 There are moments on the path when we can no longer walk by effort or logic alone. When the maps we’ve drawn start to blur. When the way forward doesn’t look clear, but the pull inside our body is unmistakable. It’s the pull of soul.
 This past Friday, as thunder rolled through the night and rain swept over the juniper and sagebrush, I found myself wrapped in an anticipatory quiet—appreciating the way nature’s rhythms always supersede the plans of humans (fireworks included). There’s something humbling and holy about remembering -
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