UncommonPromise

Glasses of water shook and slid across tables. Startled, we looked at other diners and read their lips, “Earthquake!” Gripping our tables, we sat wide-eyed and motionless, waiting, feeling for something—poised to act but not knowing how. Ninety terrifying seconds later, as quickly as it appeared, the quake receded into silence.

It was a minor tremor, but in California where we live with the eternal possibility of The Big One, even a little shaking and shifting is alarming. Nothing fell. Nothing broke. But we knew it could be the smaller shock before a big quake.



Life traumas are personal earthquakes. They happen with little warning, we know they’re possible, yet we’re paralyzed when they happen, and shake us to our foundations. Everything tumbles and nothing seems the same.

My mother was diagnosed with cancer on April 8, 2008. She went from being a relatively healthy 77-year-old woman to a loved one in danger. The diagnosis was no small tremor or rumble; it jolted us into awareness of life and the connections we share. The room suddenly grew quiet. We sat motionless, waiting and feeling for what would follow—hoping for the best, prompted to stay ever alert.

You may want to visit our other websites:

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog

The UP Side Lowdown by Cheryl

New Music - Virtual CD