The Path of Wholeness

Posted on May 25, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

You make me whole again,
steering me off worn, hard paths.
–Psalm 23:3 (The Voice, adapted)

A part of me gets pretty loud
when space isn’t given to others,
equality isn’t honoured,
feelings are dismissed,
or fear is preached.

I squirm in my seat,
anger prickling.
I want to stand up
and set things right.

“Of course you do,”
I hear You say,
meeting me on
that worn, hard path
of criticism and blame.

You take my hand in yours.
We sit awhile
and remember
the times I was dishonoured
and dismissed.
You know how the path became hard,
and why I travelled this way.

“Of course you did,”
You say.

Then, You show me another path
that has enough grace to let go,
enough compassion to see,
enough patience to wait,
enough faith
that You can be trusted
to reveal and restore

and if and when I can help,
I will know 
what to do
and what to say
out of wholeness.

You lead me in the path of goodness
to follow Love’s way.
–Psalm 23:3
Nan C. Merrill, Psalms for Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness

Credits and References:
“Lady walking” by Steve. Used with permission.
The Path of Wholeness by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
“Two paths diverged in a green wood…” by Dan Irizarry. 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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A Long, Loving Look

Posted on May 17, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

 Jesus spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him and asked, “Do you see anything?” He looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.” Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.
–Mark 8-22-25 (NIV)

Some things I don’t want to see.
I cover my eyes and hope
when I open them again,
the internet will be working,
I won’t get my days mixed up,
and I’ll remember to do
both things on my list.

Then I noisily crash into reality
and panic,
losing all rational thought
which only makes things worse.

It’s embarrassing,
disruptive,
and humbling.

But as I take a long, loving look at the real,
I notice
the world didn’t come to an end,
my friends didn’t desert me,
and I was able to carry on.

Like the blind man Jesus healed,
at first, I only see trees walking around
bashing into things.
Then, I see Jesus
and his beautiful eyes
in the faces of my friends
taking a long, loving look
at me.

Take a long loving look at the real.
–Walter Burghardt, SJ

Credits and References:
“Autumn” by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
A Long, Loving Look by Esther Hizsa, 2025
“Ginko Joy” by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
More about taking a long, loving look go to A Long, Loving Look at the Real by Vanita Hampton Wright, Ignatian Spirituality.
© 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
Posted in ADHD, Aging, community, compassion, Humour, Poetry, Poverty of Spirit, Praying with the Imagination, Reflections, Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Conversion of Rosie: Part 1

Posted on May 10, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

I took my mom to get her hair cut.
Since she had chemo over a year ago, 
no hairdresser’s been able to tame her soft white hair.
She looks like Punk Rocker meets Alfalfa.

Once, I saw her elderly tablemate trying to fix it.
I felt so bad.
I blamed myself.
Then I remembered,
Mom was the one who wanted it cut shorter.
She’s the one who thinks it’s fine.

That’s when I saw a part of myself so clearly–
the part that feels responsible,
the part that wants to make everything better,
wonders if I should take the job nobody wants,
fleetingly considers buying the house that’s still on the market,
and has already found the solution to your problem.

I’ve named this part of me Rosie,
as in We-Can-Do-It, Rosie the Riveter.

The morning I wanted to have a little chat with Rosie
to let her know who’s in charge,
I read the story of Saul’s conversion.
He was the guy trying to fix the problem of those Christians
when he got knocked off his horse, blinded,
and then lovingly restored and set in a new direction.

He wanted what was best for his people and his God
but going about it all wrong.

I suspect it’s the same for Rosie.

So, maybe, when I meet up with her for coffee,
I need to do more listening
than speaking.

“Parts are little inner beings who are trying their best to keep you safe.”
― Richard C. Schwartz, No Bad Parts: Healing Trauma and Restoring Wholeness with the Internal Family Systems Model

Credits and References:
Image of Alfalfa from the Little Rascals Creative Commons.
Saul’s conversion is in Acts 9.
The Conversion of Rosie: Part 1 by Esther Hizsa, 2025
Image of Rosie the Riveter by Norman Rockwell by Steven Zucker. 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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Expanding and Contracting

Posted on May 6, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

Once the crowd realized that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they got into the boats and went to Capernaum in search of Jesus.–John 6:24 

I was in the crowd
sitting on that grassy hillside.
You fed us bread from heaven,
deliciously filled us
with all the love 
we ever wanted.

Then you left.

