Have you ever fought changing? I know I have! The wave of what is keeps you treading water so fiercely you don’t think you have the capacity to do anything different.
That’s why The Joy of Becoming first made me laugh out loud. And then it made me stop and think. Changing was a process for sure, and it wasn’t always joyful. And I wouldn’t do it any other way because I experience joy every day of my life now.
I’m not saying I don’t have my moments or let’s be honest days and yet hands down my worst days now our light years better than when I felt like I was drowning.
In the Science of Mind Textbook, Ernest Holmes says, “We are not becoming this Life but are now in and of this Life. There is no other Life. God is not becoming: God IS. God is not growing; God is complete. God is not trying to find out something; God already knows. (p. 292.4)
And as Lyle Lovett would say, “That’s the difference between God and me.”
Yes, I am a manifestation of It in form and I am a work in progress; It is not. If you have ever taken any classes from Landmark, which I have, the introductory class asks the question, “what is life?” People come up with all kinds of answers and the response is, “Life just is”. Just like God, it doesn’t judge it just responds. The difference is God is that ever present, all-knowing, all-seeing, absolute power that loves us unconditionally.
Why wouldn’t we want to be more of that? And it’s a choice. Each one of us has the opportunity every single day to change our thinking (on things big or small). Think about it, if you decided to change one thing every single day in 2026 by the end of the year not only would you have 365 new ways of being, you’d be a brand new, different you.
So, here’s the challenge you can keep on keeping on – complaining about issues big and small or you can join me in giving up one thing every day in 2026 – an item, a thought, a habit, whatever you chose. Write them down every single day and next year at this time we’ll be celebrating the Joy of Becoming.
One thing a day. Write it down. Do it anyway. See you next year—different.
I’ve always been fascinated by the word magic. For some people it carries mystery and delight; for others it brings up fear, fantasy, or childhood stories. It’s a word with history… and with baggage. And yet, underneath it all, magic is simply the experience of the unseen moving through our lives.
Years ago, when I was searching—aching, really—for something, I didn’t know what I was looking for. I just knew my life wasn’t working, and something had to change in a big way.
One day I wandered into a metaphysical bookstore. I didn’t know much about metaphysics at all, but the owners welcomed me with such patience and kindness that I felt instantly at ease. I told them what was going on in my life, and they listened without judgment. That alone felt like magic.
They loaned me a book—one I read cover to cover. I loved almost everything about it. But one part gave me pause. At that time in my life, the word witch carried a lot of cultural baggage for me. It wasn’t that I believed witchcraft was bad or wrong; it just wasn’t a word I was personally comfortable with. And honestly, I had already put my parents through so much that coming home and saying, “Guess what? I’m becoming a witch!” didn’t feel like the next conversation we were all prepared to have.
I wasn’t rejecting anyone’s path. I was simply trying to find the spiritual language that resonated with my soul.
I asked the bookstore owners if there was something that carried the same sense of wisdom, connection, and sacredness—but in a vocabulary that fit my upbringing and my heart.
Two weeks later, I walked through the doors of my first Religious Science / Center for Spiritual Living community. And in that moment, something in me whispered, home.
That experience taught me something deeply important:
Words matter.
Language shapes our comfort, our perception, and often our willingness to stay open.
Language shapes our comfort, our perception, and often our willingness to stay open.
Back then, magic wasn’t a word I could claim.
Today… it absolutely is.
Today… it absolutely is.
Because Affirmative Prayer? It’s a kind of magic.
A shift in consciousness? Magic.
Healing that begins before anything changes on the outside? Magic.
Faith in something unseen yet felt down to our bones? That’s the most beautiful magic there is.
A shift in consciousness? Magic.
Healing that begins before anything changes on the outside? Magic.
Faith in something unseen yet felt down to our bones? That’s the most beautiful magic there is.
We live in a magical universe—one in which our thoughts, our intentions, and our willingness to be transformed all become the ingredients of creation. Not the stage-prop kind of magic. Not the sleight-of-hand kind. But the sacred, interior, soul-led kind.
The magic of alignment.
The magic of realization.
The magic of remembering who we truly are.
The magic of realization.
The magic of remembering who we truly are.
So when I say Making Magic, I’m talking about partnering with the Infinite.
I’m talking about the creative power within each of us.
I’m talking about the everyday miracles that unfold when we choose to say yes to Life.
I’m talking about the creative power within each of us.
I’m talking about the everyday miracles that unfold when we choose to say yes to Life.
That’s the magic I discovered.
The magic that reshaped my world.
And the magic that is available to all of us—right here, right now, with every word, every breath, and every prayer.
The magic that reshaped my world.
And the magic that is available to all of us—right here, right now, with every word, every breath, and every prayer.
Ernest Holmes writes:
“We can sit in the shade or move into the sunshine. Sitting in the shadow we may not really believe that there is any sunshine. But the sun would be there all the time and all the time we are in bondage the real freedom exists. It is there but we must awake to It.” ~Science of Mind, p. 411.3
This quote describes my life story—and I know it resonates with many who have walked their way into a new life. It doesn’t matter how we arrived at our awakening; what matters is that it brought us belonging, peace, and love. If your path led you there, then YES—celebrate it.
