Poem: Who Guides Me

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I do not know the name
Of the one that guides me
I do know the game
Is always to surprise me
The light pull
Is delightful
I skip along beside
I go along for the ride
I change my plan
I hold the hand
Of the one
Who guides me

About the poem:
I used to be surprised when these strange coincidences happened. Now, I’m blessed with tiny miracles all day long.

Tonight, I had an urge to visit a coffee shop I’d not been to for a month. I recalled that the last time I was there, I overhead a nutritional counseling session. It was the husband this time,  after his wife and sister-in-law had worked with the counselor and cured longstanding health problems. That hour-long talk in my ear then inspired me to sign up for the juice fast, which got me off sugar, dairy and caffeine.

With gratitude remembering that fortuitous inspiration, I grabbed my stuff and went. Within 45 seconds of ordering my coffee, I smiled at the conversation that began unfolding. The barista had lived briefly in the same town I just returned from in Costa Rica. And as we talked, she said our story of traveling for a year inspired her to try again. And as we chatted more happy coincidences and helpful connections came to light.

Unlike religious folk, I am not compelled to name this force. It could be me. It could be a fly on the wall. It could be some divine force looking down on us. I like to think it is the us we are meant to be.

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