From Gold, With Love

where time stands still. perhaps, a birthday wish.

Sep 16, 2024

“But grace is also contagious. An act of kindness inspires another act of kindness… A single act of forgiveness can feel like it heals the world. Grace begets grace. Love rubs off on those who are loved…” — Richard Rohr, Daily Meditations.

Recently, I’ve been feeling particularly vulnerable—not in a way that suggests weakness, but more like being on the verge of blooming into something I wasn’t before. Birthdays are strange markers of time. They carry the weight of years, yet there’s something ethereal about the day itself—something that feels like it both belongs to you and transcends you. As mine approaches tomorrow, I find myself caught in a reflective space, drawn into the passing of time and the stillness of faith. As I sit with these thoughts, one metaphor keeps calling to me: gold.

Gold symbolizes what is eternal—pure and untouched by the world. It’s soft yet strong, able to endure fire and pressure without losing its brilliance. In my faith, I’ve found something equally golden, something that remains untarnished no matter what life throws my way. If there’s one lesson both teach, it’s the power of resilience.

There are moments when life feels heavy—days when I question, doubt, or falter. But even then, I sense the radiant thread of belief quietly shimmering beneath everything, holding me together. It’s a constant reminder that while I am enveloped by time, my spirit is connected to something more enduring. This kind of mindset can offer redemption, healing, and renewed guidance.

There is something intensely personal about recognizing this process, about seeing the gold in moments that might otherwise seem ordinary. The kindness of strangers, the warmth of exchanged words, the courage to admit fears, and the quiet prayers whispered in solitude—all these moments, small as they are, feel like flashes of light. As I reflect on my birthday, I realize how much this metaphor applies to my life. Each year feels like another layer of gold being added—sometimes through fire, sometimes through gentle polishing.

It’s September again, which means our ipê is coming back to life. But was it ever not fully alive? I have so much to learn from it, and each flower breathes hope into this bright morning.

Lately, I’ve been pondering how some signs aren’t fully clear when they first emerge in our lives. Have you ever felt that you only understood their significance much later, when everything suddenly falls into place? It’s like returning to a book multiple times until you’re ready to grasp its meaning, or like a photographer developing old photos, revealing what was concealed all along.

Revisiting old material can often be a bittersweet experience—the timing, the relevance, and the love behind it all. It’s as though the universe is speaking directly to us, offering reminders of something greater, deeper, and more substantial than words alone can convey. It might be compared to a thread that connects us to something beyond ourselves—an essence that weaves together faith, time, and spirit.

When we go back and look at the same things again, there’s always a detail or nuance we can re-signify. There is profound humility in caring for what we hold dear in a realistic manner. Writing teaches us slowly, lesson by lesson. For me, it’s about refining the parts of my soul that crave tenderness, aiming for my journey to resonate simply yet meaningfully with others. Deep down, I only wish for people to receive my words for what they are—pieces of my heart that I am choosing to put out there—reaching and stretching and yearning.

There’s something vibrant yet peaceful in the nature of love. The love I hold for my parents, my mentors, and even for myself feels like a reflection of the divine—a love that doesn’t fade, a love that endures even when life’s circumstances try to wear it down. My birthday reminds me of this: I have been loved for another year, and I have had the privilege of loving others for another year. And while time may move forward, this feeling remains—with the greatest sense of humanity possible.

My heart felt a bit heavy last Saturday, so I decided to go for a walk to get some fresh air, and naturally, I ended up looking at more flowers to buy. On the same day,

Helene Van Manen

responded to my note, prompting me to reflect on how softening it is to give things a personal touch, to feel familiarity and warmth from what we cherish. I sometimes like to give meaningful names to flowers or even people—names that reflect what I believe to be their essence—like when I pick my favorite rose of the day and say, “Hello, Bela,” using a Brazilian adjective. It almost feels like they’re responding with an “Olá” of their own. It’s a warm and real connection.

A flower, a patient, an artist—I’ve always made it a point to honor every mentor I’ve had, because how could I not? I see everyone as equals, in a spirit of fraternity. And perhaps that’s the root of it—forgetting what divides us, like distance or power, and honoring the core of our shared humanity. We all experience emotions like sadness and joy. We all have a heart that beats with both vulnerability and strength.

As I step into another year, I carry these memories with me—the gold of faith, the gold of experience, the gold of love. It is not something I hold in my hands, but something that rests within me, something that shines through the way I choose to live. It is a reminder that while I am bound by time, I am also bound to the eternal. So, as I blow out the candles this year, or better yet, eat the cherries, I won’t just be marking another year gone by. I will be celebrating the precious moments that have shaped me, the brave thread of hope that enlightens me, and the lasting love that sustains me.

This is what my birthday means—an observance of the sublime, forgiveness, and the essence of life. Realizing that I can bring even the smallest bit of good into the broader context makes me feel fulfilled. It’s comforting to know that my words aren’t disappearing into the void but are instead finding a place where they can contribute to something more enlightening. Above all, thank you to those who let me know I made a difference. It’s a victory for me because so much love is lost when we don’t express how we feel, and I vowed a while back that I wouldn’t let that happen to me. I often think of us as mirrorballs—when something shines on us, the light within our hearts creates a dazzling effect, reflecting that energy back into the world. It all feels timeless and refreshing in countless respects.

Last week, Richard Rohr wrote about how forgiveness is about working through our pains in the presence of God, and in many ways, it is more for the one offering it than for the one receiving it. Forgiveness for those who haven’t comprehended you, for those who haven’t cared fully, and also self-forgiveness for the old versions of yourself who, not knowing what you do now and, in spite of their missteps, were genuinely trying to achieve well. I believe it encompasses planting, growth, and harvest. More importantly, it’s about feeling every sense, noticing every detail, and pouring our hearts into everything we do.

When I chose to look for the good in things, instead of imagining the worst, something magical and unexpected happened—clarity began to unfold. Trying is always better than regretting, no matter the outcome—as long as you are fully honest and respect people in the process, of course. One can only pray for openness. One can only fight for understanding. And most definitely of all—one can only practice trust. True knowledge arises from a place of receptivity and presence rather than from rigid frameworks or preconceived notions.

The good often emerges at the summit of that journey, beginning with just a single step toward your fears of presenting yourself to others. It becomes real when you allow yourself to give even 1% of doubt a chance, when you stop assuming you know what’s going to happen, and when you embrace change. For me, it’s been quite the flourishing—even with the unknowns along the way. I hope someday I get in touch with the answers, but above all, I hope time continues to nurture the humility within me—a full circle.

Connections form gradually, often growing beneath the surface where they aren’t immediately visible, much like how over half of a tree’s roots spread quietly under the ground. Move forward gently, like an earthworm that makes no noise. To those who are close to me, I want you to know that I truly appreciate you welcoming me into your life, as I value your company in mine. To those who aren’t yet, I am still here—older and hopefully wiser. Possibly better at expressing myself, but with the same heart, ever ready to connect.