Walking across my patio recently, I noticed a bright spot of yellow. One tiny pansy had somehow found a way to survive the bitter cold of a harsh winter and push its way to bloom again. It made me smile and gave me hope with its resilience. And I saw a lesson there.

We need to recognize the traits we share with that pansy. We need to see that we, too, are strong and able to survive. When battered by the storms and difficulties of life, we may feel hopeless and ready to give up, but if we muster the strength to press on and push forward, we can make it through.

If you're struggling with a storm in your life, if you feel like you just can't take one more thing going wrong, if you're ready to sit down and cry or curl up and die — just think of the pansy. That tiny flower's will to survive and strength to keep going are not traits reserved for our "natural" world; they are traits that exist in every one of us. And I am convinced that we're much more resilient than we think.

Some trials in life are more difficult than others. The aggravation of a cracked water pipe can't compare to the trauma of battling cancer, but all of our struggles require perseverance and determination. Whether it's a life-threatening illness, overwhelming grief or a series of setbacks, frustrations and disappointments, keep pushing. Keep going — and growing! — until you break through to find the sunshine on the other side.

Have you been awed by the resilience reflected in the natural world? Is there someone whose resilient spirit you admire? Is that someone you?

Whether you're a devoutly religious person, a spiritual person or someone who practices Eastern philosophy, tap into that side of yourself and rely on God, your higher power, the Universe — whatever gives you guidance and solace — and trust that things are moving to get you where you're supposed to be. The pieces on the chessboard are being strategically moved into place and the path is being laid before you. You just need to trust and follow. 

Years ago I read a heartwarming litte book that I recently re-read. It's called The Tao of Pooh. The book takes a unique perspective on the principles of Taoism, using the characters from Winnie the Pooh to explain the life principles expressed by the ancient philosopher Lao Tzu in the Tao Te Ching. While I don't profess to be a Taoist or an expert on Taoism, I am struck by how Lao Tzu's words still ring true today.

Tao means way or path. An important concept of Tao is "wu wei," which means to act without acting (non-doing or non-action). Mind you, non-doing doesn't mean you do nothing, it just means that once you've done what you can ... you let it go. Don't fight. Don't struggle. Just take the steps to get where you feel you ought to be (or want to be) and allow the rest to fall into place at the proper time. 

The concept of wu wei is also described as "going with the flow." I find peace in the calm imagery of my life as a stream flowing on its intended path while I allow it to run its course. No fighting against the current. No struggling against rocks and obstacles. Just enjoying the journey.

Remember that control is just an illusion. We never truly have control, no matter how much comfort we find in thinking that we do. So, the next time it feels like you're fighting an uphill battle — STOP! Don't fight. Don't force. Don't struggle. Just go with the flow. Allow things to happen in their own time. You know, enjoy the ride.

Have you been struggling and trying to force things to happen in your life? Or have you found peace in letting go? Please share your story or thoughts in the Comments.

I know that's not a jolly title, but it wasn't a very jolly Christmas. 

The year was 1986. It was the week of Christmas. In the early hours of Dec. 23, my mother awakened me, having discovered my father’s lifeless body on the floor of our home. He had gotten up during the night and suffered a heart attack before returning to bed.  

At that point, our holiday plans for last-minute shopping, wrapping, exchanging gifts and sharing Christmas dinner were replaced by choosing a casket, scheduling funeral arrangements and making sure dad’s best suit was cleaned.

Unwilling to hold the funeral on Christmas Day, we scheduled it for Dec. 26. In those days, and in our town, families didn’t host a brief visitation window of a few hours — they spent most of the day and much of the evening receiving family and friends. 

And so it was, that on Christmas Day, I found myself sitting with family members in the kitchen of the funeral home. Dreams of turkey and dressing no longer danced in our heads. We would spend the evening greeting friends and loved ones and snacking on sandwiches and doughnuts. 

But then, something unexpected happened.

As I sat in the kitchen of the funeral home, I saw a long-time family friend walk through the back door carrying a large box. She was followed by others carrying more items. As they placed containers of food on the kitchen counter, I walked over to thank them.

