Sacred Gratitude

Lisa Story on October 29, 2026

Sacred Gratitude: What Remains Within Us

I have been thinking a lot about gratitude lately. Not necessarily the kind we speak of around the Thanksgiving table, but something deeper. A gratitude that emerges from memory, from the people who shaped our lives, and from the realization that some of our greatest gifts came from those who are no longer physically with us.

One person who keeps coming to my mind is Grosmom, my great-grandmother.

She has been gone since I was a teenager, yet I can still picture her in the kitchen, swiftly rolling out pie crusts and preparing her wonderful nut rolls. And believe me, she was an extraordinary baker. Not simply because I was a wide-eyed child watching her work, but because baking was part of her story.

At the age of 30, she crossed the Atlantic from Germany with her husband and three children to begin a new life in America. Their first source of income came from the goods she baked, which my great-grandfather sold from an old-fashioned wheeled cart. Together, they built a life through hard work, determination, and partnership.

They were quite a team. I think, in many ways, they were also among my earliest teachers of love. I remember watching them celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary and recognizing, even at that young age, the affection they still shared.

Grosmom had a kind smile, a warm heart, and a wonderful way of making you feel loved. But don’t let that fool you. When someone upset her, out came that crooked finger, pointing directly at whoever was about to receive an earful. I can still picture it today, and it makes me laugh…maybe because I see a bit of her in me.

As Grosmom and my great-grandfather grew older, it was my mother, their granddaughter, who took on much of their care. I remember accompanying my mother to their home, watching her tend to their needs. At the time, I didn’t give much thought to what I was witnessing. It was simply what my mother did.

Looking back, I recognize another expression of love unfolding before me. I was witnessing not only the devotion between a husband and wife, but also one generation caring for another. Families are complicated, and caregiving responsibilities do not always fall where we might expect. Yet those early experiences may have shaped my understanding of caregiving long before I knew how central it would become to my life’s work.

The Sacredness of Gratitude and Grief

Even now, decades after her death, there are moments when I sense Grosmom’s presence in ways I cannot fully explain. Whether through memory, intuition, or the enduring connection of love, she remains part of my life. Perhaps that, too, is something sacred.

I am grateful for the pie and nut roll recipes, for the stories of courage and determination, for the love I witnessed, and even for that crooked finger. But I am equally grateful for what I did not understand at the time: how these experiences were shaping who I would become.

For those who are grieving, gratitude can be complicated. We may be thankful for the years shared with someone while aching for another conversation or one more afternoon together. Caregivers, too, may feel grateful for the opportunity to care for someone they love while experiencing exhaustion, sadness, or uncertainty.

One feeling does not diminish the other.

Sacred gratitude does not ask us to overlook sorrow or find something positive in every difficult experience. It invites us to honor the meaning of our connections, even when those relationships are complicated by loss or the passage of time.

Perhaps gratitude and grief are not opposites at all, but companions reminding us of the significance of what we have loved.

Honoring What Remains

November’s flower, the marigold, has long been associated with remembrance and honoring ancestors in several cultural traditions. Myrrh, our essential oil, carries centuries of spiritual significance, inviting reverence and reflection. Together, they remind us that gratitude can be rooted in history, carried through generations, and expressed through the simplest memories. A familiar recipe. A family tradition. The sound of someone’s laughter. Or perhaps a crooked finger that still brings a smile decades later.

At Hope Grows, we believe our stories matter. They connect generations, preserve memories, and remind us that the meaning of a life extends far beyond the years lived. Through our work with caregivers and those grieving a loss, we witness how the people we have loved continue to influence our values, choices, and the ways we care for others.

I think about Grosmom’s hands rolling out pie crusts, the crooked finger that appeared when she had something to say, and my mother’s hands tending to her needs as she grew older. The hands that once cared for others eventually needed care themselves.

And in witnessing those moments, I was receiving something I could not yet name: an understanding of love that would travel with me into adulthood. Perhaps this is one of the most meaningful aspects of legacy. We do not always recognize what we are receiving while it is being given. And perhaps telling our stories is one way we honor those gifts, allowing the lives of those who came before us to continue touching the lives of others.

Warmly,

Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder and Executive Director

Where nature heals the heart.

November Focus: Sacred Gratitude

Flower: Marigold

Essential Oil: Myrrh

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org.Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Letting Go

David Thiry on October 8, 2026

Nature Restores What Grief Touches

There is something about autumn that makes change impossible to ignore.

