This site uses cookies for analytics and to improve your experience. By clicking Accept, you consent to our use of cookies. Learn more in our privacy policy.
The world today could use a few more prayers. As the days go by, more and more things don’t make sense. I suppose in the 1970’s my Grandparents thought the same thing. Incomprehensible insanity is everywhere, as I age into one of those that’s not longer relevant. Everyone has two hands. Here’s another way to use them.
Inspired by — God’s Little Devotional Journal — Page 132.
Many children learn to count on their fingers, but a nurse once taught a child to pray on his fingers.
This was her method:
The thumb is the digit nearest to your heart, so pray first for those who are closet to you. Your own needs, of course, should be included, as well as those of your beloved family and friends. As you prayer, be sure to praise God for all the blessings in your life. Even in the darkest of times, God’s blessings truly overflow.
The second finger is the one used for pointing. Pray for those who point you toward the truth, whether at church or school. Pray for your teachers, mentors, pastors, and those who inspire your faith. When pointing out the faults of another, three fingers pointing back at their owner. In prayer, ask for forgiveness of shortcomings.
The third finger is the tallest. Let is stand for the leaders in every sphere of life. Pray for those in authority– both within the body of Christ and those who hold office in various areas of government They need special prayers for wisdom. The world is a bit short on wisdom these days.
The fourth finger is the weakest, as every pianist knows. Let it stand for those who are in trouble and pain — the sick, injured, abused, wounded, or hurt. Ask God to help relieve the pain of loneliness and grief.
The little finger is the smallest. Let it stand for those who often go unnoticed, including those who suffer abuse or deprivation. Even the smallest troubles in the world need prayer at times.
What a great way to pray for ourselves and others. A simple and wonderful way to give the world a hand with prayer.
Let’s face it, the only kind of crown one needs in the desert is the kind that fit snuggly over aging teeth. There are no sparkling balls full of blushing debutantes. Nope. Best you have a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson around here. Two-stepn’ and line dancen’ are about as fancy as we get. I might have gotten a better deal on one of the crowns shown above than the two custom made for my teeth.
Monday was a day for medical visits. Dentist and Optometrist.
My optometrist is a cool guy. He has a house in the biggest little city just to the west of me. During the week, he resides in a motorhome right off Main Street. Quiet and reserved, on Monday morning he was bemoaning the fact that he himself needs new glasses. He hasn’t had time. Reminds me of the mechanic with the broken cars. Fixing everything for everyone else, professionals leave themselves for last.
We had a good discussion about the horrific winds that have plagued us recently. His fence blew over and he can’t find a repair person to come fix it. That’s a huge problem in our area. No handyman available to fix things. Explaining that he might need to have his son-in-law come over to help fix the fence, I smiled. No matter your profession, problems are the same. Fences of the wealthy blow over just as quickly as fences of the poor. In the end, sometimes we all just need to call The Guy. In this case, there isn’t a GUY to call.
I’m so happy to report that at the age of 66, I have youthful eyeballs. Thank Goodness. No retinal tears or macular degeneration. Finally, something that isn’t sagging or out of whack. Just healthy eyeballs with the prettiest of arteries and veins running this way and that. As with a lot of older people, I just need a little vision correction with the help of contacts and glasses.
I bought my first pair of glasses from this office last year. Being the best frame and lenses of my life, I wear them all the time. Light, cute, and the perfect prescription, I was hoping I could just change out the old lenses with new. Someone near and dear assured me that would never be possible. Ever. Well, I had to prove that wrong. At least I had to give it a try.
After talking with Lady of the Frames, it turns out that they COULD and WOULD use my one year old frames and simply replace the lenses. Happy, Happy, Happy Day!!!! Qualifying for a 20% discount, I was just about dancing in my seat! But, I wasn’t done yet.
Could they put prescription lenses in my regular Costco Sunglass frames, I asked? My very cute “$34.00 for 2” Costco “Read at the Beach” Sunglasses? Those?
Well, yes they COULD and WOULD! Prescription Sunglasse hack!!! OOOHHHH LaLa!!! And, because they were a second pair, 30% off those lenses!!! I wanted to shout “Glory! Hallelujah!” right then and there. I’d hit the eyeglass lottery and it wasn’t even 10AM yet.
