By Maude Harrison-Hudson, M. Div.
August and the Art of Slowing Down
August 2025
The Gift of Time
July 2025
The Gift of Time
July 2025
By Maude Harrison-Hudson, M. Div.
By Maude Harrison-Hudson, M. Div.
The Gift of Time
Each year, as my birth month arrives, I take a sacred pause, not to simply count candles or calendar pages, but to reflect on the meaning behind the years. Time has gifted me more than age. It has offered perspective. A steadier rhythm. A deeper appreciation for simplicity and the wisdom to let go of what once weighed me down.
There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine reaching this age with such clarity and peace. I carried wounds that distorted my relationship with myself, my body, and my spirit. Alcohol and food were once my companions in pain. But by grace and surrender, and with the help of spiritual tools and a loving community, I found a new way to live. Not just survive, but truly live.
Now, I wake up each morning with a profound sense of gratitude, not just for another day, but for the length and quality of the life I’ve been given. I know too many who didn’t get this far. I carry their memory in my bones, and I honor them by fully inhabiting my own life. Longevity is a blessing I don’t take lightly. I have outlived grief, heartbreak, and my self-destructive patterns. I have been gifted the time to grow into myself.
My days are no longer marked by striving or hiding. They’re grounded in mindful choices and gentle practices that nourish me from the inside out. I eat to live, rather than escape. I move my body not to punish it, but to honor the miracle that it still is. I begin my mornings with quiet reflection and end them with gratitude. I savor laughter, connection, and even silence.
Soulful living for me means being fully awake to life, welcoming the present moment with open hands and an open heart. It means not apologizing for the lines on my face or the silver in my hair. It means claiming elderhood not as an ending, but as a becoming.
I’ve learned that health is not just about the result or body weight. It’s about harmony. It’s about how well we live. How deeply we forgive. How intentionally we care for our minds, spirits, and relationships. It’s about knowing when to say yes and when to say no. When to push through, and when to sit still.
So in this season of birth, I celebrate the woman I’ve become. I celebrate healing, not just from the emotional scars that contributed to over-indulging in alcohol and food, but from the beliefs that told me I wasn’t enough. I celebrate every lesson that came wrapped in sorrow and every joy that surprised me along the way. I celebrate the life that still invites me to grow, and I thank God for every breath that brought me here.
To those who are aging with me, whether in years or wisdom, I invite you to slow down and reflect. What do you want your days to feel like? What are you willing to release so that something deeper can take root?
May you continue to age not just gracefully, but soulfully. May we live with intention, rest in our truths, and delight in the gifts still unfolding.
Happy birth month to me, and to anyone else who is marking another year of becoming.
A Summer Blessing (poem)
By Maude Harrison-Hudson
Let the sun kiss your forehead
and the breeze remind you—
you are not behind.
You are blooming
in your own time,
your own rhythm.
Let July hold you gently
like the elder you’ve become—
not broken,
but full of stories
and wise enough
to sit still
to hear them.
“Remember-The body keeps score, and when we don’t listen, it finds its way to speak.”
A Personal Reflection on Rest, Remembrance, and Renewal
There’s something about August.
The sun still burns hot, but the days grow a little softer at the edges. The flowers begin to bend with the weight of the season. Even the trees seem to hush a bit, their leaves heavy with what they’ve endured.
August doesn’t rush. It leans. It stretches. It lingers. And it teaches me to do the same.
In the past, I would barrel through this time of year with the same momentum I carried through the summer, checking off tasks, moving from one thing to the next, pushing past my exhaustion. But as I’ve grown through recovery, grief, and grace, I’ve learned to recognize August as something sacred.
August is not a month of striving.
It is a month of remembering.
It holds deep meaning for me. It’s the birth of my daughter Kim, whose presence changed my life, and whose death reshaped it. And it is also the month when my late husband took his final breath, after a long journey through illness and tenderness, suffering and surrender.
So, I slow down.
I walk more softly these weeks. I make space in my days for memory. I pull out photographs, run my fingers over her handwriting, reread old cards from him, and let myself feel the weight and beauty of what I’ve lived through. Not to dwell in sadness, but to honor what was real. To hold their lives with the reverence they deserve.
Grief doesn’t end. It changes shape. Sometimes it sits quietly beside me in the stillness. Sometimes it arrives as a sudden ache while folding laundry or hearing a song. I thought I’d forgotten. But in August, I don’t run from it. I lean in.
There was a time in my life when slowing down felt unbearable. If I stopped moving, the grief might consume me. The memories might overwhelm me. So, I stayed busy. I filled the space with food, alcohol, obligations, anything but silence.
But over the years, healing has taught me that stillness isn’t my enemy. It’s my sanctuary.