The light shifts. The air cools. Gardens begin to quiet. Leaves that only weeks ago offered shade begin their descent, and chrysanthemums appear on porches for the harvest season, offering one final burst of color before winter arrives. Nature seems to understand something we often struggle to accept, that letting go is part of living.

For those navigating grief, however, the words letting go can feel uncomfortable. Grief is not about letting go of someone we love or leaving behind what mattered. The love that we had for someone does not disappear simply because a life, relationship, role, or season has changed. Perhaps letting go in grief means something different.

In my grief work experience, it is about releasing the expectation that we should be “further along” in our bereavement. Perhaps it is about letting go of feelings of guilt, releasing roles that no longer fit, routines that have changed, or the pressure to return to the person we were before loss.

The reason? Cause grief changes us and every season of nature reminds us that change does not mean life has stopped.

The Wisdom of the Autumn Garden

This month’s flower, the chrysanthemum, seems especially fitting. Mums arrive just in time when the garden is beginning to fade. While summer flowers retreat, chrysanthemums bloom boldly, bringing color to a landscape already beginning its seasonal descent.

Yet for all their beauty, chrysanthemums can be surprisingly delicate. Their stems can break under the weight of their abundant blooms. Their roots grow quickly and become crowded within a pot, causing the plant to need water more frequently. And when that need is overlooked, a mum can wilt seemingly overnight. Perhaps there is wisdom in that, too.

We often admire what is blooming without noticing the care required to sustain it. During seasons of change, even something that appears strong and vibrant may need additional tending.

Grief can be much the same.

There are times when we may feel more fragile than we appear. Our reserves may be depleted more quickly. Something we once managed easily may suddenly require more energy. During these seasons, we may need more rest, more nourishment, more connection, or simply more attention to what our body and spirit are asking of us. The chrysanthemum reminds us that there can still be beauty in a season of descent and that what is blooming may also need tender care.

I would be remiss to not mention the essential oil this month, cypress. It offers another fascinating connection between nature and restoration. In The Nature Fix, Florence Williams explores South Korea’s use of forests as places of healing, including time spent among cypress trees. Trees release natural airborne compounds called phytoncides, many of which are terpenes. Research has found that exposure to these compounds, including those emitted by cypress, can increase the activity of our natural killer (NK) cells, an important part of the body’s immune system.

Think about that for a moment. Simply breathing the air among certain trees may create a measurable response within the human body.

Perhaps nature restores us in ways we can feel and in ways we cannot see. The cypress itself, an evergreen, has long been associated with transition, endurance, and remembrance. While the deciduous trees around it release their leaves, the cypress remains green.

Together, the chrysanthemum and cypress offer an interesting contrast: one blooms as the season ends; the other remains green as the landscape changes.

Perhaps grief asks something similar of us. There are things we may need to release, parts of ourselves that may need extra tending, and things we will continue to carry.

Nature Restores What Grief Touches

Grief can touch nearly every part of our lives: our energy, relationships, routines, identity, sense of security, and even how we imagine the future.

Nature cannot erase our grief or replace what has been lost. But spending time in the natural world can give us space to breathe, notice, remember, and slowly discover how to carry our experiences differently.

Autumn may teach this better than any other season. Nothing in nature asks autumn to become summer again. And perhaps we do not need to become who we were before grief either.

As you move through October, consider spending a few moments outside and noticing what nature is releasing and what remains. Nature restores what grief touches, not by returning us to who we once were, but by reminding us that even through change, release, and seasons of descent, life continues to find another way to grow.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Director

Where nature heals the heart.

October Focus: Letting Go

Essential Oil: Cypress

Flower: Chrysanthemum

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org.

Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Integration

Lisa Story on September 1, 2026

Gathering What We Have Learned

I write about nature often. I write about walking through the gardens, putting our hands in the soil, noticing the changing light, listening to the birds, and allowing the natural world to remind us to slow down. At Hope Grows, we have witnessed repeatedly how nature can become a place of respite, reflection, and healing.

But for some reason, this month has caused me to think differently about the very thing I so often describe as restorative: nature can also be unpredictable and powerful. Recent natural disasters remind us how quickly familiar landscapes—and lives—can change. As our clinical team continues its training in trauma and grief, I find myself thinking about those whose sense of safety has been altered in an instant.

Sometimes, nature doesn’t feel safe.

How do we reconcile that?  Perhaps that is part of what integration asks of us.

Integration isn’t pretending that everything fits neatly together. It isn’t finding the positive in every painful experience. Sometimes it means allowing two things to be true at once.