I knew that because 10AM would find me sitting in the dental chair being prepped for two new crowns. You know the kind I already mentioned. I’d gone back and forth about replacing both crowns or just one. I was there and the dentist was there. Might as well just go through one long visit rather than two shorter ones.
As it turns out, it was a good call on his part. After removing the old crowns, a digital photograph showed the obvious decay that had been growing under both old jackets. Root canal averted! With everything clean and tidy, temporary crowns were created and glued on. After only three hours in the chair and a 20% local discount, I was on my way back home.
Monday was a day for spending $$$ on self-care. Yes, a vacation to Tahiti would have been more enjoyable, but might have resulted in the root canal I averted by going to the dentist on Monday. Besides, I wouldn’t be set for beach reading with my amazing new prescription sun glasses. Things always work out the way they’re supposed to.
If you’ve been putting off appointments with the dentist or eye doctor, don’t delay. Be sure to ask for any and all discounts that might apply.
Hi there, faithful readers! It’s nice to be back with you. Last week, I spent a few lovely days in California. The weather there is so different, making me appreciate desert life all the more. Dry cold days don’t seem as severe on the desert. Yes, the wind howls, but it’s a dry wind. The chill is present but without humidity. A 60 degree day on the Northwestern desert plains of Nevada feel much warmer than a 60 degree day in Northern California. With the unsettled weather everything was damp making it still to cold for shorts and a t-shirt.
Everything reaches for the sky in California. Bright fields of green, sprinkled with fresh California Poppies. A glorious sight to behold. As a young girl growing up in the Central Valley of California, there were days when both the Coastal range and the Sierra Nevada were visible from our ranch. When the mountains called to us, we would take a drive just to look at all the wildflowers blooming in the high country. Such fragile beauty, all boasting sweet little names I have long since forgotten. Each week, spring blooms once again at a higher elevation, until the last of the wildflowers die and fall is near. So go the seasons of the Sierra’s.
Last week, Donner Pass was clear of snow. Just two weeks before, T and K were stuck in Truckee for three hours in an early spring blizzard. Interstate 80 isn’t forgiving. When you decide to cross the Sierra’s, it’s important to carry water, blankets, and snacks, because you just never know. The Sierra’s aren’t a place one should try out an unknown short-cut or new GPS route. Just ask the Donner Party. We should all show great respect for those that lost their lives in the winter of 1846-47.
The little town I visited is one of the oldest in California. Even though the population is much smaller than my little town, the amenities were dazzling. It’s been awhile since I’ve stayed in a town enjoying every kind of store one would like to visit. Here at home, I have the luxury of my hometown Walmart or the Walmart’s to the East or West.
Restaurants were found on every corner. Too bad the prices were so outrageous. Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. My town has six casinos, four Mexican restaurants, two diners, and several fast food establishments. It’s poor planning for a town that is now pushing 25,000. With the housing market booming, there will be many changes in the next five years. Hard to know whether they will fit one old lady and her little dog. Only time will tell.
Walking through the produce section of a California grocery store, I remember eating fruit off the trees at the ranch. What I would give for a REAL peach or nectarine (not the cardboard variety you find for sale today). Here in the desert I haven’t found many road side fruit stands. Produce for our Farmer’s Markets are trucked in from California often leaving it bruised and tired after the extra days on the road. Nothing compares to California fruits and vegetables when purchased next to the field in which they were grown. Absolutely nothing.
Why, some people actually go through quite a process to get their hands on freshly grown ear corn from California State University, Fresno. One such Goddess involved several service industries and even law enforcement to have a box of fresh corn delivered 150 miles to her door. You know, Goddesses have all the luck. Especially those that drive the Highway 1 topless with tresses flowing (of course, topless refers to the status of the convertible — I think).
Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. Out of “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”, it simmered all day long on very low heat. I didn’t know some yellow onions and broth could make something that tasted so heavenly. No need to waste money on restaurants when I can cook great things in the kitchen here at Winterpast.
Oliver had a wonderful time at Puppy Camp. His little friend, Clara, popped in for a few days of Doggie Day Care. Upon his return, I can finally recognize a well-trained, almost-5-year-old, gentleman dog. He has much more interest in sleeping at my feet, wherever that may be. Snoozing more, he chews on things less. Finally. It’s been harrowing raising such an intelligent little guy.