It’s where I hear God the clearest.
It’s where I meet myself most honestly.
It’s where I let love rise to the surface, love that is stronger than death.
In the quiet of August, I return to what truly matters: my body, my breath, my spiritual foundation:
- Where do I need to be more gentle, with myself, with others, with my memories?
- What do I need to let go of to move forward in peace?
- How can I nourish myself, not just with food, but with beauty, prayer, and connection?
August is a time to remember that rest is not a reward; it is Holy, especially for those of us who have carried long burdens, deep griefs, and generations of survival.
So, I honor this time by:
- Lighting a candle in Kim’s name
- Sitting in the stillness of prayer with my husband’s memory
- Taking walks at dusk when the sky is washed with soft gold
- Letting the wind speak to me of letting go, of surrender, of beginning again
And I listen. Not just with my ears, but with my heart.
Because when I slow down enough to feel the ache of loss, I also feel the quiet pulse of life still flowing. When I stop rushing, I remember I am still here. I am still healing. I am still loved.
So, this August, I invite you to slow down with me.
To make room for memory.
To rest without guilt.
To love without armor.
To breathe without rushing toward what’s next.
Because the same God who called the stars into being
calls us to rest,
into remembrance,
and into renewal.
Reflection Questions:
- Who or what am I remembering with love this month?
- Where in my life am I resisting rest?
- How can I honor my grief and still welcome joy?
Benediction: A Blessing for the Slowing Soul
May the God of all comfort
wrap you in peace as you remember what was,
and hold you gently as you honor what still aches.
May you find rest for your body,
stillness for your spirit,
and tenderness for your grief.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
-- Matthew 11:28
May the memories you carry be touched with light.
May your sorrow be softened by love.
May your breath come slowly, and your heart beat steadily.
As you walk through this season in the company of grace.
Go slow.
Go soft.
Go blessed.
"What we carry shows up, sometimes in silence, sometimes in pain."
The Gift of Time
Each year, as my birth month arrives, I take a sacred pause, not to simply count candles or calendar pages, but to reflect on the meaning behind the years. Time has gifted me more than age. It has offered perspective. A steadier rhythm. A deeper appreciation for simplicity and the wisdom to let go of what once weighed me down.
There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine reaching this age with such clarity and peace. I carried wounds that distorted my relationship with myself, my body, and my spirit. Alcohol and food were once my companions in pain. But by grace and surrender, and with the help of spiritual tools and a loving community, I found a new way to live. Not just survive, but truly live.
Now, I wake up each morning with a profound sense of gratitude, not just for another day, but for the length and quality of the life I’ve been given. I know too many who didn’t get this far. I carry their memory in my bones, and I honor them by fully inhabiting my own life. Longevity is a blessing I don’t take lightly. I have outlived grief, heartbreak, and my self-destructive patterns. I have been gifted the time to grow into myself.
My days are no longer marked by striving or hiding. They’re grounded in mindful choices and gentle practices that nourish me from the inside out. I eat to live, rather than escape. I move my body not to punish it, but to honor the miracle that it still is. I begin my mornings with quiet reflection and end them with gratitude. I savor laughter, connection, and even silence.
Soulful living for me means being fully awake to life, welcoming the present moment with open hands and an open heart. It means not apologizing for the lines on my face or the silver in my hair. It means claiming elderhood not as an ending, but as a becoming.
I’ve learned that health is not just about the result or body weight. It’s about harmony. It’s about how well we live. How deeply we forgive. How intentionally we care for our minds, spirits, and relationships. It’s about knowing when to say yes and when to say no. When to push through, and when to sit still.
So in this season of birth, I celebrate the woman I’ve become. I celebrate healing, not just from the emotional scars that contributed to over-indulging in alcohol and food, but from the beliefs that told me I wasn’t enough. I celebrate every lesson that came wrapped in sorrow and every joy that surprised me along the way. I celebrate the life that still invites me to grow, and I thank God for every breath that brought me here.
To those who are aging with me, whether in years or wisdom, I invite you to slow down and reflect. What do you want your days to feel like? What are you willing to release so that something deeper can take root?
May you continue to age not just gracefully, but soulfully. May we live with intention, rest in our truths, and delight in the gifts still unfolding.
Happy birth month to me, and to anyone else who is marking another year of becoming.
A Summer Blessing (poem)
By Maude Harrison-Hudson
Let the sun kiss your forehead
and the breeze remind you—
you are not behind.
You are blooming
in your own time,
your own rhythm.
Let July hold you gently
like the elder you’ve become—
not broken,
but full of stories
and wise enough
to sit still
to hear them.
“Remember-The body keeps score, and when we don’t listen, it finds its way to speak.”