
They aren’t the end of the world. 

So I need to gently comfort 
my anxious body 
and remind her: 
It’s a false alarm. 
There’s no fire, 
no danger, 
and nothing to fear. 
I’m right here. 
We’ll be okay.

I see the birds up in the air.
I know You feed them, I know You care.
So won’t You teach me how I mean more to You than them.
In times of trouble, be my help again.
–Jon Guerra, I See the Birds

Credits and References:
Sprinkler Fire Alarm by Nick Sherman. Used with permission.
False Alarm by Esther Hizsa, 2025
Murder of Crows by TumblingRun. Used with permission
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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Cleansed

Posted on September 14, 2025 by Esther Hizsa
 

Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately he was cleansed of his leprosy. –Matthew 8:3 

An uncomfortable conversation 
sat in my belly undigested, 
occupying my thoughts, 
stopping the flow 
of oxygen. 

I looked up and saw 
Love. 
She gazed softly upon me, 
warming my skin, 
easing my heart. 

Love let the feelings rise– 
the shame of causing a problem, 
the fear I’m not enough, 
the disappointment that I’ve misunderstood
again. 

She invited me to turn
my soft gaze upon these darlings 
and the one who ignited them. 
Befriend them all  
and let them go, Love said. 
Let forgiveness flow. 

I breathed and imagined 
gazing softly, 
befriending, 
releasing.

Rest now. 
You’re safe, Love said. 
All is well. 

Peace. Be still. –Mark 4:39

Credits and References: 
Christ Healing a Leper by Rembrandt van Rijn by Picryl. Used with permission.
Cleansed by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Calm morning sea and boat. Small boat on blue sea in Makarska, Croatia, summer 2020 by Martin Vorel. Used with permission
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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No Place Like This

Posted on September 8, 2025 by Esther Hizsa
 

After ten days of packing, cleaning and saying goodbye
to our home of thirty years, 
Fred and I arrive back in Vernon, 
the snow globe of our lives
shaken and set down again.

What do I see as the snow swirls and falls?

Fires out of control, 
the sun a small red ball in the sky. 
A storage unit full, the rental truck returned.
Fred relieved and recovering. 

My siblings gathered around the table,
having travelled thousands of kilometres to be 
together while our mother still lives. 
We’re talking about high school,
making decisions, 
savouring food and wine,
kidding each other– 
gratitude, a holy presence. 

Our mother is here and not here,
sitting in her chair, legs raised, 
tapping her feet together from time to time
as if she’s Dorothy. 
There’s no place like home, 
no place like this.

No magic spell needed, 
no desire to return to the past,
only the wonder
of discovering what each moment reveals 
and the grace given to hold it. 

Watch closely: I am preparing something new;
it’s happening now, even as I speak, and you’re about to see it.
–Isaiah 43:19 (The Voice)

Credits and References:
Snowglobe 2 by  remediate.this. Used with permission. 
No Place Like This by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Fisheye Snowscape by  Lauren Waterman. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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Replanted

Posted on August 30, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

I dreaded this for so long– 
going through my belongings,
deciding what to keep, pitch, or give away,
packing, carting, loading. 

But we’re into it now.
The boxes are labelled and stacked. 
It’s happening.
We’re being
uprooted and replanted, 
moved from 
city to city, 
life to life, 
cup to pot

transplanted from
getting to giving, 
hiking to hobbling, 
pushing to resting,
planning to seeing how
the way forward reveals itself. 

I don’t like this work, 
but I like what You’re doing  
in me
from cup to pot
to garden.

A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses . . .
—Denise Levertov, Making Peace

Credits and References: 
Growing Roots and Replanting by  MissMessie. Used with permission. 
Replanted by Esther Hizsa, 2025
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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This Summer

Posted on August 23, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

This summer, 
we aren’t camping and hiking in the mountains. 
We’ve booked a moving truck, 
signed endless documents, 
and will spend our vacation packing, loading
and disposing of furniture. 

Then, of course, there’s the unloading and unpacking. 

This summer hasn’t offered us spacious days 
without to-do lists and deadlines looming. 

We don’t have resilient bodies and endless energy. 
Nor are we spared that awful feeling in the pit of our stomachs 
when surprised by 
another complication, 
another expense. 

This is hard, You say 
and hand me 
the most delicious peach I’ve ever tasted. 
This summer, 
the orchards are bursting with them. 

One summer, 
when I was little, 
my great aunt and uncle arrived from Switzerland. 
They were so happy to see us, 
she nearly suffocated me in her bountiful bosom, 
and he produced an endless supply of chocolate from his pockets. 

There is so much this summer  
doesn’t have for us, 
but all is not lost. 

Look out for it, You say, smiling. 

And I notice 
joy isn’t waiting until 
we’re all moved in 
but keeps arriving unannounced 
with peaches and hugs 
and chocolate in its pockets.

Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
–Carl Sandburg

Credits and References: 
Packing by Becky Stern. Used with permission. 
This Summer by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Chocolat by Chloé Chevalier. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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Letting Hope Land

Posted on August 15, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

I keep waiting for something to happen 
that will give my hope a place to land 
instead of
letting hope land
here
in this precarious place. 

It seemed like a joke. 
The monk chased by a tiger 
comes to a precipice, 
grabs a vine and swings himself over the edge 
and away from the tiger’s grasp. 
He looks down, and far below 
another tiger looks up at him and paces hungrily. 
Meanwhile, two mice gnaw away the vine. 
At that moment, he spies
a strawberry growing nearby. 
What does he do? 
He eats the strawberry. 
And it’s the sweetest one 
he’s ever tasted. 

It isn’t a joke. 
It’s my life 
and yours. 

We all want a stronger vine, 
a secure ledge, 
a life without tigers and cliffs, 
and You give us 
strawberries, 
the sweetest moments we’ve ever tasted.
As we take and eat, 
our eyes are opened. 

The One who gives strawberries 
will also catch us 
when the mice have had their fill. 

Some people trust the power of chariots or horses,
but we trust you, Lord God..
–Psalm 20:7 (CEV)

Credits and References: 
Strawberry by Michael Frank Franz. Used with permission. 
Letting Hope Land by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Strawberries by Paul Istoan. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2025.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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