Once back home, it was time to get out the hoe, rake, hose, and weed spray. I need to get busy before the weeds win. A little of me misses the green hills of California. Just a wee bit. But, more of me loves the quiet desert rainfall that came last night after a day of high winds. It’s time to explore Nevada to discover all the secrets she holds. I can always pop back over the hill for a little visit the next time I need a city fix.
Get out there and enjoy the first week of May. It’s a glorious time to do something new!
Face it, carpet cleaning is never an adventure. Not fun or glamourous. The only great thing about it is finishing the job and enjoying the beauty of a clean rug.
Yesterday, while getting ready to attend another funeral, my neighbor asked to borrow my nifty and new carpet cleaner. My machine is bright and shiny, having been used less than ten times. It still has tags hanging on it. There IS a small problem with the design.
When I chose this model, it was love at first sight. The box displayed a woman and her lovey-dovey Golden Retriever sitting in a room with brand new carpeting. Now, if this machine could handle the hair of a golden retriever, it would surely take care of Oliver’s tiny little hairs. Coming equipped with a bag of attachments that I knew I’d never need, my choice was made. It would be the Bissell Super Deluxe Hair No More Model for the carpets of Winterpast.
After using the machine for the first time, I was in love. Through each canister of hot and soapy solution, the most awful looking stuff was sucked up and captured for proper disposal. It was easy to use, unlike those monsters I used to rent during college days. Remember?? The big red ones rented at the grocery store that you needed a hunky boyfriend to lift into the trunk of the car? I never understood what could make those so huge and heavy. My new model was sleek and efficient.
My dreams of looking just like the happy woman and her dog displayed on the box were quickly dashed. There was a major design flaw that quickly ruined the moment. There was no way to open the suction area to clean out the wet gunky hair and lint. This stuff was clogging the entire machine, even after vacuuming twice. Soggy, thick masses of hair, lint, and dirt. Like a small marine pet stuck in the uptake slot. 12″ of clog that, if allowed to dry, would render my new machine useless.
Assumed there would be a way to take the plastic pieces apart and rinse away the gunk, my quest began. Unfortunately, this part of the device was not to come apart. Any cracks or openings would have ruined the suction.
This is where the fun began.
It would have made for great TV Viewing. I squirted water down the top. When filled to the brim, it showered me in the face (remember, gunk water—Ewwww). Then, I tried rinsing from the bottom. I held the cleaner on it’s side, no movement. It seemed the gunk was growing. There was no movement and the clogs stayed in place, visible through the clear plastic.
As the cleaner and I danced in the kitchen, the carpet dried, while my kitchen was another story. Water and debris were everywhere, while the nasty clogs remained. Finally, I found a tool that did the job. A bamboo skewer. Just the right thickness, the first one went right in, making contact with the debris.
Until.
Snap.
Crackle.
Broken in two and becoming part of the stubborn clog. Determined to win, I persisted and finally, After an hour and several more skewers, the machine was finally cleaned and ready to be put away. Since then, carpet cleaning is a choice that comes requiring the extra hour needed to clean the machine. I was okay with that arrangement.
Yesterday, I got a call from the sweet neighbor with the mysterious adoptees. It seems THE AGENCY is coming to check on the welfare of the newest neighbors. Wanting the house to look just right, she asked if I had a machine and if she could borrow it.
Well, of course. This could be the chance I’d been waiting for to meet the non-English speaking strangers. All three which, (truth not gossip), are juveniles. A win/win. She came to get the carpet cleaner, as she explained the littles were napping and needed no disturbances.
Late in the day, I received the call.
“Joy. Thank you so much for the carpet cleaner. I want to return it in the condition it was when I borrowed it. Do you have the tool?”
Now, I was at a loss. A tool? For? What necessary tool had I missed? A bag of bright shiny tools hung in the hallway closet, awaiting the day I might use them. Not an attachment kind of gal, I’d never opened the bag.
“I just watched You Tube on how to remove the gross stuff stuck in the machine. You should have a tool. Do you?”
Visions of hours by the sink came to mind. Flying gunk. Shooting water. A tool could have prevented this? Racing to the little bag of extras, I started removing everything looking for something that resembled a “tool”. There were hoses, extensions, brushes, and more. When I was pretty sure nothing was left, out popped a very thin, flat, long piece of grey plastic with a hook on one end.
