Violets for the Soul

Last month, as the world marked the beginning of a new year, I celebrated a milestone of my own: the first anniversary of Violets for the Soul.

I launched my personal blog on Jan. 11, 2024, in honor of my sister, who passed away on that day in 2017, and my mother, who used the term “violets for the soul” to describe everyday occurrences that brought her joy. I certainly had no aspirations of becoming an influencer, going viral or sharing must-have Amazon finds and life hacks sure to make us healthy, wealthy and wise. I merely hoped that readers would relate to occasional musings on little moments of joy and random acts of kindness that quietly restore my faith in the human race.

I remember the rush of adrenaline as I summoned the courage to push the “publish” button that first time. I aimed for quality over quantity, posting sporadically whenever inspiration hit, on average only once or twice a month. As the year unfolded, I was enormously grateful for each like, comment and follow, finding encouragement even at times when life made it hard to muster up that “violets for the soul” state of mind.

When 2025 arrived, I pulled up the year-end stats on my platform’s app and was astonished to find that Violets for the Soul had reached people in 32 countries (and, oddly, one “unknown region” – hmm, maybe I did go viral after all?). Inspired to continue on, I grabbed a tablet and began jotting down ideas for future posts, resolving to be more disciplined and to write more frequently and regularly. I can do this, I thought.

But January was a time of personal challenges – of mine and others dear to me – and of increasingly disturbing and disheartening news on all fronts. There were days when it was all too much: Find something uplifting to write about? Think I’ll just pull the covers back over my head instead.

Many days, I’ve looked to favorite old hymns and their enduring wisdom:

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart,
Naught be all else to me, save that thou art;
Thou my best thought by day and by night,
Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Be still, my soul, thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

It’s true that, as the director of Sola Gratia, a nonprofit, ecumenical women’s choir I joined a couple of years ago, often tells us, “when words fail, music speaks.” Her favorite quote, attributed to Hans Christian Anderson, has become a mantra of sorts as we gather on Thursday nights to fine-tune messages of love and grace, translated through the universal language of music.

As we rehearse an arrangement of “How Can I Keep From Singing” for our spring concert, I’m reminded:

My life flows on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off tune
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

It seems the 19th-century lyricist “Pauline T.” is speaking directly to me as, between practices, these words loop on repeat, over and over in my head: How can I keep from singing?

She’s got something there. Truly, how can we keep from singing – literally and metaphorically? If we don’t seek joy, especially when it seems too hard, or peace amid the chaos, love in the face of hate – then what?

This time a year ago I wrote about a lesson I learned from our dog, Jacques, on the importance of finding time to simply “be” in the midst of self-imposed “busyness.” I find it apropos to share today. Once again, the garden is brown and crispy following a hard freeze, the birds are chirping and the squirrels are testing Jacques’ territorial prowess. On the surface, everything seems pretty much the same as last year. But our world has changed vastly, in ways I couldn’t have imagined or comprehended when I wrote this 12 months ago. I hope these reflections will continue to resonate and encourage quiet opportunities to “be still.” Perhaps, in so doing, we’ll find a moment of joy, and take comfort in a new song to sing.

It’s a dog’s life
Originally published Feb. 2, 2024

This morning I received a little reminder that violets for the soul are often found when we take the time to just “be.”

My day so far had been filled with busy work, household chores and end-of-week preparations. A voice in the back of my head kept nagging me that I must do something productive – tackle the giant pile of “to-be-filed” papers in the study, get to the gym, work on the income taxes.

A couple of years into retirement, I’ve found that the deadlines and expectations of workweeks long past are hard to shake. I allowed myself a few moments for a morning stroll around the back yard for inspiration.

As I stepped onto the patio, I chuckled to find our dog, Jacques, lounging on “my” chair. A precocious coton de tulear rescued after Hurricane Harvey, Jacques came into our lives six years ago this month when we met him at a Super Bowl party. He continues to amuse us with various eccentricities, such as his penchant for sitting on a chair, preferably cushioned, to be on the same level as the humans.

I took his cue and, finding a seat, looked around and realized I was missing quite a show.

A hard freeze had contributed to the generally dreary scene before me. But despite the shriveled leaves, the brown grass and the absence of pretty flowers, our garden was nonetheless providing sustenance and shelter for the wildlife that keep us on their daily neighborhood rounds.

The sky was a bright blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Crape myrtles towering over the garden formed an aviary of sorts for birds awaiting their turns at the suet cakes my husband makes from scratch each week. The leafless branches – along with birdbaths, shepherd’s hooks and various structures we’ve added over the years – offered plenty of room to find a perch.

Wind chimes swayed in a light breeze, their music a counterpoint to the cacophony of chirps and tweets filling the air. Two rather outspoken feathered friends struck up a heated conversation in a language I wish I understood.

As I sat quietly, a hummingbird appeared a few feet away to visit one of the feeders we’ve provided for their annual migration south. Ten minutes later, a feeder on the other side of the garden had a visitor. I wondered if they were travel buddies making a quick pit stop before continuing their journey.

A squirrel, aware of Jacques sitting sentinel nearby, made a half-hearted attempt at patrolling the fence, occasionally venturing over to our side before scampering away. I looked up to notice that the white cloud directly above us was turning gray. I remembered that rain was in the forecast and was grateful that Jacques had convinced me to join him outside while the opportunity was there.

The paperwork still awaits, and the gym still calls. But I’m glad I listened to Jacques and gained a valuable lesson, albeit from a dog’s perspective: Sometimes the best, most productive thing we can do with our time is to simply be still and do nothing at all.