  • Nature can comfort us, and nature can frighten us.
  • We can trust, and we can ask questions.
  • We can be grateful for what nourishes us while becoming more thoughtful about where that nourishment comes from.

Even something as ordinary as buying a peach can remind us of this. Several times this summer, I brought home beautiful peaches. They looked nearly perfect on the outside. I waited for them to ripen, anticipating that wonderful first bite, only to cut them open and find them bruised, mushy, or simply not what I expected. It’s a small disappointment in a world carrying much larger ones. Yet it made me think about appearances, expectations, and trust.

How often do we assume that because something looks good on the outside, everything underneath must be okay? People do this, too. Families do it. Organizations and systems do it. Sometimes even our own lives do it.

Integration invites us to look beneath the surface. Not with fear, but with wisdom.

September’s flower, the aster, arrives as summer begins surrendering to fall. It blooms at a threshold, reminding us that beauty doesn’t belong to only one season of life. Our essential oil this month, cedarwood, carries an equally fitting symbolism: grounding, steadiness, and roots.

Maybe September isn’t asking us to escape the unsettling things happening around us. Maybe it is asking us to become more rooted while acknowledging them.

  • To gather the lessons.
  • To recognize what has changed us.
  • To question what deserves questioning.
  • To hold gratitude without using it to silence grief.

And to understand that being grounded does not mean being untouched by what is happening in the world.

For caregivers and those grieving a loss, this may be especially important. Life can change our understanding of what is safe, predictable, and trustworthy. A diagnosis, a death, a disaster, or an unexpected phone call can divide life into before and after. Integration is the slow work of bringing those pieces back into relationship with one another.

Not returning to who we were before. Not pretending the difficult parts didn’t happen. But gathering what we have learned and allowing it to become part of who we are becoming.

As the asters bloom and the season begins to turn, perhaps September offers us a different invitation from nature: Don’t ask me to always be gentle. Let me teach you how to be rooted.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Director

Where nature heals the heart.

Cedarwood graphic

September Focus: Integration

Essential Oil: Cedarwood

Flower: Aster

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org.

Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Stewardship of Energy

Lisa Story on July 31, 2026

Things We Never Really Own

There is an uncomfortable truth that nature quietly teaches us: nothing truly belongs to us. Not the towering oak that shades the garden, not the changing seasons that arrive without our permission, not even the breath we are taking at this very moment. For a time, we are simply entrusted with them.

During my years as a hospice spiritual counselor, I came to understand something that no textbook could have taught me. No matter how much time I spent talking with someone or quietly sitting beside them, I could not save them. I could comfort the soul while disease continued its course. Nurses cared faithfully for bodies that continued to weaken. None of us could stop death. What we could do was accompany another human being with dignity, presence, and love.

Accepting this truth was heartbreaking. Yet, over time, it became strangely liberating. Looking back, I realized this was a profound stewardship of energy. Our purpose was never to control life. Our purpose was to bear witness to it.

There is something deeply sacred about sitting beside another person in their vulnerability. Holding a hand. Preparing a meal. Listening to the same story for the tenth time because it still matters to the one telling it. These moments rarely change the outcome. They change us.

Perhaps that is the deeper work of caregiving.

The philosopher Martin Buber wrote that life is found in relationships. We become ourselves not in isolation, but in genuine encounters with one another. Grief reveals this truth with startling clarity. When someone dies, we discover that love has never been measured by the number of days we shared, but by the ways one’s life continues to shape our own.

Spend even a few moments in the gathering spaces of a funeral home, and you notice something remarkable. Families rarely begin by talking about careers, awards, or accomplishments. Instead, you hear things like: “She made everyone feel like family,” “He taught me how to forgive,” “She listened without trying to fix me,” and “He always showed up.” These are the stories that remain. They remind us of a life measured less by what we accumulated than by what we cultivated in others.

This is why grief asks something different from us than simply “moving on.” It asks us to become good stewards of the energy that remains. That energy can be found in the stories, the traditions, the values, the laughter we can still hear, the recipes written in familiar handwriting, and the lessons learned through ordinary days that no longer feel ordinary.

These reflections have become the heartbeat of the Hope Grows’ Gathering Table. The Legacy Project invites caregivers and those who are grieving to share their stories. I am continually reminded that storytelling is far more than therapy. It is one of humanity’s oldest spiritual practices. Stories answer perhaps the deepest question we ask near the end of life: “Will this life be remembered?”

Legacy is carried forward in quiet moments that no one else notices. Legacy lives in quiet acts of listening, comforting, mentoring, and compassion. It is also about “what we cultivate in others.” Legacy is not what we leave behind; it is what continues to grow in the lives of others because we experience something.