THE TOOL.
The carpet cleaner is shiny and clean now. Who knew????? A TOOL.
Oy Vey.
This week, I will be going on a short vacation. It’s obvious I need a change of scenery when the best I can write about is a “Gunk Tool”. Hopefully, sand and waves will be included in my little excursion. I’ll settle for some humidity and lush green surroundings.
Have a wonderful week. I’ll be back with more adventures next Monday.
Recovering from grief can leave one feeling somewhat like a deflated basketball, blown tire, or flat soda. This week, I’ve had trouble bouncing, rolling, or even being a little sparkly. Sometimes, a little fresh air or an injection of fizz are required to get moving again. Widowhood has been that way for me. Something about seeing a black slab of granite inscribed with VST’s Birth and Death dates was a slap in the face. Wonderful memories are all that are left behind after everything is said and done. Standing at his headstone on top of Cemetery Hill in Virginia City, life screamed that at me though the chill of the Zephyr Winds.
When frozen in grief, forward movement can seem downright impossible. Just when I started to believe the wilderness of widowhood was clearing, I found myself again in the thickness of the forest. One year? Two Years? It seems the paths are the very same month after month. Time has healed so much, while opening other, more subtle wounds. No one prepared me for that cruel fact of life.
Which way now?
Choose a path NOW.
Although the same choices have existed for the past 2 years, the fog kept the vast number of possibilities hidden. The horizon expands with each new day, leaving me “Decision Weary”.
Turn here.
Volunteer there.
Move this way.
Travel that way.
Help this new widow.
Lean into the oldest of friends.
All the while, choices and directions have painfully personal outcomes. Widows and widowers understand this. Life is now surrounded by a loneliness wished on no one. Surrounded by overwhelming and complete solitude in the darkness of night, faith comforts me.
During traumatic times, self care and self love are vital. Listen to your personal needs and take address them. Sometimes, it could include a swift kick into gear if you find yourself sitting in one spot too long. Get moving. It doesn’t need to be very fast or far but in a forward motion each day.
If you find life is different than you desire, it’s time to change things up. Choose a new hairstyle or trade in your favorite “mom jeans” for a pair of cute leggings. Do things in a different order and life will begin to brighten as it becomes your own.
The spring weather here has been like my moods. Hot one minute and freezing cold the next. I compare the change in the weather to the next chapter of life. Some days, you’re cruising through life at 70 degrees. Other days, you’re burned to a crisp in the desert sun. The long days of winter’s chill are conquered with cups of hot cocoa by a roaring fire, while the snow falls just outside your door. Yes. Life is continual string of seasons, one right after the other.
Spring 2022 has brought on a new crop of weeds to Winterpast. I’ll leave you to enjoy the best day you’ve had all year. Make it so by doing something Saturday-ish. But, first and foremost, take care of yourself.
Somedays you just don’t know what can be happening right under your nose. Just next door in an unassuming house built with exactly the same floorplan as Winterpast. Not a big place, but not a tiny house either. Three bedrooms, two baths. Kitchen. Dining room. Three car garage. A normal looking home with extraordinary new occupants.
The original occupants didn’t move out. Others moved IN. Three in total. Needing constant care, they’re a handful. From what I’ve been told, caring for them is like trying to nail Jello to a tree. Busy and demanding charges, their care is the ultimate focus. They shall want for nothing per the letter of the law. It’s all spelled out in reams and reams of court documents.
The new neighbors don’t drive. Being challenged in height and weight, they are at the mercy of a staff of people hired to watch over them. The three are a flight risk, so for now, no one has really been allowed to meet them. Just getting settled from the loss of their original caretaker, their world is as messy as a litter box. I hope things settle down for them. I’d love to meet them, as I’m always up for new friendships.
A variety of professionals have been stopping by to check on their new surroundings. With clipboards and clickity-clackety high heels, I’ve seen them over the fence. Making notes of available light and the condition of the new home, the focus is entirely on comfort and care. And yet, no one can really know what the three are thinking, as (I’ve been told from a reliable source) they don’t speak English. Everyone wants the best for them, but some want the best for nefarious reasons. Money does that to people when there is a loss. The jackals come out spewing alligator tears. There’s enough money available to cover a lifetime of care. Thank goodness for the team of professionals and their watchful eyes. They will choose the best environment for happiness and contentment.