How you got to the other side of the lake
is a mystery, and now
everyone is scrambling, setting out in haste
while I stand there frozen.

I find you
and lose you.
I find peace
and lose it.

I expand: arms out, soul free, floating on grace.
I contract: fearful, trapped in dark thoughts.

One moment, I’m on a hillside,
and the next, stranded on the shore.

One moment, breathing out fullness,
and the next, gasping for air.

Men help their wives and children into boats,
push off from the shore, then climb in,
while I remain behind,
envious and released from their energy.

I  breathe out,
breathe in,
expand,
contract.

Oars and voices recede,
until I hear nothing but bird and breath.
In the stillness, I begin to
see what you see,
feel what you feel.
Tears gather in my chest.

In each expansion,
I fill every inch of you–
head to toe,
down your arms, wrists, hands
and tingle in your fingertips.

In each contraction,
I scrunch up into your heart,
burrow deeper than you could ever hope for or imagine,
and you smell my newborn hair
and cradle my tiny feet.

Healing comes less like a falcon
with mighty wings,
and more like an earthworm… tightening up,
then stretching out, tightening up
and stretching out …
Contract. Expand. Contract. Expand.
from How the Healing Comes by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Credits and References:
Feeding of the Five Thousand image posted by pcstratman. Used with permission.
Expanding and Contracting by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
Sea of Galilee by Ostaleri. Used with permission.

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

Posted in compassion, Mindfulness, Mystical, Poetry, Prayer, Praying with the Imagination, Reflections, Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Signs of Resurrection

Posted on April 26, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

On Sunday morning while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb
and saw that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance.
–John 20:1 (CEV)

The first sign of Christ’s resurrection came early.
I recognized it when I walked into my mom’s apartment
to take her to church Good Friday.
The long-awaited gerbera was in full bloom,
and Mom greeted me the way she used to
before chemotherapy hijacked her brain.

“It’s my first Easter without Dad,” she said.
She wanted to piece together what she couldn’t remember.
She wanted to see the cherry blossoms in Oyama,
to enjoy a cappuccino,
and share it all with her children,
and she did
on a gloriously sunny afternoon.
And I got to be there,
savouring each moment
of a day that would not last.

Meanwhile, my gynecologist called
and left a message:
My pathology reports came back negative.

Holy Saturday, I awoke with the poem that was missing.
I wrote it, posted it, and then went off
to the last gathering of the drum circle for the season.
We drummed, sang and danced 

Fill your cup
Drink it up …
The fish in the water’s not thirsty.

I thought of the cup Jesus drank:
the cup of his life,
the cup of suffering,
the cup of loved ones waking up and falling asleep,
the cup of trusting
there is more going on than what we see,
the piercing sadness,
the fearful joy…
the cup of what is–
life coming to us,
Love coming to us,
moment by moment.

Early Sunday morning,
I awoke knowing
how to make peace with 
what I planned to post on my blog for Easter.
I revised it
then rushed off to church
to hear afresh that
the stone had been rolled away,
to know afresh that
no stone can block the movement of God–
not the weather or cancer,
not stubborn unforgiveness,
or unshakable fears,
or our inability to stay awake.

Nothing can restrain
resurrection.

Love will abide forever; for
You have established Yourself
in secret places
seeking our receptive hearts,
already making Your
dwelling place within.
–Psalm 9:9-10 (adapted),
Nan Merrill, Psalms for Praying

Credits and References:
Yellow Gerbera Plant by Vitya_maly on GoodFon.com. Creative Commmons.
Signs of Resurrection by Esther Hizsa, 2025
Fill Your Cup is one of the Dances of Universal Peace.
Sunrise by jeiline. 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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A Poem, Prayer and Song for Earth Day

Posted on April 22, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

Awakening

I remember the moment
I stood by the ocean
and heard You whisper,
in each wave that encircled my feet,
that the earth on which I stood
and everything in it
is Your body.

The air I breathe
is Your breath,
the sand, Your skin,
the love You feel
painted in
the morning mist,
the pounding rain,
the endless blue sky,
and tulips.

Holy is the crocus opening to the sun.
Holy is the ancient, rooted cedar.
Holy is the mountain gathering clouds.
Holy is the robin singing Your song.