We tend to talk about “shadow” more in winter when the days grow short. And if you think about it, our literal shadow appears when the sun is brightest. It shows up because there is light.
Every one of us has a shadow—not because we are bad or broken, but because we are human. It’s the part we don’t usually want to reveal, because it doesn’t feel loving, kind, or joyful. And yet, in its true essence, the shadow is not negative at all. It is simply: unloved, unseen, unintegrated.
Yes, it holds the energies we label “dark”: shame, guilt, fear, unworthiness. And it also holds our disowned brilliance—our power, creativity, confidence, and boldness—wrapped in layers of protection.
My own path to the light—and to owning my shadow—came through Centers for Spiritual Living. I spent most of my early years, into adulthood, as a high-functioning drug addict and alcoholic. And on some level, I believed I deserved to be miserable.
When I walked into my first “church,” something shifted instantly. I felt a sense of belonging I had never experienced before. That community, that teaching, that atmosphere of unconditional acceptance—that was my path to redemption. And it became my path to sobriety.
Here’s the funny twist: my sobriety story is also part of my shadow. I didn’t go through a traditional recovery program—those programs are powerful and save millions of lives. My sobriety came through the teachings of Ernest Holmes. After 23 years clean and sober, people assume I walked a familiar path, and when I explain mine, some want to doubt its validity. And that’s what the shadow is: the parts of ourselves we resist owning—whether it’s our brilliance or our insecurities.
Stepping into the light doesn’t eliminate the shadow. It simply doesn’t allow it to drive the bus.
So, let me be honest: when I’m hungry, angry, lonely, or tired—my shadow grabs the wheel and aims for the ditch.
That’s when I pause, breathe, and ask:
“What are you trying to show me? What needs healing now?”
And then I gently return to the driver’s seat of my life.
Life is a journey.
We will all have “days.”
But those days do not get to define us—unless we hand them the keys.
The light is always there.
Freedom is always there.
Wholeness is always there.
Just like Holmes said:
“The sun would be there all the time… but we must awake to It.”
And every time we wake up—every time we re-claim our seat in the driver’s chair—we bring another piece of the shadow into the light and discover, again and again, that we are whole.
I know nothing about octopuses; although I just learned it is not octopi – who knew?
Another interesting fact is that I’ve been carrying around a horoscope I clipped from a newspaper. I don’t know how long I’ve had it—probably less than a year—but I’ve kept it tucked in my purse because it made me smile. It reads:
“Octopuses have three hearts, each with a different function. Every one of their eight limbs contains a mini-brain, giving them nine in total. Is there any doubt, then, that they are the patron creature for you Pisceans?…”
Now you can pooh-pooh astrology if you want; the point isn’t the horoscope but the feeling it sparked. Something about it delighted me. It woke up a tiny spark of wonder—like the soft tap of Spirit saying, See? There’s more magic here than you remember.
In Atlas of the Heart, Brené Brown reminds us, “Awe and wonder are essential to the human experience. Both awe-inspiring events and experiences that leave us filled with wonder often make us feel small compared to our expansive universe. Small, but connected to each other and to the largeness itself.”
Life is interesting. As children, we swim in awe and wonder like fish in water. Our whole lives are one big “Wow!” The world is enormous and surprising. But somewhere along the way—between deadlines, responsibilities, appointments, and trying to appear like we have it all together—many of us slowly lose that shimmer. We trade wonder for routine. We replace awe with efficiency. Yes, every now and then something startles us back into amazement, but mostly we function from a place of “been there, done that.”
It has taken me time, intention, and a gentle softening to find my way back to looking with the eyes of a child. Now I notice things that used to slide right past me.
I’ve been alive 26,936 days. That’s 26,936 sunrises and sunsets. Granted, I live in Washington where we don’t always see them—but they happen whether we notice or not. And I wonder: How many of them did I miss simply because I didn’t stop long enough to look?
I have a friend who goes outside on her patio every single morning specifically to greet the sunrise. She treats it like a sacred appointment. Something about that devotion inspires me.
These may seem like little things, but they are FREE gifts from the Divine. No subscription. No password. No membership required. Just grace—offered new every morning.
Now I pause to watch deer grazing in the yard, or a squirrel streak across the fence carrying… well, something important to him. I notice the miracle that’s woven into the ordinary. These gifts don’t care how old we are, what we believe, or what mistakes we’ve made. They simply ask us to pay attention.
And in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter how many Facebook friends we have? Or how well our favorite team is doing? Isn’t it far more nourishing to play shuffleboard bowling (yes, it’s a thing—I’ve witnessed it!) with the friends standing right in front of you? To wander through town in search of the best ice cream? To let yourself play again?
Because here’s what I’m learning:
When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up.
And now—after all these days, all these sunrises, all these missed and rediscovered moments—I’m learning to be a kid all over again.
To wonder.
To notice.
To laugh.
To be delighted for no reason at all.
To remember that the Divine hides in plain sight.
Maybe that’s the real wisdom of the octopus: nine brains, three hearts, and zero hesitation when it comes to exploring life’s mysteries.
If they can manage that, surely I can manage one more sunrise.
I'm hosting a Gratitude Circle tonight on Zoom. If you don't have plans please join us. Blessings Rev. Gayle