Not that these three breathe or eat any differently than others. Their story began with birth into poverty and abandonment. Through adoption, they landed in the lap of luxury, with every need and want attended to by a loving caretaker. Sadly, death stole him away and they now wait for a new home with a new family. Thank goodness they have each other.
I’m not sure if the new neighbors will stay long, or if they’ll even be allowed to remain together. Psychologists and social workers are responsible for those decisions, while state, federal, and estate judges will decide their final fate. Money can provide watchful eyes to make sure the innocent are well cared for. Yes. Money can provide the best of everything.
Take care to watch your surroundings. You just never know who lives in the quiet little house next to yours. They could be sleeping just feet away from your own pillow, separated only by a fence line. Grimalkin or moggy, pedigree unknown. I may need to provide some tutoring to these non-English speaking wards of the court. Going to dust off my old text books now.
Everyone finds their own truths along the road of widowhood. Truths I’ve discovered over the last two years hold me up like a giant walker these days. Walkers work best on a well laid path. It’s better to veer to the right than to get left. Putting one foot in front of the other, we all move forward into this beautiful world.
Yesterday, after shopping at the Walmart to the East, I took the main road back home. Many city folk have never experienced Big Sky and might be a bit scared of the open spaces. In every direction, nothing but miles of high desert plains, sage, cheat grass, and distant mountains. Not even a horse or burrow along the way, it seemed like my little town was close enough to touch. Signage told me otherwise.
18 miles from home.
Truly, it looked like I could park the car and walk. But, it took 18 minutes to drive there. A two day walk, I’d need to camp overnight if I were on foot. Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem as we look onward in life. Tasks that seem easy become complicated and take more time than we think. Chores that should be quick and painless often are just the opposite.
The other day I was questioned about the hope, faith, and love I’ve experienced with my church family. I had to stop and think for a moment. Some friendships do end up being mirages. Surely they seem to be the greatest thing in the world when shiny and new. Sometimes relationships are part of the scaffolding to help get us through until one or the other moves on. Beautiful moments in time. Other relationships weather all kinds of storms, making up the foundation of a beautiful life. It’s those that are truly golden.
As the weeks have turned into a year, the closer I get to my church family, the stronger my friendships are growing . A soft place to fall, the lives of a congregation come together to showcase every aspect of life. Babies and Grandparents are born. Children accept Christ. Young lovers marry. Funerals are held to celebrate the lives of those that continue on their journey without us. A picture complete with the richness and complexity of life. A lot can be learned by observations. Baptist on Main is a mysterious little place of love and worship. A blink of the eye and one might drive right by, never experiencing the beauty inside.
A life lesson learned early on is to be grateful for the smallest things. Every minute there is something wonderful to behold, in the the midst of something terrible. As a child, when a killing frost hit the vines, my dad immediately focused on next year’s great crop, while five little girls were comforted by his optimism. Nature doesn’t always listen to a farmer’s prayer. VST and I learned that the hard way while tending to our own vineyard.
Positivity is easier when the television is turned to the “OFF” position. Mine stays that way most days. For the last two years, I avoided most of the fear mongering about Covid-19. Funny. I had it once. The worst thing about it was that I had to stay away from any human contact for 10 days. Didn’t die. Didn’t even wish I could. Sniffles, sneezing, and a little pity party for one. How much mental turmoil does the media cause in the name of information? Oy vey. Off. Mine stays off.
Constantly, a grateful heart is the best way to contentment and happiness. Of all the personal traits I’ve learned in my 66 years, optimism has helped me through the darkest of times. Little miracles unfold every second of every day. A thankful heart is a comfort. When you think there is absolutely nothing to be thankful for, why not start with this. Our homes aren’t being bombed to smithereens. Our loved ones aren’t being shot in the street by Russian’s. It’s a beautiful spring day. Start there and more things will come if you just look around.
So much of life is governed by fear these days. Take the shot or die. Stock up or starve. Shortages are coming. Famine is near. Hand wringing at it’s best. Yet, somehow, we live to eat another day. Somehow, the supply chain crisis is repairing itself. Things are returning to a new normal. Another thing for which to give thanks.
