All of us are holders of stories, keepers of memories. Early this morning a memory rose out of my soul and painted an icon in my mind. The memory was of another early morning, another quiet morning in the Blue Ridge mountains somewhere in North Carolina. I was leading a retreat near Winston Salem. I rose very early that morning. Participants were still sleeping or out walking. The rocking chair was inviting me. I begin rocking slowly. I rocked my way out of the night and into the dawn. It seemed as though I was rocking my way into my deep soul. I don't know why that memory came to me this morning but I choose to receive it as a gift. I find the memory healing. This morning under my sycamore tree as I moved back and forth in the cedar swing glider I closed my eyes and allowed that Blue Ridge Mountain memory to wash over me like healing oils. What memory would you like to be enrobed with on this warm August day?