This month may just be the most hectic of my life. May has transformed into a balancing act for Wonder & Grow, filled with extraordinary opportunities. As the month draws to a close, we will have triumphantly led Randolph County Outdoor Days for 4th and 5th graders. We’ve been awarded the largest grant we’ve ever pursued from the Snowshoe Foundation, which will fund equipment for all our youth programs. Additionally, we’ve conducted a full-day workplace well-being retreat for Youth Health Services staff, along with two workshops for Davis Trust Company.

On a personal note, I presented to the West Virginia Hospital Association’s Leadership Academy, discussing mindfulness in the workplace and leading with curiosity and compassion. Our COO, Valerie has earned her Interpretive Guide certification, and just this weekend, we supported Valley Health’s Mental Health Awareness Day at Elkins City Park by facilitating a sensory grounding exercise.

Amidst these developments, we’ve also had to step back and hit pause on other significant aspects of our work.

This morning, as I engaged in my Sunday Sit Spot ritual of enjoying coffee on my porch, I pondered whether a familiar Garter Snake was basking on the bottom step. Indeed, it was there, but quickly retreated into the crevice beneath the porch as my Shepherd, Daisy, leaped down the steps.

I sat beside the snake, which remained motionless, perhaps as curious about me as I was about it. At about 18 inches long, its circular, light brown eyes captivated me. As I observed, I couldn’t help but draw parallels between myself and the snake. Lately, I’ve yearned for retreat—a cool, dark refuge from the world. I’m weary from the constant exposure and crave the security of a barrier, yet I remain intrigued by the kind souls I encounter, seeking connection with a cautious openness.

My reverie was interrupted as Daisy returned, prompting the snake to withdraw once more, pressing its head flat against the porch. I caught only a glimpse of its underbelly and chin. Unaware, Daisy dropped her slobbery frisbee into my lap.

After letting Daisy inside, I continued to watch the snake. In the quiet, I noticed its tongue flickering, tasting the air. Gradually, it reemerged, resting beside me—perhaps now less wary.

Today, I aspire to navigate my day with diminished fear of judgment, yet with an innate sense of when to retreat to my own sanctuary. I am profoundly thankful for the divine messages nature imparts, in ways beyond my wildest dreams. And I can’t help but wonder, does the snake recognize its own sacredness?