Nature has always understood what we struggle to accept, that endings and beginnings often occupy the same space. A tree does not cling to its leaves when autumn arrives. It releases them, not because they were unimportant, but because letting go is part of making room for what comes next. The leaves become nourishment for the very ground that will sustain future growth.

Perhaps our lives are meant to unfold in much the same way. Bearing witness, is itself, an act of stewardship. When we truly witness another person’s suffering, another person’s joy, or a life well-lived, we become responsible for carrying some part of that story forward.

That’s what the Legacy Project is doing.

That’s what caregivers do.

That’s what grief eventually asks of us.

In the end, stewardship has never been about owning anything at all. It has always been about faithfully caring for what was entrusted to us, knowing that one day we will place it gently back in the hands of time. Perhaps, maybe that is the invitation August quietly offers us. Not to ask how much more we can do. But to ask what has been entrusted to us and how we will care for it while it is still in our hands.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Director

August Focus: Stewardship of Energy
Essential Oil: Bergamot
Flower: Calendula

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org.

Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Resilience & Vitality

Lisa Story on July 7, 2026

Turning Toward the Light While Remaining Rooted

This July carries special significance as our nation celebrates 250 years of independence. Celebrations of fireworks and festivities inspired but so did reflection. I pondered a bit about the history of our country and in many ways, thought of resilience became the focus. Our history reflects people that navigated uncertainty, rebuilt after hardship, cared for one another through war, illness, economic struggle, and personal loss. Long before there were formal support services, there were family caregivers tending to aging parents, neighbors bringing meals, communities gathering around those who were grieving, and generations finding ways to move forward while carrying the memories of those they loved.

Today is no different. That same spirit continues. Every caregiver who rises before dawn to help a loved one begin another day demonstrates resilience. Every person navigating the unfamiliar landscape of grief while continuing to show up for family, work, or community embodies quiet vitality. These stories may never appear in history books, yet they form the foundation upon which families and ultimately communities are built.

Perhaps resilience is not simply about “being strong.” Maybe it is found in allowing ourselves to be human, in asking for help when we need it, resting without guilt, finding laughter in the heavy and accepting that healing rarely follows a straight path. Like the sunflower, resilience is less about standing unmoved through every storm and more about staying rooted enough to bend, recover, and continue reaching toward the light.

In much the same way, vitality may look different than we expect. It is not always found in endless energy or constant productivity. It can be found in the quiet moments that restore us, such as a meaningful conversation, time spent in nature, a nourishing meal, sharing a story, or finding room for joy even while carrying sorrow. These small moments of care gently remind us that we are still growing, still healing, and that our lives continue to offer hope to others.

At Hope Grows, we believe resilience is cultivated in relationships. Whether through counseling, support groups, the Gathering Table (Grief Soup gatherings, Caregiver2Caregiver mentoring, and the Legacy Project), or simply putting a head on a pillow at the Iris Respite House or walking through the healing gardens together, healing happens when people discover they do not have to carry life’s burdens alone. Every story shared strengthens not only the individual but the community around them.

As we commemorate 250 years of our nation’s journey, perhaps take the time to ponder a few things about what the 250th anniversary of our country invites us to consider. One of the greatest tributes we can offer is to continue caring for one another. Every family caregiver who sits beside a hospital bed, every neighbor who delivers a meal, every volunteer who offers a listening ear, and every person who walks alongside someone in grief strengthens the fabric of our community. Our country’s future will not be measured solely by its accomplishments, but by how faithfully we support those who are vulnerable, honor those who came before us, and invest in those who will come after us.

The Hope Grows legacy asks us to share just that.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Director

  • Essential Oil: Melaleuca (Tea Tree)
  • Flower: Sunflower

At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table & Legacy Initiative – Grief Soup, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org.

Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Category: Emotions and Coping, Grieving, Mindfulness and Understanding, Self Care

Tag: coping with loss, grief, loss

Appreciation

Lisa Story on March 3, 2025

I woke the other day to a beautiful heavy snow. It happened to be on a Saturday, so my morning was a bit more relaxed. The picture from the sunroom window, here at the Iris Respite House & Healing Gardens, was breathtaking. I stood there, looking out the window, mesmerized by the beauty. I felt gratitude and appreciation for what nature was providing. Quickly, the feeling left me as I moved my focus back to the long task list that I put together for the weekend of hopeful accomplishments. I expressed (out loud, I might add), “Why does my day have to be so full of ‘to-dos’?” The tasks on my list were important and needed to be done, but how can I slow down this weekend and appreciate something as soothing as this snowy morning? I wanted to just continue to stare, but thought, how unproductive.

