Dan and I went to see Miracles From Heaven last night. We cried. A lot. Every parent would. And then there was the butterfly.

When Gram died three years ago, I saw light purple/white butterflies on every hike that summer. They’d appear, fly near my face and circle my head, as if to say ‘Hi’. Then they’d fly out in front of me, or me and Grace if I was hiking with her on my back, literally leading us up and down the mountain. The butterflies were so alive, so playful, and joyful; they stayed with us for hundreds of yards.

“Hi, Gram,” I started to say, whenever they appeared.

And then Grace started to say it as well. “Momma, butterflies! Great Gram T is saying hi. ‘Hi Fairy Godmom in Heaven! We love you!'”

So yeah, the butterfly, I get it.

But the movie also reminded me of the last pages of FAR FROM BROKEN (the pages are below).

The lessons in those pages are now spring-boarding me into my new project, LOVE THE WORLD. I didn’t fully see the connection until last night: coming to terms with the existence of evil (nanny who intentionally hurts infants) in FAR FROM BROKEN broke my heart and led me to God, but not in any organized religion’s definition of God (or Source, Universal Energy of Creation, Shakti, etc). The way to love God is to live as though everything is a miracle, to love life, to love the world, to see beauty in this precious gift, even when it is hard and ugly and chaotic and confusing, because that is life too. Deep in the marrow of humanity is where we find that which is most alive, call it what you will. That’s what I learned and that’s what I’m putting into practice in my new book.

That and I was never alone. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was never alone. Looking back perhaps I can see that, or perhaps I’m just lucky because I have two healthy babies. My gratitude for that is my spiritual path. Along with loving the world as a devotional practice. And seeing beauty as a spiritual discipline. And seeing ‘God’ in the most simple of moments and in the most complex aspects of being human.  For me, that is how I choose to honor, celebrate and love life and God.

(From the Epilogue, FAR FROM BROKEN, June 2014)

In the past few months, I’ve noticed a burgeoning phenomenon, foreign and surprising both in its appearance and comfort. It is the word God slipping from my mouth or moving through my fingers onto the page. I don’t know what it means, but I know it has something to do with Gram, as if a gentle steady force is pulling me out of my mind, away from the questions of why, and into the unfolding moments of my life; inspiriting me to dance in harmony with the details of what is present, right in front of me, as if that is where she and God reside. There, the word appears again, and it feels like a sweet surrender to let it stay.

Because why not? God? Miracles? Lately, I’m startled by the simple fact of my life. For some unbeknownst reason, I am suddenly acutely aware that my existence, in this time and place, is a statistical anomaly of epic proportions bordering on the miraculously impossible. And if that’s the case, if I am completely insignificant while simultaneously uniquely rare, perhaps I should relax more and enjoy the ride.

Why did Aubrey happen? I don’t know, why does anything happen?

Why does evil exist? I don’t know, why does goodness exist?

Why us? I don’t know, why not us?

Could it, or some other trauma, happen again? Possibly. Probably.

The Doctrine of Chances is a legal term used in our case, but it originated as the title of the first book on probability theory, subtitled “A Method of Calculating the Probability of Events in Play.” Probability theory is the mathematical analysis of random phenomena. The exact probability of the events leading to January 30, 2012? I will never know. That is, the probability of life emanating from gasses, evolving to humans on this insanely beautiful and welcoming planet; then tens of thousands of generations of two humans meeting and surviving to give birth to the next generation that resulted in me and Dan meeting to create Kalvin and Grace, the endless possibilities and moments of chance that add up to them and to that moment are so astronomical as to be impossible to understand.

So why not call life a miracle? And more importantly, why not live as if it is.

And that is what I will tell Kalvin and Grace someday when they ask about what happened.

I don’t know why, I’ll tell them. I’m sorry that it happened, I will forever be sorry. But there is no why.

There just is.

There is just this moment, in front of us now.

And our only choice will always be what to do with this moment.

That said, I hope my son and daughter love the world. I hope they fall in love with as many things as possible. I hope they remember how to melt into the moments in front of them, as they do so naturally now; how to be present with the stars in a clear mountain sky, the spontaneous laughter of a great friend; the yearning regrets of a parent, the curiosity of toddler seeing snow for the first time, the resilience of a mother lion, the intricate details of a butterfly’s wings, the dog who will not leave his injured owner’s side, the rainbow rings around the sun, the warm breath of a horse on their chest, the snow crystals that hover suspended in the air, as if we all lived and breathed amongst billions of tiny diamond fairies. I hope they’ll melt into the magic and worship at the altar of their own experience.

Laugh, dream, cry, play, break, weep, despair, love, fight, hate, dance, and do it all again. Stand up, fall down, get back up, forgive yourself. Forgive yourself, I will tell them.

Because they are responsible for their own lives, not for each other’s, or mine, or Dan’s. Embracing that responsibility will come with mistakes, accountability and forgiveness.

Live. Create a life of purpose and meaning. Use your unique gifts to be an instrument for the good in life. Let unapologetic intuition and vibrant appreciation guide the journey. Honor yourselves and the lifetime that is exclusively yours, but that is also shared with so many others.

In some ways, the last year has been a stubborn fight to protect the way I look at the world because of what I want to pass along to the both of them. I want to live from abundance, not scarcity because that is what I want for them. I want to live in beauty, wonder and awe. I want to be an optimist and realist, because of them. I want to live married not just to Dan, but in unity with the irrationally beautiful, powerful force of creation that is manifesting and unfolding every second of every day; because I want to teach that to them.

But I also know they will have bad days.

They are part of life.

When they ask me about depravity and pain, I hope I will be able to convey with empathy and compassion that they too are part of life. But it is our job to show up anyway, to make life as big as possible, to carry the contradictions and confusions gently in our hearts, alongside respect, awe and gratitude.

Yes, evil exists, I will tell them. And yes, knowing of evil is different than experiencing its existence.

But the same is true of love. And I know so much love. And they know so much love. And so I hope they will have the fortitude to choose, despite human depravity, to see beauty and live in a way that is a tribute to overcoming the existence of evil, hurt, and suffering. I hope they will have the confidence and grit to know they can handle anything life throws at them. I hope they will have the courage and the resilience to stay open, vulnerable and porous, such that even when they feel like a lonely drop in a vast ocean, they will remember they are not alone, for they are also the ocean themselves. I hope Dan and I can teach them that life, all of it, is the teacher, the path, and the destination.

Because even the people and things they love will break their heart. And that’s okay. Sometimes they break it to let the light in. Sometimes they break it so the heart can heal stronger. Sometimes the things we love break our hearts so we know just how strong we are. And sometimes, the heart just breaks. Like mine did.

But therein begins the challenge, path, and light all in one. Can we stay open when fear, heartache, or darkness threaten to alienate us from the magic. Can we stay alive? Can we continue to honor the life we’ve been given? If so, we get to fall in love all over again, deeper, with more meaning, texture, strength, fortitude and enlightenment.

Because more than anything, I want them to know that how they react to life and the choices they make will determine the quality and course of their lives. Their choices will define them, not what happens to them, not the darkness, not the hard, not the evil, not what anyone else does, but them. Life simply unfolds. And we have all have the choice to jump in, to lean in, to learn and grow and evolve. Or we can shut down, resist, and close. We can be the victim. We can live in tight little boxes of comfort and fear. We can blame, justify, rationalize, we can fold.

But I hope with all my heart they embrace the choice to stay open, to stay alive, to be a survivor, and to see God in nature, the human condition, and the tiny in-between moments that make up a life. I hope they understand they are never alone. My guess is they will, they have Gram T’s spirit, grit, and grace running in their veins.