I can hardly believe this latest child of my heart is about to be born. Like my first babe in utero, I’ve grown accustomed to sharing life with my developing offspring in a private world, known only to the two of us. As much I longed to hold my firstborn in the flesh—the long months of waiting seemed to go on forever—an unexpected sadness washed over me in the last couple of weeks before the due date. “Never again will we be so close,” I ruminated. “Never again will it be so easy for me to protect you from the harsh realities of The-World-Out-There.”
Three days out from book launch, I’m feeling the same flush of emotions. As excited as I am to hold this book, so long in the making, I’m going to miss the days when it was All Mine. When I could walk through my day, chuckling to myself over the words known only to the two of us—causing my daughter’s forehead to furrow as she does when I’m dancing outside the acceptable realm.
Just a few months ago, I was so sick of The Book—the making of it, the status of it, the very words in it—that I forbid anyone to mention it. But it’s a New Year, and I’m feeling drawn to read it once again, while it’s still All Mine.
When it does launch, I pray that it touches your heart where and as you live. Just as my son means something very different to me than he does to everyone else in the world, I must surrender Love Earth Now to each reader’s experience. Whether it inspires you (even half as much as I hope), bores you or escapes your attention altogether, I must put my faith in my trusty mantra that “It’s All on Purpose.”
And, if it’s not, I beg you not to tell me because this mantra is the duct tape that’s holding me together.
Peace out and Happy New Year.
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