What if?  

I’ve written and pondered the “What ifs” over a lifetime and while the details shift, the underlying core doesn’t.  

My “what ifs” rise out of fear—worry that the worst or even the best might actually be possible. Arise from my desire to protect myself and my image of myself in relationships. Rise out of my penchant to protect, fix, manage, or control the lives of other people—some that I love and some that challenge my capacity to see them as whole people. 

But, what if?  

What if my whole being paid attention to the natural wonder around me—to the ways of being that rise out of generosity and care for myself and all other living things?  What if my relationships become places where giving and receiving become one act of loving?

How would you live then?  Mary Oliver asks in her book Devotion,

What if a hundred rose-crested grosbeaks
	flew in circles around you head?  What if
the mockingbird came into the house with you and
	became your advisor?  What if
the bees filled your walls with honey and all
	you had to do was ask them and they would fill
the bowl?  What if the brook slid downhill just
	past your bedroom window so you could listen
to its slow prayers as you fell asleep?  What if
	the stars began to shout their names, or to run
this way and that way above the clouds?  What if
	you painted a picture of a tree, and the leaves
began to rustle, and a bird cheerfully sang
	from its painted branches?  What if you suddenly saw
that the silver of water was brighter than the silver 
	of money?  What if you finally saw
that sunflowers, turning toward the sun all day
	and every day—who knows how, but they do it—were
more precious, more meaningful than gold?

How will you and I live then?