A Shining Light

Journal

  • Don’t Wake Me Up, I’m Not Asleep

    I Am Listening For God

    Jan 28, 2026

    How does one experience God?

    The answer depends upon who you ask. None of us have the same experience…they might be similar, but there is no one answer. We are all created with a unique nature and voice. Our relationship with God is as unique as our fingerprint. Don’t look to others for the answer. Look only to God.

    I woke this morning because my dogs wanted to get up and eat breakfast. My mornings are not my own. I stayed in bed for a moment with that all too familiar weight on my spirit. What am I going to do with myself today? Lack of purpose is a slow road to death. First the spirit, then the body. My dogs persist. I get up and meet their needs. Outside. Food. Outside. They go back to sleep. Now what? Sometimes I go back to bed, or fall asleep in my recliner—such an old person cliche. Lately I have been fighting the ease of that choice.

    I have a room in my house that is mine. It was designed to be the dining room, but has rarely functioned as that. There have been many incarnations of this room, but Its highest and best use has been the place I sit early in the morning to meet with God. This is my favorite room in the house. Even when it served other purposes, I gravitated to it. My spirit feels at rest here. I am my most creative in this room. There are no doors to close, the space is accessible to anyone who passes by; maybe that is part of the sacred allure.

    God is everywhere. God is accessible. God longs for us to come to him, welcome him, engage with him. It isn’t formal. But it is real.

    Today I sat in my comfy chair, closed my eyes and just welcomed God in. I know he is always with me, but in these moments I acknowledge that I am here for him. No two experiences are alike. If my husband walked by he would think I was asleep. I am not. I am in a place of peace. I hear everything that goes on around me…the heater cycling on and off, birds, dogs, cars, and the occasional siren off in the distance…and yet I am detached from these things. I know, but it is as if I am watching from above. Does that make sense?

    I told God how I felt when I first woke up. It feels silly telling the creator of the universe that my first thought upon waking was, “Oh great, here I go again. What am I going to do today?” I think that a lot these days. Retirement and age can do that to us.

    But then, as is always the case, when I ask then turn off the noise in my head, great and amazing things can happen. How do I turn off the noise? I simply refuse to allow it to take over. When thoughts that are counterproductive try to sneak in, I deny them entry by (silently) asking God to step in, speak to me; sometimes I ask why a particular thought was trying to interrupt our sacred time. I don’t always get an answer, but my focus is always turned back to the Father.

    In the stillness and dark of early morning, God brought memories back to my conscious mind. There is a pattern to these memories; a few are recurring scenes from my childhood. In and of themselves they are nothing big, but they must have been important turning points. Or maybe, I simply need to be reminded of a life lesson not yet learned. I don’t know. Only God knows. Today, as is often the case the memories are not as important as the action required of me.

    Write. Write about Me. Write about the experience of us. And so, here I am, God. I am writing, and I know this is exactly why I woke up this morning.

    © 2026 Sheryl Means

  • Creating a Legacy: Reflections from a Seasoned Soul

    There are stories hidden in the underbrush of life; small, almost imperceptible nuggets just waiting for their turn to shine. They exist for all of us if only we take the time to look and really see.

    “I feel seen” is a phrase often used today to mean that another person doesn’t merely see your physical presence, but they see what lies inside; the parts of ourselves we often keep hidden. Fear of rejection or humiliation among other things means we all wear a mask to survive. The beautiful part of reaching a certain age–varies from person to person–is that we begin to take off the masks that served to protect our tender parts; we allow ourselves to be seen from the inside out. It is actually a very freeing experience; one I wish I had the courage to embrace at a younger age. But that is rarely how it works.

    This is the first post of this new blog. I have had so many, and I fear being redundant in what I share. But, such is life. Here I will write what is on my mind, my life as a woman in her late sixties anxious about all the things women of my age are anxious about. But…there are more joys than anxieties, family, friends, books, yarn making and occasional knitting, crochet or weaving. I think a lot about end of life issues, God, my faith, and how I live out that faith in the world. I am a daughter, sister, wife, mom, and Mimi. We are blessed to have our daughter and her family nearby, enabling us to watch our granddaughters and great-granddaughter grow up. We have lived in the same house for thirty-six years which means we are also surrounded by people with whom we have spent a lifetime cultivating memories.

    In the midst of all this there are stories; lessons we have learned, and still more waiting to be learned. As long as we draw breath, there are things that need to be molded and shaped into perfection. My goal is to go backwards. To remember, reflect and share my life. Truthfully, I am writing this for myself and for my family. For a very long time I have been preoccupied with the concept of legacy. I want to leave this world with pieces of Sheryl scattered along all the paths I take. I have no control over the past, simply an intention to do better from this point forward. As I look back through the haze of my memory, I hope to uncover small tokens worthy of passing along.

    And, because I am a multi-faceted individual, I will also share my creative pursuits, my reading journey, and anything else that comes to mind on any given day. I promise at least one post per week…there could be more, but I hesitate to promise too much. I hope you consider it a delightful surprise when you open your mailbox and find a little something from me.

    Until next time I remain,