In the morning, thank You, thank You,
In the evening, thank You, thank You.
In the middle of the day, thank You, thank You,
In the deep, dark night, thank You, thank You.
–Sara Thomsen, Rhapsody of Rest

Credits and References:
Canon Beach by Tjflex2. Used with permission.
Awakening by Esther Hizsa, 2025
Tulips from my garden by Randi Hausken. 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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Resurrection Is Personal

Posted on April 20, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

Resurrection 
isn’t just about living forever.
It’s about living now
and how we pick up our cross,
go through death
and become
a new revised version of ourselves.
Resurrection is personal.

I remember the Easter I entered the tomb
after denying Christ in me three times.
Three times I was Judas.

I can go through periods of time
when I’m the beloved disciple
people want to be around
and wonder if the part of me
that can be so insensitive
so unkind
so hurtful
has finally died.
I want to believe this shiny new me
is here to stay.

Then the dreaded thing happens
again, and again, and again,
and I realized that
the transformation I desire is not happening.
It likely never will.

I spent three days in darkness
letting go of the hope
that I will learn from my mistakes,
and finally become
the person I wish I could be.

In the light of dawn,
a new thought emerged from the tomb.

I wondered
what it would be like
to love that dark part of me
even when other people can’t,

to stand with her when she feels the pain she caused,
hold her when she sees her mistake,
and forgive her
seven times seventy times,

to release her from the expectation
that this can never happen again.

And now I know.
Now I know
peace.

 

Credits and References:
“Resurrection of Lazarus” by Andrey Mironov 2011, CC licence via Wikimedia Commons
“Resurrection Is Personal” by Esther Hizsa, first published April 17, 2022, revised in 2025.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly 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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Scheduling a Time to Grieve

Posted on April 19, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

I told my spiritual director
about the deep grief
that overwhelmed me after my surgery
and my grief returned
quietly with tears.

We listened
–You, my spiritual director and I–
to that tender part of me
and heard
what was lost,
how it felt,
and what it feared.

After a while, I sensed it felt
comforted and
safe again.

“What do you need,” I asked my grief.

“To live closer to the surface,
to be more easily heard,
and felt,” it told me.

I had said to my brother
when I got home from the hospital,
“I suppose it’s a gift to experience this.
It’s not like you can schedule grief in, say
on Tuesday at four o’clock, I’m going to have a good cry.”

No, we can’t schedule it in
but I can listen for grief gently knocking,
notice the wisps of tears
forming in my chest,
and take a moment to gather them in
like a hen gathers her chicks
instead of brushing them away
like unwanted crumbs
with tidy, hopeful admonitions.

No, we can’t schedule grief in,
only welcome it when it comes,
and be with it so it isn’t all alone.

But if we could schedule a time to grieve,
it would be today,
Holy Saturday,
that long, painful day between
Your dying and rising.

Today is the day for
gathering chicks
and letting tears fall.

Credits and References:
Scheduling a Time to Grieve by Esther Hizsa, 2025.
See the post on April 11 The Healing Power of Compassion for the back story to this post.
© 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
Posted in compassion, Easter, Poetry, Reflections | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

This Good Friday

Posted on April 18, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

Crucifixion by Ukrainian artist Natalya Rusetskain

You take in all our suffering
feel
every violent act 
every hope destroyed
each final breath.

From the cross
you see
through our denial
and delusions.
No justification dares return your gaze.

From the cross
your eyes
find ours.

In them, we see
love
forgiveness
God with us
always.

You see
the seed of yourself
in us

and call us forth
to live
and love
the world
you died for.

Credits and References:
Crucifixion by Ukrainian artist Natalya Rusetskain. Used with permission.
“This Good Friday” originally published April 15, 2022.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2025.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly 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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The Healing Power of Compassion

Posted on April 11, 2025 by Esther Hizsa

I awoke after surgery 
expecting pain
and discomfort
but I didn’t expect
a hidden grief
to break free, 
rise up and
overwhelm
me.

In that moment,
I knew,
as solidly as I knew anything,
I needed
a hand to hold–
a friend who
understood
to stay with me
in this cyclone
of sadness.

“I need you for a minute,”
I texted my friend.
“Here now – yes,” she answered.
So, I called.
She listened–
held me
and all I was feeling–

and the healing power
of compassion
eased my soul.

Lean on me when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend.
I’ll help you carry on...
We all need somebody to lean on.
–Bill Withers

Credits and References:
Image of a cyclone from Picryl Creative Commons.
The Healing Power of Compassion by Esther Hizsa, 2025
Image of sky after a storm from PxHere. Creative Commons.
© 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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