The family matriarch took my hand, looked me in the eye and said that no one should go without Christmas dinner. Therefore, she had brought the meal to us. In addition to providing Christmas dinner for her own family, this woman had cooked a whole hen, stuffing and a variety of down-home Southern favorites so that our family could have some semblance of the holiday comforts being enjoyed by much of the planet that night. It was still Christmas Day at the funeral home, but our sadness was now tempered with joy thanks to the kindness of others.

For years I've had the notion that some day I would return the favor for a random family. You know, pay it forward. This week, I contacted a local funeral director, but the unpredictability of what will happen in coming days makes it difficult to carry out my plan. He will keep me apprised — and as much as I'd like to finally carry out this random act — I hope there is no need. I hope no grieving family will be receiving friends at his funeral home in the days just before Christmas. But illness and suffering take no holidays, so a local hospital is my backup plan. 

Grief will touch many families this Christmas season. While the sting of death affects those left behind regardless of the day or time of year, grieving during the holidays is especially difficult. It carries the added weight of witnessing joy all around you but not being able to participate. My heart grieves for the families in Newtown. Conn. — families that will find little joy this holiday season. Perhaps some random souls will perform random acts to touch their hearts and restore their faith in the good of humanity. 

Recently, NBC journalist Ann Curry coined the #26Acts hashtag on Twitter in honor of the victims in Newtown. There's also a Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/26acts) dedicated to the random acts movement. Today, on the 26th anniversary of my father's death, I bought a Christmas bouquet and gave it to the sweet lady who does the cooking demonstrations at my local grocery store. I handed her the flowers and a card with "#26Acts. For Emilie Parker. For Newtown." Her face erupted into a huge smile. She almost cried and gave me a big hug. I wished her a Merry Christmas as I headed out with my grocery bags. It felt GOOD. I felt good. She felt good. It's exponential.

I hope we'll all look for ways to spread cheer to others this Christmas season. (And every single day!) We are all sojourners here together, all facing our own struggles. When we lift up each other, we lighten the burden for all. Your act of kindness doesn't have to be big, just heartfelt. Believe me, it can be the glimmer of light to someone surrounded by darkness.

Here's to many random acts of kindness — at Christmas time or any time. 

Have you received a totally unexpected gift that touched your heart? Have you performed a random act of kindness for someone else? Share your story in the Comments.

"A Christmas Story," reads the title on the faded sheet of notebook paper that I have gingerly removed from a small box that sits on my bedside table. As I unfold the creases to reveal the short story inside, I recall the night that I tapped it out on the keys of my brand-new typewriter.

I like to take out the piece of paper from time to time, unfold it and read it again. It demonstrates to me the power of words. Each time I take in those words, I am taken back to a long ago winter night when a little girl used her Christmas gift to create what would become a gift to her older self. And each time I read that Christmas story, I find a sense of comfort in my life choices and the inspiration to keep practicing what I love.

Why did I want the typewriter? I don't clearly remember. Perhaps I fashioned myself a budding writer even then. I remember viewing episodes of The Waltons and wistfully watching as John Boy, the aspiring writer, sat at his window in the evening light putting pen to paper. Back then, I had no way of knowing that writing would be my unique gift and become my life's work. Perhaps my mother saw a gift in me then that I had not yet realized myself. 

Recently, I was flipping through TV channels when a familiar face caught my eye. It was John Walton Jr. himself, after all these years, come to visit me again through the medium of television. Even now, I can hear the familiar refrains of the Waltons wishing each other sweet dreams. 

When I turn out the light on this December night, I will say a silent goodnight to the woman who gave me many gifts, including one that impacted my life in ways I could never have imagined. She was an angel then and is with the angels now.

Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, writers. Goodnight, readers. Goodnight, everyone.

Is there a Christmas memory from your childhood that still takes you back in time? Did you receive a special Christmas gift that impacted your life? Please share your thoughts in the Comments.