Appreciation is the focus for the month of March. When stress and to-dos happen, self-sabotaging tendencies appear. While nature is one constant in our lives, it can help with appreciation and all the little things in life, but the busy-ness of the day seems to always get in the way. How can we appreciate the surprise of what is below an overturned rock, the transformation of a deciduous tree in the autumn season, the continuous flow of water from a rain storm, or the plant showing its beauty after a long cold winter season?

In this scenario, the moment of surprise was the snow. I know that nature’s rhythm is a reminder of resilience and renewal. We share and shout this message from Hope Grows quite often…blah, blah, blah! But how, even in the midst of stress and many to-do’s can these small moments of wonder anchor you in appreciation?

While the morning went on and I kept busy with the to-do’s, I noticed the snow turned to rain. I found myself drawn to the process of this particular element of nature, in the moment, as it switched from snow to rain. Something happened that I haven’t felt in a while. I was inspired, almost awe-struck at the grounding this change in weather created. I took a moment and just watched, even opened the door to breathe in the scent it was bringing. I watched it move across the window. Even in those few seconds of noticing, I felt a small act of appreciation amidst the busyness of my morning.

As the day continued to unfold, the weather changed several times from rain to snow, back to rain, and then snow again. In fact, the entire weekend’s weather did this; it kept flip-flopping, as if it switched to the rhythm of my endless list. I found myself noticing small acts of appreciation throughout the weekend, gently shifting my awareness from the busy weekend to what was happening outside my window and then back again. I was super excited at the end of the weekend, as it had been one of the most productive weekends in task completion that I have had in a long time. Was it the small acts of appreciation of nature I kept engaging with or was it just pure coincidence? I don’t know, but what I do know is the way I chose to engage perhaps made the difference. Consider trying the following:

  • I Paused – for just a few seconds, I took a break from the rush of my to-do’s. It wasn’t a long break; it was just enough to acknowledge the moment.
  • I Observed – I tuned into my surroundings. I noticed what was happening in the here and now of nature, in my environment, and even within myself. I took mind of the way the snow looked, how the rain sounded, the scent from the door, and in the filling of my lungs with the air.
  • I Acknowledged – Internally, I took notice. I even made comments out loud. “Look how large those snowflakes are!” “Oh wow, it now turned to rain.” “The scent of the air outside is intriguing.” “It’s snowing again, this is beautiful.” I expressed gratitude for the beauty before returning to my tasks.
  • I Felt – I allowed myself to experience a sense of gratitude, wonder, and connection, even if it was for a brief moment. It seemed to reinforce the habit of appreciation as I kept looking out the window between tasks.
  • I Returned – I went back to my tasks, but continued to carry out the moment of noticing and appreciating. I kept setting an intention to notice one more “smaller” thing out the window as the day went on. I was excited to wake the next day of the weekend and continue with my tasks; I found I didn’t dread the remaining to-do’s and ended up feeling so accomplished.

As the weekend came to a close, I realized that appreciation doesn’t need to be grand. It can be woven into the smallest of moments. I think the process became more intuitive as I kept noticing what was happening to me and outside. Despite the many tasks on my list, I felt rested, relaxed and restored, and accomplished.

With a mission to inspire hope through nature while empowering family caregivers to seek wellness of mind, body, and spirit, we focus on resting, relaxing and restoring as a way to appreciate life. This acknowledges both the challenges caregivers face and the power of nature in fostering well-being. Rest, relaxation, and restoration are not just luxuries but essential parts of sustaining appreciation and resilience.

By taking mindful moments, such as the above, becomes a way to embrace and encourage one to “take a break.” This process instills appreciation. At Hope Grows, we incorporate and encourage others by gratitude practice, mindful techniques, use of healing gardens, the language of flowers, bird watching, connecting to nature, aromatherapy, and labyrinths…to name a few. This beautiful holistic approach weaves together mindfulness, nature, and sensory experiences. Each of these practices offers a unique way to slow down and connect—whether through the symbolism of a labyrinth, the stillness of bird watching, or the grounding presence of a healing garden.

The next time your list has many to-do’s on it, try to appreciate the beauty outside the window in small moments of time throughout your day. You just might feel rested, relaxed, and restored in your busy-ness and have a new found sense of appreciation.

In appreciation of all of you!

Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder & Clinical Director