Be thankful that you have a day to live, be it pleasant or not. At the end of the day, take inventory of things that made it good or bad. Tomorrow is a fresh slate. Change the things you can, accept the things you can’t. Try and figure out the differences, all while giving thanks for the opportunity to try again.
Today is all we have. Tend to your grateful heart. Today is full of possibilities. It’s up to you.
For those of you that don’t know, Winterpast is the name of my home. Not ever thinking about naming a house, in April 2020, I named two of them. My old home is named The DunMovin’ House. It sits on A Street in Virginia City, Nevada. If you visit there, look her up. She’s a beauty.
My new house is in a tiny town at a dusty little wide spot in the road. I knew I loved her when I first found her on Realtor.com. Her name is Winterpast. She didn’t have that name before I moved here. Now, it’s displayed by the front door. Forevermore. Winterpast.
As a new widow, heartbroken and lost, I’d teleported into the next phase of life. Physically moving only seventeen days after VST’s death, I was in a deep shock-y fog. No routines were established yet because everything needed attention right then and there. There was so much to do that on most nights I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
During the move, I found a series of books I’d been meaning to read. When VST was alive, I never had time. We were too busy building, remodeling, or RVing to even begin a have a moment to read. But, the need for distraction was real, so I began. The series is about a town named Mitford. The author Jan Karon.
One night, deep into the story, the author spent a chapter introducing an old woman and her memories of love lost. Her one true love, an architect, had built a mansion in her honor. She would have moved in after their marriage, but her father wouldn’t allow it. Her lost love secretly carved the name Winterpast on a hidden beam, in memory of the woman he lost and loved still. He had told her about it in a yellowed letter he’d written to her so long ago. On her dying bed, the woman asked the priest to go to the home and see if the word was indeed carved on a beam in the attic. All those years she had wondered while she spent her life alone. The home had been sold to strangers when completed.
Indeed, chiseled onto the beam was the word “Winterpast”, hidden for decades.
The author then went on with the next chapter without explaining the reason for the name. Scrambling to get my bible, I read the verses in Song of Solomon — 2:11-17. I knew. It was if the angels had whispered the name in my ear. I’d just moved into my very own Winterpast. Plain and simple.
Winter has past me for a little while. Spring is here. “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” Now, in some versions of the Bible, the Turtle Dove’s voice is heard in the land. In my Bible, it is the voice of the turtle. It makes me smile every time I read it while thinking of little singing turtles enjoying life.
Get out and enjoy the spring time; it’s here such a short time. Lot’s to do here in the gardens of Winterpast.
A Song for Winterpast
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love
Oh, let me see your beauty when all the neighbors have gone home Pretty roses growing after the day’s work is done Show me slowly spring’s beauty with your sweet allure Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the autumn now, dance me on and on Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long We’re both of us beneath a desert sky, above us twinkling stars Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the apricots who are ask a ripened orange Dance me through the curtains to the gardens that need work Raise a tent of breezes now, until all the tilling is done Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in Touch me with your natural beauty, sent from God above. Dance me to the end of love.
“Dance Me to the End of Love” –Originally written by Leonard Cohen, changes written by me, inspired by Winterpast.
Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster A thousand useless moving parts Sometimes you spend your nights Too scared of getting closer Hiding out in the back seat of your car
You tell yourself it’s raining The clouds are in your head You tell yourself it’s better To jump before you fall again Before you lose it all again
Look up! Do you see the sunlight? Look up! There’s flowers in your hair Hold on! ‘Cause somebody loves you You know trouble’s always gonna be there Don’t let it bring you to your knees Look up!
Mondays aren’t always bright Some days, you lose the fight But life can be beautiful if you let it be Tomorrow keeps taunting you With all kinds of mystery It’s a blank page for your poetry If you let it be
So don’t tell yourself it’s raining The clouds are in your head You tell yourself it’s better To jump before you fall again Before you lose it all again
Look up! Do you see the sunlight? Look up! There’s flowers in your hair Hold on! ‘Cause somebody loves you You know trouble’s always gonna be there Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah Look up!
Look up! Hold on! Look up! Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster A thousand useless moving parts
Look up! Do you see the sunlight? Look up! There’s flowers in your hair Hold on! ‘Cause somebody loves you You know trouble’s always gonna be there Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah Look up! Trouble’s always gonna be there Look up! Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah
