I wanted to let you know of two opportunities for reflection, creativity, exploration, and community.

Afternoon of Reflection

The first is this Sunday, March 29, 1:00–4:00 p.m., at the Spirituality Center at St. Benedict’s Monastery. Barbara Sutton and I are offering an afternoon of reflection: Catching Our Breath: Women’s History Month and a Prayer of Longing. Barbara will lead us in SoulCollage, and I will guide us through some meditative movement and breathwork exercises. Barbara and I have been discussing the devastation and resilience of women's lives over recent years. We need time for lament, connection, expression, and acknowledgment. We need to find our breath in the midst of it all. Barbara and I will provide a bit of space for exactly that.

Register here

April GriefWise Retreat

Join AnnElise Bergstrom and me for a retreat on Nurturing Meaning and Creativity while Grieving. This retreat is April 27–29 at the Episcopal House of Prayer on the campus of Saint John’s University. We are accepting registrations now!

Retreat Registration

During this retreat, we will explore how grief is tranformative. We need to sit in the muck and mire for a bit before we let it do its work, but eventually we're ready to make sense of what we've experienced in our loss. Through metaphor and storytelling, through self-definition, and through intention and attention we emerge from our deep grief. During this retreat, we will explore our loss(es) within the context of our lives in order to find meaning in what may have felt meaningless at times (and maybe still does).

This two-night retreat costs $495. Scholarships are available if assistance is needed.

If you have any questions about these events, please contact me: lauren@heartforwardyoga.com.

Looking forward to seeing you soon.

Peace,

Lauren

. . .

I have restarted my daily yoga practice. My teacher provides a calendar on which she suggests classes for the day. This month, she is highlighting mantra, and these first ten days have included the Saraswati mantra as an option. It’s a twelve-minute session chanting, “Om aim klim Sarasvatiye namaha.” My teacher is accompanied by a few other people, so it feels like you are within a group when you chant. I have not been much of a mantra practitioner. When I began yoga seriously in 2020, I did not feel comfortable chanting mantra because I didn’t know much about it. While I am not opposed to it on theological grounds, I felt like I was entering murky appropriating territory. As a Catholic, I wanted to be careful: not because I was worried about my own faith, more because I wanted to be respectful of the tradition I was encountering.

Over the years, I’ve learned a bit more and am comfortable chanting. As I became more familiar with mantra, I recognized it’s similarities to my tradition. A mantra often invokes the power or support of a God or Goddess within a particular situation or to impart a certain quality. It is a way of bringing focus to the chanter. The intention behind mantra is reverence, repetition, and humility. You hope to embody that which you intone. Similar things could be said about prayer within the Catholic tradition, especially when you consider our devotion to saints. Within mantra, I recognize the chanting of the psalms in the Liturgy of the Hours or the recitation of rote prayers in the rosary. Relativism? Maybe. I prefer to think of it as an expanded and enveloping view of how divinity shows up in and is reverenced throughout the world.

“Om aim klim Sarasvatiye namaha.” Om, aim, and klim are “bija” or “seed” mantras. Their single-syllable vibrations focus the energy and concentration, connecting practitioners to various elements or deities. Saraswati is the Goddess of wisdom, and namaha can be translated as “may I recognize and honor thee.” As I’ve chanted this mantra this week, I have been attentive to how the Holy Spirit is showing up in and through me. It has not been easy. I have also noticed the way my body and breath change throughout the 108 repetitions: my diaphragm is engaged, and the sound of my voice is deeper and fuller; my hands warm even though I’m not moving; my sinuses clear because of the vibration; my breath may be shallow to begin with, but by the end it has steadied and expanded.

Our Cully dog has been joining me during my yoga practice this week. She likes that she can get attention all to herself. (Lewis is kenneled downstairs while I practice in the guest room upstairs.) I also think she notices the shift in my energy when I settle to the mat. Her own energy shifts too. She starts out insistent about getting pets, but as the mantra proceeds, she softens, lays down, places her head or paw on my crossed legs.

I’ve thought about the Good dog in the car with Renee as Cully practices with me. I’ve thought about the fear that poor puppy felt. I cry.

On Thursday night I texted a friend. We shared the things we’re both doing to stay afloat these days: writing and yoga are our primary methods. But she ended with this: “I WANT LIFE TO BE SOFT.” To that, I said, “I am grateful to have lifelines, but it’d be nice if I could hold them gently instead of with clenched fists and gritted teeth every day.”

. . .

These first days of the new year have been so hard. We are being inundated with violence. We hear about it in the news; we read about it every morning. Even if we are not in the midst of the violence ourselves, we are aware of it. It floods our feeds. I do not watch videos of shootings. When cops murder Black and Brown people, I read the stories, but I will not watch. I did not watch the assassination attempt on Trump or the shooting of Charlie Kirk. I will not put those images in my brain. I saw the video of Renee Good being murdered. I did not want to. The video started as I was scrolling Threads, and I could not get it off my screen fast enough.

Take that in: I, a person who was trying to avoid seeing the video, could not close a browser window or scroll away fast enough to not see a man get out of his car, walk up to a woman turning her car around to escape, and pull the trigger. That’s how fast it happened.

Seconds.

Another image from the video haunts me. One of the men grabbed her door handle and tried to open it. Roughly. No matter what she did, this was not going to end well.

It did not end well.

. . .

As I have come back to my body and breath in a very intentional way, I’ve noticed where, exactly, my body is holding tension. I could have given you very general descriptions of where my tension is: hips, shoulders, jaw. Now I can point to exact spots: my outer right hip; between the lower part of my left shoulder blade and spine; a knot in my left thigh that I tried to work out with a rolling pin; the right side of my jaw, huge knot. I breathe into these spaces throughout the day; I invite softness; I ponder the tension melting away.

My physical reactions to the news this week have fascinated me. I have worked with and managed my anxiety for over fifteen years. I know it well. I saw the video on Wednesday. On Thursday morning, I read Heather Cox Richardson’s letter, in which she details what occurred. My chest and breath tightened; my stomach churned; my head was floofy and light. I kept reading. I have been very aware of the need to release what I’m witnessing from my body. I have also been very aware of the privilege I have to be able to release it. I have suggested to others that they invite softness, that they be gentle, that we seek pockets of peace.

Such comments, though, have felt superficial. What’s happening should cause reaction. I do not want to watch a video of a woman murdered and not feel utter despair. I am full of rage. I should be full of rage. Earlier this week I worried that my desire for gentleness was a way to avoid the realities of what was occurring. But as the days wore on I realized that there is another layer: I do not want to be a hard person because of what our government is doing. I do not want their actions to remove my empathy, to desensitize me, to turn my heart to stone. Hearts of stone don’t beat steadily in moments of calm, flutter in excitement, or skip a beat because they are astounded by what they have just witnessed. Hearts of flesh do. They beat, break, scar, melt. The rage and sadness I feel are not signs of a hardening heart; rather, they indicate that my heart is made of flesh. My call to softness has not been to avoid reality; it has been a refusal to allow the tactics of our government and those who support it to turn me into stone. To make me impermeable and unfeeling.

As I think about what ICE is doing in and to our communities, to our fellow citizens, to those, documented or not, seeking a better life here, of all places, I wonder what it would mean for these agents to invite gentleness. It is, I know, a dream. Everything about those men who encountered Good was aggressive. I have joined the chorus of saying, “Fuck ICE.” But I find myself uncomfortable with that language. Not because I’m a prude but because it feels insufficient. I want this ICE to melt. For the tension and hate and ugliness they have infused into our communities to transform into something different, to wash away, to evaporate. ICE began in 2003 as a reaction to the September 11 attacks. It has never not been a racist agency. We are seeing the logical outcome of an organization created to profile for terrorists based on otherness (read: skin color). ICE’s initial mandate might not have been this, but it was only a hair trigger away. Obviously.

. . .

I have been, on occasion, gasping for breath again. It’s what happens when my anxiety is high. I can’t catch my breath. Because I know this, I am attentive to breathwork to counteract the gasping, to regulate and restore my breath. It evens out eventually.

But the catch in my breath this week has been a reminder that some things need to disregulate us. The rug gets pulled out from under us, and we have to find our feet again. It is not easy. It is a privilege to be able to climb back up. It is an honor to have a fleshy heart that stutters because there were stuffed animals in her glovebox and her dog was in the backseat

.

I wanted to send a final reminder about the GriefWise retreat that I’m leading with AnnElise Bergstrom next week.

We are closing in on the deadline for the November 12–14, 2025, retreat. The theme for this gathering is Nurturing Health and Comfort while Grieving the Death of a Loved One.

Pre-Register Now

Here are some things past participants have found meaningful about our retreats:

• Thoughtful conversations with other people who have experienced the loss of a loved one

• No expectations or judgments about how you “should” feel in your grieving or where you “should be” in your process

• Space to think, cry, laugh, and rest

• Intentional sessions that allow you to focus on your physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health

• Peaceful and accessible yoga classes to help you calm and steady your head, heart, and body

• Home-cooked meals and treats made with love by AnnElise and Lauren

• The opportunity to make new friends or deepen bonds with old ones

• Time away from chores, bills, demands, and work so you can honor your grief

We will explore our physical, mental, and spiritual health and how grief has affected our whole selves during this retreat.

This two-night retreat is held at the Episcopal House of Prayer on the campus of Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. Each participant has a private bedroom with a twin bed, desk, chair, sink, and reading lamp. Communal spaces include the great room, library, oratory, dining room, and kitchen. Showers and bathrooms are shared.

What happens at a GriefWise retreat?

• The first night begins with dinner, followed by a group discussion where we introduce ourselves and our loved one(s) who has died. You are invited to bring an object that symbolizes your person (for example, an item of clothing, a photo, a book) to talk about and to place on the table that we gather around for our discussions.

• The next day includes three two-hour sessions that explore our physical, mental, and emotional/spiritual health. There is time for written reflection, group discussion, and restorative yoga in each session. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are provided. Free time is also available for resting, hiking, chatting with new friends, or reading.

• Our final morning together includes breakfast and a closing session that allows time to reflect on how we felt when we arrived and what, if anything, has shifted for us during our time together. We will take back our items that we placed on the central table to take home.

The retreat costs $495, which includes lodging and food.

We would love for you to join us.

Pre-Register Now

Here’s what others have said about GriefWise retreats:

• “It actually did help to share my grief burden and allow others to share theirs. It doesn’t mean it went away; it just means it feels a bit lighter. And I left feeling more relaxed and hopeful.” —R. Olson

• “Safe, loving environment for open hearts and minds seeking to make sense of loss and be understood, seen, and affirmed.” —Anne

• “It felt like AnnElise and Lauren were holding us all in a safe, warm cocoon. Each person’s story built on the next. It was like a beautiful symphonic (if sometimes painful) chorus.” —Donna

• “The rooms were very comfortable and I’m glad we had time to write, read, and rest. The pace of the weekend was perfect. Thank you, AnnElise and Lauren, for hosting our circles—your collaboration was noted. You each had a uniqueness to offer in your individual personalities and style. I’m telling my friends and family about my experience.” —Anonymous attendee

It has been a busy few months for me. I have been taking a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at the local hospital. If you’ve heard of CPE, it’s mostly likely within the context of receiving a ministry degree or becoming a chaplain. The goal is to learn how to provide spiritual care, to deepen one’s understanding of how identity informs such care, and to reflect on encounters with those seeking care. I am doing this unit as a form of professional development for Heart Forward Yoga. I am learning more about providing care for people who are grieving and anxious, honing the skills I use in classes and in writing, and reflecting on the ways I show up for you. It has been a fascinating program, and I am sure the next few months will continue to be enlightening.

But for now, a few reminders of ways you can participate in Heart Forward Yoga offerings:

Thursday Yoga Class

I’m teaching on Thursdays, 5:00–6:00 p.m., at the Episcopal House of Prayer again. In this week’s class, I’ll be focusing on being the calm in the midst of the storm: when everything feels like it’s swirling around us, how do we ground ourselves, stay present, and steady our thoughts, feelings, and bodies? Join me for a peaceful practice of balance and restoration.

RSVP: October 16

November Grief Retreat

We still have open spots for the GriefWise retreat on November 12–14. The theme of this retreat is Nurturing Health and Comfort while grieving loved ones who have died. We’ll be focusing on how grief affects our physical, mental, and emotional/spiritual health. I think of this retreat as “Grieving 101.” AnnElise Bergstrom and I facilitate the discussions and invite participants to share stories about their grief and what has and hasn’t worked for them. I will guide you through a couple of yoga practices during the retreat as well. It’s a wonderful chance to sit with your grieving among others who know what it’s like to pick up the pieces (or, sometimes, leave them scattered for a bit and just stare at them in frustration, confusion, and wonder).

Register Now

The cost of the retreat is $495, which includes programming, lodging, and food.

If you have questions, please feel free to contact me. Or check out our website:

Learn More

Become a Paid Subscriber

Another way to support Heart Forward Yoga is to become a paid subscriber. For $75 a year, you receive an e-mail every weekday with a reflection question, intention, and meditative moment. I love writing these pieces, and I would love for you to read them.

Subscribe now

I hope your week is a peaceful one and that I’ll be seeing you in class, on retreat, or through e-mail soon. It is always an honor to practice with you.

Peace,

Lauren

New Class Schedule

The October–December class schedule is now live! I’ll be teaching on Thursdays, 5:00–6:00 p.m., at the Episcopal House of Prayer again. You can see available dates and register here: https://www.heartforwardyoga.com/classes.

They have a group there this week, but we’ll be ready to go on October 9.

RSVP: October 9

November Grief Retreat

I will be leading a grief retreat with AnnElise Bergstrom on November 12–14. The theme of this retreat is Nurturing Health and Comfort while grieving loved ones who have died. We’ll be focusing on how grief affects our physical, mental, and emotional/spiritual health. I think of this retreat as “Grieving 101.” AnnElise and I facilitate the discussions and invite participants to share stories about their grief and what has and hasn’t worked for them. I will guide you through a couple of yoga practices during the retreat as well. It’s a wonderful chance to sit with your grieving among others who know what it’s like to pick up the pieces (or, sometimes, leave them scattered for a bit and just stare at them in frustration, confusion, and wonder).

Register Now

The cost of the retreat is $495, which includes programming, lodging, and food.

We have SEVEN spots available, and we’d love for YOU to take one of them.

If you have questions, please feel free to contact me. Or check out our website:

Learn More

I hope you’ll be able to join me for classes or for the retreat. It is always an honor to practice with you.

Peace,

Lauren

I was putting final touches on a newsletter when I hopped on to the internet and read the news yesterday.

Another shooting. A Catholic school. Mass. Children. A suicide.

Plenty of things to knock me off balance.

To knock many of us off balance.

One of the things that the yoga teacher I follow talks about it how the wobbles let us know that our muscles are working. Poses that require balance—Tree, Eagle, High Lunge—often make us a bit unsteady. We might fall out of them completely, or tap our non-rooted foot to the ground to reset, or we reach out for the wall or a chair. Or maybe we stay in the pose and our ankles, calves, knees are shaky while our toes grip the mat with everything they’ve got.

We wobble. But we’re doing the work of balancing.

Truth to tell, the normalcy of gun violence in this country should make us wobble. It should knock us flat. We should wail, lament, rage, weep. This is how we know our hearts are working.

I spent the afternoon in a fog. Trying to think of how to send a newsletter about yoga for grieving and anxiety when I was, myself, a bundle of grief and anxiety, rage and frustration, deep sadness and stunned silence.

As a griever and worrier, I know how these experiences sit in the head, heart, and body. I also know how important it is to acknowledge them, breathe through them, move them around. And that’s what I did yesterday.

The newsletter I was working on was a reintroduction: who am I and why do I focus on yoga for grief and anxiety? Well, I’m Lauren, and I can help you work with grief and anxiety because I’ve been there. I am there. And yoga, breathwork, and meditation help. Our grievings and anxieties might be different, but I know the language and the landscape.

My dad died of colon cancer when I was five. I’ve also grieved three uncles: Kevin drowned in a canoeing accident when I was a baby; Shaun died by suicide in 2010; Ryan died by suicide in 2017. All three uncles are my mom’s brothers.

In 2010, after Shaun’s death, I regrieved my dad’s death. The anxiety that simmered through much of my life came to a boil. I started medication and therapy and began learning about tools to manage this beast. I went back to the basics: breath, sleep, food, water, movement.

I have done yoga off and on over the years, but I started a consistent practice in May 2020. While doing yoga, I noticed that it moved my grieving around and helped me manage my anxiety. It didn’t fix any of it, but showing up on my mat gave me space and time to encounter how grieving and anxiety had settled in my head, heart, and body. It allowed me to observe, move, and occasionally release what I had been holding. It still does.

In 2022, I did a 200-hour yoga teacher training program through Devanadi School of Yoga and Wellness. The desire to teach people who are grieving and anxious hit like a lightning bolt. We have come so far in understanding grief as an emotional experience, but it is also so very physical. Anxiety is considered a mental illness, but the symptoms are felt in these bodies we live, move, and have our being in. The mental, emotional, and physical are not separate things.

My goal with Heart Forward Yoga is to create space for you to sit with your grieving, acknowledge the anxieties, and, if and when you’re ready, allow them to shift.

In September, I’m teaching on Thursdays, 5:00–6:00 p.m., at the Episcopal House of Prayer on the campus of Saint John’s University.

My classes are pay-from-the-heart pricing: $20 is the standard rate; $12 is the minimum requested; $5 is for those who need a break.

Please be gentle with yourselves and with others these days.

Peace,

Lauren

PS: A great way to support my work is to become a paid subscriber. You’ll receive an e-mail every day with a reflection question, an intention, and a meditative moment.

Subscribe now

Wait. What? He was throwing me out, I realized. He simply wasn’t giving room for my insecurity.

I left thinking that maybe I was doing just fine. Maybe the goal wasn’t perfection. Maybe it was learning and process and discovery. What a concept.

Fr. Michael became someone I greatly admired during my time at the SOT. He was one of the three professors on my comprehensive exam board when I reached the end of my program. Comps involved two parts: writtens and orals. We received three questions from our board and had a week to write three short papers in response. Then we had an hour-long oral exam. The writing was a breeze. Give me some questions to answer and a week to research and write over and over again. I’ll be happy as a little clam. Lock me in a room with three of my mentors grilling me about classes I’ve taken and books I’ve read over the past two years? No. I was a nervous wreck.

I remember Fr. Michael, Dr. Cox, and Dr. Diaz beginning the exam by saying it was “just a conversation,” “nothing to worry about.” Hah! Fr. Michael threw out a question about the Institution Narratives (where Jesus establishes the Eucharist as a sacrament) in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark, Matthew, Luke), asking me why such a narrative didn’t exist in John’s gospel. I blundered my way through an answer, but I could tell I wasn’t getting to the point he wanted me to make. He asked the question a slightly different way. More sputtering on my part. Finally, he stopped and said, “Ah. I can’t make you read my mind.” And he asked the question more clearly. What he wanted me to note was that John 6, the Bread of Life discourse, is John’s Institution Narrative. The Last Supper in John isn’t the eucharistic moment in that gospel because it’s already happened when Jesus told those gathered on a hill that he was the Bread of Life.

I got there. But I also learned the importance of backing up. He could have gotten annoyed and let me flounder. Instead, he recognized that the floundering wasn’t completely my fault. Our miscommunication was an invitation to try again, to be more clear, to keep going until we found the right answer. Together.

Several years later, when Patrick and I got engaged, he agreed to a Catholic wedding. As an atheist, he wasn’t quite enthused, but he knew it mattered to me. And I knew that the presider would matter for him. I worked at Liturgical Press after I graduated. The Press is one of the many parts of the Saint John’s campus. We were able to have our wedding at Saint John’s Abbey. Many of the monks are great presiders, but Fr. Michael was the one I wanted. He would be able to handle Patrick with grace, intelligence, and humor. And Patrick would recognize Fr. Michael’s integrity and faith, not as a push toward evangelization but simply as who he was. We met several times, as you do for marriage prep. Patrick’s favorite story about this time was some quiz we had to take about compatibility. Questions about finances and chores and communication styles. One asked if sarcasm is ever appropriate in a marriage. Both of us answered yes. As Fr. Michael reviewed our answers, he paused at that one. “Ideally,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips, “you both would have said no to that.” And then he cautioned, gently but with great wisdom, “Just be careful with it.”

Because Patrick isn’t Catholic and a number of our guests would also not be Catholic, I did not want to have Communion at our wedding. Instead, I wrote an e-mail to Fr. Michael with the readings for our wedding and a request that we have a footwashing. Not for the whole congregation, but Patrick and I would wash each other’s feet. I was in my office at the Press when I sent the e-mail. A few minutes later, my phone rang. Fr. Michael. “Okay, I’m not opposed to the footwashing, but you need to explain the theological significance and why it’s liturgically appropriate.”

Always the professor.

The footwashing takes place in John 13. It’s John’s version of the Last Supper, but it flips the script on what the Synoptics do within their Last Suppers. The disciples have already been told to remember him, that he is bread and wine, flesh and blood. So here, in John, Jesus takes a pitcher and basin and washes the disciples’ feet before a meal. With this action, he brings them into his mission: they are not to be served, but to serve. They, Jesus tells them, are to stoop and wash the feet of others. A radical role reversal for the time. For our time. I love this chapter. The footwashing, as a liturgical action, takes place on Holy Thursday. It does not show up elsewhere in our liturgies aside from that. I believe firmly that it should.

I told Fr. Michael that the footwashing is one of the most profound moments of sacramental action. It symbolizes love, forgiveness, and service. (I would also argue that it is an initiation ritual within the gospel, but I digress.) Within this chapter, Jesus utters the love command: “I give you a new commandment: Love one another.” It is also significant to me that Judas has his feet washed. It isn’t until after the disciples’ feet are scrubbed that Judas takes the morsel from Jesus and flees into the night to betray him. Jesus knows what is coming and still stoops to wash the feet of Judas, the great betrayer. The footwashing is a beautiful moment of tenderness and vulnerability. You cannot escape humanity’s earthiness when you wash someone’s feet. You cannot avoid your own helplessness when someone cradles your feet in their hands, pours water over them, and dries them. (And, apparently, resists every ounce of temptation to tickle your feet while you are on an altar getting married.) All of these are important reminders as one enters into lifelong covenantal relationship. We are called daily to wash each other’s feet, figuratively if not literally.

We washed each other’s feet. We still do.

In January 2024, Fr. Michael was diagnosed with ALS.1 Over the past few years our paths have not crossed quite so often, though I had several occasions to see him these eighteen months. I am so very glad I did. In recent weeks, notices had been shared that he was “declining.” He needed a breathing machine, but he could receive e-mails or visitors. I did not go visit him, but I sent him a note with images of Patrick and me and our recent trip to Ireland. I thanked him for who he has been in our life, wished him peace, told him I was praying for him. It felt—it feels—inadequate.

I was in Kansas City when I received the news that Fr. Michael had died. My mom had her right knee replaced on July 14, and I wanted to be there to help her and her partner, Ruth, as they navigated the first week after surgery. The day Fr. Michael died, July 15, was the day my mom got home from the hospital. It was not easy. The nerve blocker that had been given prior to surgery wore off about an hour before we were to take her home. The pain was excruciating. For her to experience. For Ruth and me to witness. She would shake uncontrollably as the pain ebbed and flowed. I helped her by talking her through each breath. In and out. In and out. Trying to slow down the inhales and exhales that kept getting more and more rapid. Ruth gently massaged her non-surgeried leg, her hands, her hair. The pain that day came in waves: very intense moments followed by calm.

It was in one of the ebbs that I received a text from a friend and coworker, also a professor at the School of Theology, that Fr. Michael had died. I sat in the chair behind my mom, so she couldn’t see me, and I cried. I scampered outside and called Patrick. I did not get to go to the funeral, which was on that Friday, but after mom’s physical therapy appointment, as she took a long nap, I watched the livestream of the liturgy. I paid close attention to the eucharistic prayer. I do not know what the exact context was, but at some point in my schooling with Fr. Michael, he said that there is a line in the funeral liturgy that sums up every ounce of Christian hope: “Life has changed, not ended.”

As Christians, we believe in life after death. We believe that we will rise again one day, be embraced by God, dance in eternal glory. And yet, we do not know what that means or looks like or how it will occur. We know nothing. Speculation abounds, and whole industries (not to mention injustices) exist based on the supposition and fear of what comes after. Personally, I don’t have the time, energy, or desire to join the speculation. Even with all my grievings, that is not a mystery I’m willing or able to untangle. But when Fr. Michael pointed out those simple words—“Life has changed, not ended”—yes, that is, indeed, the extent of what we know. That is the Great Hope.

As Abbot Doug prayed those words, I bowed my head. In gratitude for Fr. Michael’s wisdom and humor. His intelligence and example. His absolute delight in living on this earth and his great hope that he would have an even fuller absolute delight in the next life.

The next day my mom was able to go up the stairs in the house and take her first post-surgery shower. She marched up those stairs like a champ. Well, okay, she didn’t march. But she made her way carefully yet confidently up the sixteen steps in their hundred-year-old home. Ruth had placed a plastic chair in the shower stall so mom wouldn’t have to stand the whole time. We got her bandage protected, she got undressed, and she got herself seated and showered.

At the end of her shower, mom extended her right leg, her foot out toward Ruth, and handed her a washcloth. “Would you wash my foot, please?” That day was their thirty-second anniversary.

I thought, of course, of the many ways they’ve washed each other’s feet over the years.

I thought of Patrick and the ways we tend each other.

And I thought of Fr. Michael and what he taught me about sacramental moments, changing life, and great hope.

May he rest in peace.

After a couple of weeks away, I have returned. I’m working on an essay for all of you about grieving mentors, washing feet, and guiding breath, but it isn’t ready just yet. So today I’m simply sharing this week’s opportunities to practice with me.

Tomorrow I’ll be teaching at the Episcopal House of Prayer Oratory, 5:00–6:00 p.m., and I’d love for you to join me. I’m thinking a lot about breath this week, and since I’m preparing a presentation for the weekend on the slow work of grieving, these will be the topics that we’ll focus on tomorrow. Register here:

July 29 Class

And Thursday, 5:00–6:30 p.m., I’ll be facilitating a Calm in the Cluster workshop for political grief and anxiety. Also at the House of Prayer. If you’re having a hard time with what’s going on these days and are looking for guided discussion and tools for managing it, this is for you.

Workshop Registration

If you’d like to do an individual online session with me, I am scheduling those! Fill out the registration form here (scroll down to the “Private Online Lesson Registration Form”):

Schedule Online Class

Thank you for being here and for supporting Heart Forward Yoga. You’ll be receiving an essay soon.

Peace,

Lauren

You can now buy directly from me!

Check Out My Shop!

I currently have two e-books available to purchase:

• The Texture of Grief: Reflections on Grieving ($10)—Twenty-six reflections on grief, how it feels in and works itself around the body, and various aspects of grieving.

• Softening the Spirals: Reflections on Anxiety ($15)—Forty reflections on anxiety, its effects on the body, the challenges and graces of managing and processing anxiety.

Companion journals for these e-books are also available ($3 each). The journals include the daily questions on lined pages so you can print them out and write to your responses as part of your own meditation or prayer.

The reflections in these booklets are selected from the daily e-mails I wrote in 2023 and 2024 for paid subscribers here. Each reflection includes a question, an intention for the day, and a meditation. Some photos are sprinkled throughout the booklets for your viewing pleasure.

. . .

Heart Forward Yoga is a dual vocation. The teaching of yoga classes and workshops is one part. But writing is the second.

I have not always considered myself a writer. Certainly not a great one. But it’s a thing I do, over and over again. I write. It’s how I make sense of the world around me, the world at large, my own place within it, and the things that happen to me and to others.

Heart Forward Yoga has allowed me to grow as a writer. Writing the daily reflections is one of my favorite parts of what I do. Coming up with questions; thinking creatively about yoga, grief, and anxiety while also inserting levity and delight, humor and peace into the pieces; limiting myself to a single paragraph to get the point across; continuing to educate myself so I have new things to say and share—I love it. Some days, some reflections, are a slog. But more often than not, it’s a gift.

I often tuck the invitation to become a paid subscriber at the end of my e-mails. A whispered request. But the daily e-mails are as important to me as the classes. I consider it another way that I hold space for your grieving and anxiety, joy and peace, curiosity and creativity. So, yes, this is the end of the e-mail, but if you want to support the writing I do, if you want to receive a thoughtful and thought-provoking e-mail each day, then I invite you to become a paid subscriber. You can choose a monthly payment plan for $8.00/month or a yearly one for $75.00/year.

Subscribe now

Thank you so much for your support. It means a lot, and I do not take it for granted.

Peace,

Lauren

I hope you all had safe holiday weekends. We don’t tend to do a lot on the Fourth. Patrick always has a gig, and because we have dogs who do not like fireworks, I stay home to make sure all is well with them. Cully and Lewis aren’t anywhere near as frightened by fireworks as Buddy was, but I still like to be home. We can sorta see our city’s display from our home, and while Cully found solace in the basement, Lewis stayed upstairs with me. We’ve been hearing a lot of booms lately, but this was the first time he realized that some of the noises come with colors.

Anyway, I thought that was pretty cute.

Tomorrow I’ll be teaching at the Episcopal House of Prayer Oratory, 5:00–6:00 p.m., and I’d love for you to join me. We’re going to focus on the wide berth that’s sometimes required when we’re grieving. As one of my uncle’s said when we were grieving Shaun, “People are going to piss you off. You gotta give them a wide berth when they do.” He was right, and I built a yoga class around the frustration we can feel while grieving.

Class Registration

And Thursday, 5:00–6:30 p.m., I’ll be facilitating a Calm in the Cluster workshop for political grief and anxiety. Also at the House of Prayer. If you’re having a hard time with what’s going on these days and are looking for guided discussion and tools for managing it, this is for you.

Workshop Registration

After this, I’ll be “off” for two weeks. I’m heading to Kansas City next week, and then the House of Prayer is hosting a retreat and will be using all of their spaces. If you’d like to do an individual online session with me, though, I am scheduling those! Fill out the registration form here (scroll down to the “Private Online Lesson Registration Form”):

Schedule Online Class

I hope that the week ahead is a gentle one for you.

Peace,

Lauren

Subscribe now

It’s a holiday week, and I’m sure you’ve got loads going on, but I wanted to remind you of this week’s opportunities to practice with me:

First, tomorrow night’s in-person yoga class, 5:00–6:00, at the Episcopal House of Prayer Oratory.

July 1 Class

Second, the political grief and anxiety workshop on July 3, 5:00–6:30, also at the House of Prayer. I will provide you with questions for reflection, facilitate thoughtful and meaningful discussion about what arises, and guide you in gentle movement, breathwork, and meditation. (Reminder: No yoga mat is needed, but clothes that allow for some movement recommended.)

July 3 Workshop

A minimum of three people is needed for these workshops. Please feel free to share with a friend.

Third, if you can’t make the in-person classes, please feel free to sign up for an individual Zoom session with me. Click the button below, and then scroll down (or click “Online Private Classes”) to fill out the registration form.

Register for Individual Class

Finally, did you know that paid subscribers receive a daily e-mail from me with a question for the day, an intention, and a short reflection? I would LOVE to get a few more paid subscribers by the beginning of August to mark my two years with Substack. Topics covered in these e-mails range from, yes, anxiety, grief, and yoga to baking, quilting, random things my pets do, flowers, play, creativity, and music. You can pay $75 for a yearly subscription or $8 for a monthly one.

I consider Heart Forward Yoga to be a dual vocation: to teach and to write. By becoming a paid subscriber, you are sustaining me in this work, and I am very grateful for that.

Subscribe now

I hope you’ll sign up for one (or more) of these offerings. And please have a safe holiday.

I look forward to practicing with you.

Peace,

Lauren

I wanted to let you know that I misread the schedule that the House of Prayer gave me, and there will not be a workshop on political grief and anxiety this week.

There will be one next week, though, so please sign up if you’re interested.

Also, last night I got to lead an individual session for a client/friend, and it was lovely. After some conversation and introducing each other to our cats who wandered into our yoga spaces, we focused on breath, movement, and stillness.

One of my favorite things about leading a yoga class is seeing that moment when participants go from unsettled to settled. There’s a lot of trust involved in listening to someone else guide you through movement and breath. And there can be a bit of resistance or confusion as you begin a class. But then there’s a moment when it starts to click or flow. Maybe you, the student, press pause on the intrusive thoughts or defeating thoughts or fearful thoughts. The deep listening to my words and to yourself begins.

Noticing that moment within a class always startles me, regardless of if it’s a group of teenagers or a single person, online or in person. It’s an honor to have your trust.

If you’d like to schedule an individual Zoom session, you can fill out the registration form on my website.

Register

I’m fairly flexible with time, so if what you’ve got available is 6:30 on a Tuesday morning, or lunchtime on Friday, or 7:00 on Monday night—pop it in the form, and most likely it will work for me.

I look forward to practicing with you.

Peace,

Lauren

So, how are you doing?

I’m okay. A bit on edge, a bit tired, a bit overwhelmed. Mixed with sparkling moments of good, peaceful, delighted. From what I’m seeing and hearing from folks, I’m not alone in this back and forth.

So, how are you?

I don’t have an in-person class tomorrow, BUT I want to let you know about a weekly workshop I’m offering for political grief and anxiety. These take place on Thursdays, 5:00–6:30 p.m., also at the Episcopal House of Prayer.

Learn More

These workshops are not a series, so feel free to come to as few or as many as you would like. I do offer pay-from-the-heart pricing for these: $25 is the standard price; $10 if that’s too much of a stretch.

Why am I offering this particular workshop?

If you’re paying attention to the news at all, it can be a lot. From tariffs and trade wars to political assassinations and actual wars; from massive protests and good trouble to lawsuits and boycotts; from attempts to dismantle whole governmental departments to cuts to programs that millions of people rely on to survive—there is so much to take in, process, and learn about. All while managing to do our work, maintain relationships, tend to chores, raise children, feed the pets, do art, eat a healthy diet, and get a decent night of sleep.

As I said, a lot.

Much of what we are feeling and experiencing these days is grief and anxiety. Personally, communally, nationally, globally. We have to be willing to step into spaces that allow us to process what’s happening.

I am creating that space.

In this workshop, I present you with questions and provide time for you to reflect on them. For example:

• What emotions are you cycling through these days?

• Where in your body are you carrying tension?

• Where are you finding peace?

From there, we discuss. This time reminds us that we are not alone, that others are also baffled and frustrated and scared, that we are capable of creatively navigating this moment. This isn’t time for debate; it is time for witnessing and being witnessed.

Finally, tools. What do we do when we notice that we’re being a little too snippy to those we love, that our breath is really tight, that our sleep is affected, that our thoughts are spiraling? How do we maintain balance—or some semblance of it—when so much is imbalanced? In this portion of the workshop I guide you through gentle movement, breathwork, and meditation. (While the movement is yoga, mats are not needed.) These tools are meant to be accessible and easy enough to do on your own at home when you need to return to your breath and expand your heart.

If this sounds like something that would be good for you, please register for this week’s workshop.

Register Now

And if you would like to take an hour-long class, I’d love to see you next week or you can schedule an individual online session with me.

Class Options

As always, I look forward to practicing with you.

Peace,

Lauren

Subscribe now

Earlier today I wrote to a friend about how often holding space for others in their grieving and anxiety means that I run up against my own grievings and anxieties. My work, I said, is a mirror.

That was very true for me this weekend. We woke up Saturday morning to the news of two Minnesota politicians and their spouses gunned down in their homes. This took place roughly an hour from where my husband and I live. He, a musician, was supposed to play a gig Saturday night in one of the towns where this violence took place. We waited until 4:00 for that show to finally be cancelled.

I took my first deep breath of the day.

After writing to all of you on Friday about the violence that’s permeating so much of what we see, read, hear, encounter, it was stunning for it to be front and center yet again on Saturday morning. Unrelenting. “Be the soft space,” I kept repeating to myself.

Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale.

How can I possibly hope to hold space for others as they navigate grief and fear when I can barely catch my breath? When the fear fizzes through my own body? When the grief seems so damn big and unwieldy?

Ah, yes, because I know what it’s like to wonder when the gasping for air will soften and the breaths will come evenly and deeply again. Because grief is big and unwieldy, and I know that sometimes we just let it be that way as we stare in awe and frustration and resignation at it. Because I hold space for myself, so I can hold space for others. That’s how.

There are layers to the grieving we are seeing and experiencing right now. Maybe yours is very personal: a loved one has died, a diagnosis has upended everything, a transition is looming around the corner. Maybe it’s much more general: the polarization we are experiencing as a nation (and world), the unavoidable effects of climate change that we’re seeing, the uncertainty of what comes next.

Whatever your reasons for experiencing grief and/or anxiety, know that you can bring them to the mat with me. Let’s acknowledge what has happened or is happening, where it’s sitting in our bodies, how it feels in our heart space, and find our breath together.

Join me tomorrow, 5:00–6:00, at the Oratory of the Episcopal House of Prayer.

Register for June 17

If you can’t make it to this class, schedule an online session with me:

Schedule an Online Session

I look forward to practicing with you.

Peace,

Lauren

Subscribe now

For me, last month, it was a site of revelation.

At the feet of Benbulben there is a forest trail. Patrick and I first walked it in 2022; we stopped there again this May as we drove from the Fanad Lighthouse to Galway. It’s a gentle looping path that provides stunning views of the mountain on one side and the ocean on the other. There are many reasons I love Ireland, and the scenery is high on that list: the way it surprises, overwhelms, soothes, unsettles, provides perspective.

Our first trip to Ireland was in March 2017, shortly after my uncle Ryan died by suicide. I flew to Montana for a few days for his funeral, came home to Minnesota, and the next day we took off for England and Ireland. Our primary goal was England, but we decided to take the ferry to Ireland because, well, why not? I did not anticipate loving Ireland the way I did. The way I do. As a Murphy, I’ve always been aware of our Irish heritage. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve been drawn to the music, literature, history, and symbolism of Ireland. But still, it took me by surprise how at home I felt when we stepped on Irish soil. It felt different, like my blood and bones knew this land because, somewhere down the line, my ancestors had been here. I had returned.

When one thinks of Ireland, one normally pictures rolling green hills dotted with sheep. Indeed, such landscapes do exist. Those are not, however, the ones that take my breath away. On that first trip we stumbled upon the Burren, a national park and wildlife preserve. Much of it is limestone, though as the stone dissolves over the millennia more grassland appears. Farmers used to move their herds from the grassy bits to the stony ones in winter because the limestone held heat, and there was enough grass poking through where stone had eroded to feed the animals. One of the placards we read on this trip said that in 5 to 10 million years all of the limestone will be gone.

Traveling abroad right now is odd. I tend to be very aware of and plugged in to news while I’m at home. I read various stories, keep an eye on the socials, stay attentive to what’s happening. For the nearly two weeks we were in Ireland last month, though, I tried to be there, to check the news but not get sucked in. I can spiral. The ability to bow out is, I know, a great privilege. But we didn’t really bow out because wherever you go, there you are. I was keenly aware of how heavy the idea of coming back to the States felt. Not only that, but I was keenly aware of how safe I felt there versus here. Usually we go to Ireland in March. It’s not their high tourism season. Going in May is a bit different: many more people, loads of tourists, and because of the weather for the first half of our trip, everyone was outside. It was a little overwhelming. And yet, as we stood on a corner in Galway, watching some musicians play, I realized that I wasn’t scanning the crowd, didn’t have an escape route planned, was simply enjoying what was right in front of me without planning for catastrophe. I was aware of my surroundings, but I didn’t feel on guard.

I almost always feel on guard in public at home.

We are riding waves. As someone with anxiety, I’m used to this. I can handle so much, and then the wave overwhelms, pulling me under. Panic, inability to breathe, freezing and sweating all at once, heavy and lightheaded, disoriented and weirdly focused. Finally I break back through the surface, taking sweet, sweet breaths. The steadiness returns. I ride the waves.

Last night I was drawn under; the wave crashed right on top of me. I realized it after watching the video of Senator Alex Padilla pushed out of a press conference and forced to the ground, handcuffed. My body immediately tensed. My breath tightened. It didn’t make sense. Until it did. We’ve been seeing so much violence. We’re reading about it, hearing about it, watching videos about it. Some of us are experiencing it. The language all of us are using is, to some extent, violent. There are so few soft places to land right now.

As we finished our walk at Benbulben this time, I looked up at the mountain. I told my husband how not ready I was to come home. Yes, I missed our pets, our people, our home. But Ireland was my soft place. I say this knowing that the history is tumultuous, that peace is always hard won and tenuous, that nowhere is perfect. I looked up at the mountain and it struck me how long it has stood. Regimes have come and gone. Wars have broken out and been resolved. Tyrants have scrambled for power and been defeated. In Ireland and across the world. And Benbulben has seen it all, perched there on the edge of a little island nation.

I felt small. I am small. I am insignificant in the grand scheme of all that is. I stood staring at Benbulben and cried. It has been, is, and will be. I simply am. We are.

This is our moment. When rocks can form and erode over millions upon millions of years, one begins to wonder how one lands in a particular place at a particular time. I do not know the answer. I kept photographing plants growing from stone on this trip, though. To be reminded that soft, beautiful things grow from hard, rocky formations.

In the midst violent threats and actions that have been made by the current administration, the slow creep of abnormal toward normal, I strive to embody what the Irish landscape reminded me. Because I want to be, myself, a soft space to land. Because while my heart is, in some ways, stony, the tendril of a stem emerges. The hint of a bud just waiting to bloom. Tender. Resilient. Here. Now.

Note: I am sending this essay as a Heart Forward Yoga e-mail and through my other Substack, Murphy Untangled. If you received it twice, it’s because you’re subscribed to both. Apologies for the repeat.

Tomorrow (Tuesday) I’ll be teaching at the Oratory out at the Episcopal House of Prayer at 5:00 p.m. We’re going to focus on the slow work of grieving: the time it takes, the gentleness required, the power (and difficulty) in letting it work on and in us.

You can expect flowing movements, a bit of balance work, some focus on our foundations (e.g., legs), yummy restorative poses, tending to breath, and calming meditation.

Sign Up Now

If you can’t make it tomorrow but are interested in taking a class with me, sign up for a private online class. You can tell me if you’re working more with anxiety or grief—or both—and I’ll tailor the class to you.

Click the button below: from there, scroll down or select “Online Private Classes” to fill out the registration form.

Register Now

I look forward to practicing with you.

Peace,

Lauren

Subscribe now

It’s been a while since you’ve received a newsletter from me. I know that’s not the most effective way to be a successful business person. But I’ve been ironing out details for space to practice, working on workshops to offer, and discerning how best to show up for grievers and worriers. And now that said details are settled, here I am to share information!

In-Person Classes Scheduled!

Tuesdays, 5:00–6:00 p.m.

These classes will be held at the Oratory at the Episcopal House of Prayer on the campus of Saint John’s University. (No online option for these. But see below!)

The Oratory is where we practice yoga during the GriefWise retreats that I’ve does with AnnElise Bergstrom. It’s a gorgeous space that holds a lot of intentions and holiness. It’s a wonderful spot to practice, and I look forward to sharing the space with you.

Register Here

I offer pay-from-the-heart pricing. Depending on your situation, prices for each in-person class are $20, $12, or $5.

Private Zoom Classes

Not everyone can make it to a class at 5:00 on a Tuesday evening, so I’m now offering private 60-minute Zoom sessions!

Schedule a Private Class

Click “Online Private Classes” or just scroll toward the bottom of the page. Fill out the form, including two times that work for you, and I will confirm the session with you.

The pay-from-the-heart options for private classes are as follows: $35, $22, or $15 per class.

Let’s Build a Toolkit

I often talk about anxiety management in terms of a toolkit: we gather practices to use on any given day, during any given season, to handle whatever anxiety is throwing our way. As I’ve tended to my own griefs over the years, I’ve found that we can gather a toolkit for grieving as well: practices that can sustain us and help us regain balance after the rug has been pulled out from under our feet. (On occasion, that practice is to simply sit down for a spell and start weaving a new rug when we’re ready.)

I’ve crafted my workshops to include reflection, discussion, and tools.

For reflection, I pose questions related to the reason we are meeting. For example:

• Where do you feel grief in your body?

• What is anxiety teaching you?

• What metaphors do you use for your grief?

• How does anxiety affect your senses?

For discussion, we share what we have pondered during the reflection time. This is a chance to be present to others and have them be present to us. It is a time to acknowledge that, though our reasons for showing up may be different, we are not the only ones dealing with grief and/or anxiety—and all that comes with these experiences.

For tools, I lead you through gentle yoga poses (no mat is required) to soften our bodies, explore how our emotions feel physically after we’ve discussed them, and invite the release of tension if necessary or possible. We also practice breathwork to help calm the mind and steady the heart. We end with meditation as a way to allow the reflection, discussion, and movement to settle. These tools—movement, breathwork, meditation—are part of the toolkit you are assembling to manage anxiety or process your grieving.

Curious who workshops are for? Here are some ideas!

• Maybe you’re part of a group of friends who have all gone through some significant changes lately and would like some directed conversation about these transitions (e.g., kids heading off to college, job changes, caretaking of parents or others).

• Maybe your church would like to offer a series of workshops for members who struggle with anxiety. We are often told that fear and faith do not, cannot, coexist. To that, I say, “Hello, my name is Lauren, and I am evidence to the contrary.”

• Maybe your crafting group has folks who have experienced a lot of loss lately. We could build a workshop around creative projects and what they mean to us as we grieve.

• Maybe you are part of a cohort of medical professionals who have been through a lot in recent years, and you need time and space to reflect with others about these experiences.

If you or someone you know would be interested in hosting a workshop, please visit my website and fill out the booking form:

Book a Workshop

E-Booklets for Reflection

Finally, don’t forget that some of my writing is now available as digital downloads on Etsy.

Visit HFY on Etsy

I had hoped to get the rest out this past spring, but there were too many things going on. I should be able to have them all done by the end of the summer. Look forward to booklets about movement, sleep, curiosity and creativity, and breathwork and meditation.

Upgrade to Paid

As always, if you want to receive my daily e-mails, you can become a paid subscriber! You’ll receive thoughtfully crafted questions, intentions, and meditations every day. I really enjoy writing these and would love to have more readers of them! You can choose the yearly plan ($75) or monthly ($8).

Subscribe now

Whether it’s in a class or workshop, through my paid subscription or an e-booklet, I look forward to practicing with you.

Finally, thank you for your support of the work I’m doing. I am truly honored to hold space for you to tend to your grieving and anxieties.

Peace,

Lauren

Share

I have been working hard on some Heart Forward things these past few months. And this week I have another announcement:

Introducing Workshops!

I am now offering 90-minute workshops that include reflection, discussion, and tools about grief and/or anxiety.

In each workshop, I present questions for reflection that are the basis of discussion. The tools portion is where you are given yoga poses (gentle restorative movements), breathwork practices, and meditation prompts. The intention is that you will gather tools that you can use while navigating grief and anxiety—accessible practices that can calm the breath, name the experience, and shift these feelings around in your head, heart, and body.

I have spent the majority of my life experiencing and working through a variety of grievings. I have spent fifteen years learning about and managing anxiety. The tools I’ve gained through these years are simple and effective, and I’d love to share them with you.

Do you have a group that would be interested in a workshop? Head to my website to learn more and to contact me about booking a session.

Workshop Info

Don’t forget e-booklets!

Downloadable PDFs are available through my new Etsy shop.

Heart Forward on ETSY

I currently have two e-books available to purchase:

• The Texture of Grief: Reflections on Grieving ($9.99)—Twenty-six reflections on grief, how it feels in and works itself around the body, and various aspects of grieving.

• Softening the Spirals: Reflections on Anxiety ($14.99)—Forty reflections on anxiety, its effects on the body, the challenges and graces of managing and processing anxiety.

Companion journals for these e-books are also available ($2.99 each). The journals include the daily questions on lined pages so you can print them out and write to your responses as part of your own meditation or prayer.

The next two e-books will be released on April 7!

Thank you for supporting Heart Forward Yoga.

Peace,

Lauren

Subscribe now

For the past month I have been working on a project to make some of my writing more available to more people. As you may be aware, paid subscribers to this Substack receive a daily e-mail that includes a reflection question, an intention for the day, and a brief “meditative moment.”

This means I have a lot of content. And while paid subscribers can see it whenever they’d like, I want to make some of it more widely available.

Introducing e-booklets!

I have gone through the 2023 and 2024 daily writings and divided them into various topics. It was pretty interesting reading through all of these, selecting the ones I love and find most useful, cringing at some repetition, and marveling at just how much I have to say on these subjects. Designing the books has been quite fun as well. Using InDesign always pulls me back to my high school days in the yearbook room: photos and copy scattered about; whole meals consisting of Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper, Starburst twizzlers, and peanut butter M&Ms; the excitement and dread of deadlines looming. I digress.

Downloadable PDFs are available through my new Etsy shop.

Heart Forward on ETSY

I currently have two e-books available to purchase:

• The Texture of Grief: Reflections on Grieving ($9.99)—Twenty-six reflections on grief, how it feels in and works itself around the body, and various aspects of grieving.

• Softening the Spirals: Reflections on Anxiety ($14.99)—Forty reflections on anxiety, its effects on the body, the challenges and graces of managing and processing anxiety.

Companion journals for these e-books are also available ($2.99 each). The journals include the daily questions on lined pages so you can print them out and write to your responses as part of your own meditation or prayer.

There will be more e-booklets coming soon! I will keep you updated as they become available.

Thursday Class

I’ll be teaching on Thursday at First United Methodist. Since it’s the first day of spring, our theme will be emergence. We’ll work on some heart opening poses and consider the balance between hibernation and emergence in grief and anxiety.

Register here

March GriefWise Retreat

The March GriefWise retreat that I am leading with AnnElise Bergstrom is coming up in just under two weeks. We have TWO spots left and would love for you to join us.

GriefWise Registration

We will be exploring how we find meaning in grief and the role that creativity can play in that meaning making. Sometimes we aren’t ready to find meaning in loss, and our goal is not to push you toward “everything happens for a reason” thinking. Rather, how do you define meaning, how has your grieving shifted your understanding of yourself and others, and how might you move forward into that new understanding creatively and with curiosity?

These and other questions will percolate during our time together.

The High Holy Day

As a good Irish lass, I can’t leave you without a few snippets to celebrate the day.

Here’s my favorite version of “The Deer’s Cry,” also known as “The Breastplate of St. Patrick.” Patrick is said to have sung this when he was being pursued by King Loeguire. Patrick and his companions became deer and were able to escape the king.

If you’re looking for more music to accompany you today, I highly recommend Liz Knowles, Kieran O’Hare, Open the Door for Three, We Banjo 3, Fullset, Goitse, Téada, The Bothy Band, Cúig, Dolores Keane, Liam O’Flynn, and the Tea Merchants.

And here are a few favorite photos from Ireland:

Thank you for supporting Heart Forward Yoga. Please check out the Etsy shop and share the shop link far and wide. You can also become a paid subscriber if you want to receive my daily e-mails!

Peace,

Lauren

Subscribe now

But I still want to alert you to three things.

1. If you are interested in receiving daily notes from me—dealing with grief, anxiety, yoga, and the moments we’re living in—consider becoming a paid subscriber. Each morning you’ll wake up to my Thin Space e-mail. (Thin spaces in Celtic thought are places where the veil between this world and the next is like gossamer.) Each e-mail includes a question for the day, an intention, and a meditative moment (i.e., reflection).

Subscribe now

2. Interested in doing yoga with me? I have a class at 5:00 p.m. on Thursday at First United Methodist in Sartell or on Zoom. This week we’re going back to basics with a class on grounding. Given the current state of the country and the world—not to mention whatever experiences of grief and anxiety you might be feeling personally—it’s easy to feel like the rug has been pulled out from under us. Let’s land on the yoga mat, find our breath, and settle our thoughts together.

Register here

3. Last year I worked with AnnElise Bergstrom to create two-night grief retreats. Our third retreat is next month, March 28–30. AnnElise leads grief groups at Quiet Oaks Hospice House in Saint Cloud. The first time we met we started brainstorming about these retreats, and it has been an honor and a joy to make them reality. The theme for the March retreat is “Nurturing Meaning and Creativity while Grieving the Death of a Loved One.” (You can be grieving multiple loved ones, of course.) The retreat sessions include reflection time, discussion, and yoga. The retreat costs $495 per person, which includes two nights at the Episcopal House of Prayer on the campus of Saint John’s University, meals and snacks, and programming. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me. You can read more about the retreat and pre-register on our website.

GriefWise Retreats

Next week I hope to have the words out of my head and onto the screen. Until then, please feel free to explore the options listed above.

Peace,

Lauren