The Roots Beneath My Feet

This morning I sat in front of my ancestor altar looking for guidance.

Life has a way of piling things on all at once. Worry.

Fear.

Decisions.

The kind of things that make you wonder if you’re strong enough to carry them.

Instead of sitting in silence, I found myself cleaning the altar.

One photograph at a time.

One candle at a time.

One offering at a time.

And somewhere in the middle of caring for the space, my ancestors began reminding me of something I had forgotten.

Their blood runs through my veins.

I am an extension of them, just as they were an extension of those who came before them.

They are not simply people from my past.

They are the roots of who I am.

When I feel like I’m standing alone against the wind, I forget that trees don’t survive storms because of their branches.

They survive because of their roots.

Today reminded me that I don’t have to have all the answers.

I only have to remember where my strength comes from.

May we all remember the roots beneath our feet.

💜