Sophy Burnham's Blog

It’s official! The Wonder and Happiness of Being Old is now available, and I couldn’t be more excited to share it with you.

This book has been a labor of love, born from a deeply personal reflection on aging, and the beauty that comes with the passage of time. What began as a letter to a young cousin, who asked me the age-old question, “What’s it like to be old?” quickly turned into a year of reflection, exploration, and writing. The result is a collection of unsent letters filled with insights, stories, and thoughts that I hope will resonate with readers of all ages.

Fear is what we mostly hear of aging. Fear of wrinkles, fear of loss, fear of diminishment, humiliation, of being abandoned, fear of the decline into chronic pain and death. Of course we are afraid, with a $48.8 BILLION beauty business hawking their creams and holding up an 18-year-old airbrushed skin as the ideal. I told my cousin that day that that she won’t even NOTICE her 60s. At 85, things begin to change, but I find this one of the most fascinating and happiest periods of my life. Then I went home, musing on the question: What IS it like to be OLD? Almost everything about be aging is written by young people! No one knows, for example, when looking at Whistler’s mother in her rocking chair, painted in dark greys and greens that inside she is an explosion of color. In a moment she’ll get up, laughing: “Enough, Jimmy. Go away. Let me out of these awful clothes. I have dinner to make, things to do.”

Whether you’re approaching your 40s, 60s, or beyond, this book invites you into the emotional and spiritual life of aging. Yes, there is loss. But with it comes great gifts. Here, you’ll find reflections on love, loss, passion, and the compassion that comes with understanding the flow of life. Aging is an ongoing journey, and there’s much delight to be found in these later years. If we are aware. And if, god willing, we are not crippled by pain or hunger or poverty. Twenty-five percent of elders live on $15,000 a year, and others live in war zones. Mississippi has the WORST HEALTH CARE in the world! Equaled only by Mali in Africa.

Oh, there are things to change. But this book is a reminder that the later years hold great beauty, and how, I we are privileged to live long enough, we can approach each day with gratitude and deep understanding, and with an open heart.

“My greatest beauty secret is being happy with myself.” Tina Turner.

If you’ve enjoyed The Wonder and Happiness of Being Old, or if you’re just discovering my work, here’s a look at some of my other books that I hope will inspire, uplift, and provide insight into the many aspects of life and spirituality.

1. A Book of Angels (1990)
This is the book that started it all—my journey into writing about the spiritual world. A New York Times bestseller, A Book of Angels has touched millions with its stories of angelic encounters, offering a unique look at how angels connect with us in our everyday lives. Translated into 25 languages, this book remains one of my most cherished works.

2. Angel Letters (1991)
A companion to A Book of Angels, this collection of letters from angels explores the divine messages and wisdom they share. It’s a beautiful follow-up that continues to explore the profound relationship we can have with the spiritual realm.

3. The Treasure of Montségur (2003)
A historical novel set in the heart of the French Pyrenees, The Treasure of Montségur is a story of love, loss, and the Cathar resistance during the 13th century. With its intricate mix of history and romance, this book is perfect for those who enjoy a blend of fiction and spiritual mystery.

4. The Art of Intuition (2011)
For those interested in spiritual growth, The Art of Intuition explores how we can harness the power of our intuition to live more authentically. It’s a guide for those seeking to deepen their connection with their inner wisdom and spiritual guidance.

5. Love, Alba (2015)
This is a blend of romance and high society set in the midst of an art heist. Love, Alba is told from the perspective of Alba the cat, and covers issues like aging, sexual desire, friendship, sacrifice and the spiritual realm.

6. Falling: Love-Struck, The God Poems (2016)
A collection of poetry that delves into the themes of love, spirituality, and divine connection. This collection is an emotional exploration of what it means to fall in love, not just with another person, but with the divine and the universe.

I’m so grateful to all of you who have supported me on this journey of writing, and I hope The Wonder and Happiness of Being Old brings as much joy to you as it has to me. Here’s to embracing the wisdom, love, and happiness that comes with every stage of life.

You can grab your copy of The Wonder and Happiness of Being Old today and start exploring the beauty of aging from a fresh, joyful perspective.

The post Celebrating the Release of The Wonder and Happiness of Being Old by Sophy Burnham appeared first on Author Sophy Burnham.

2700 years ago Plato laid out how a tyrant or absolute ruler seizes and maintains power. He does four simple things: In no particular order, he

A) takes over the educational system, so that boys (girls weren’t educated then) are loyal to the State rather than family or civic laws;

B) creates fear of an external enemy on the border;

C) manufactures a depression, so that simply surviving (food, housing) occupies the people’s attention; and

D) sows distrust, neighbor against neighbor, so that no one knows whom to trust. No one can organize resistance.

We saw this with the Soviet Union, beginning a hundred years ago in the 1920s. And with Hitler in the 1930s. We see the plan today under the Trump administration. Immigration becomes the external enemy. (The immigrants are not people, but “other,” like the Jews under Hitler.) Education – which books to ban, which to allow—creates a dumbed-down populace, unable to think independently. (Romeo and Juliet is too sexy for high school; Anne Frank’s diary too sad.) Trump and Musk are now in the midst of driving the best economy in the world into depression, where we can imagine Orwellian proles (us!) trudging bleakly on while the billionaires ride in gold-plate chauffeured cars, lick-spittling to the tyrant. Under these conditions it is hard for people to trust each other: will your neighbor, or your son or daughter, turn you over to the police? Will you be fired or imprisoned? Will the state you govern be punished by withholding federal funds? Will you survive a depression, homelessness, lack of health care?

Until recently, I have written about angels. Today we are called ourselves to be the angels and like the archangel Michael, to raise our swords and fight. We have seen what happens when we cede authority. We see what happened Soviet Union, in Putin’s Russia, in Iran and North Korea and Myanmar and Venezuela and many other places.

Stand with the angels. With prayer and courage, let us pick up our swords of virtue and with the angels to help us, let us FIGHT. We are all in this together. Call on angels, and fight.

Thank you,

Sophy Burnham

The post Stand with the Angels. FIGHT! appeared first on Author Sophy Burnham.

2700 years ago Plato laid out how a tyrant or absolute ruler seizes and maintains power. He does four simple things: In no particular order, he 

A) takes over the educational system, so that boys (girls weren’t educated then) are loyal to the State rather than family or civic laws;

B) creates fear of an external enemy on the border; 

C) manufactures a depression, so that simply surviving (food, housing) occupies the people’s attention; and 

D) sows distrust, neighbor against neighbor, so that no one knows whom to trust. No one can organize resistance.

We saw this with the Soviet Union, beginning a hundred years ago in the 1920s. And with Hitler in the 1930s. We see the plan today under the Trump administration. Immigration becomes the external enemy. (The immigrants are not people, but “other,” like the Jews under Hitler.) Education – which books to ban, which to allow—creates a dumbed-down populace, unable to think independently. (Romeo and Juliet is too sexy for high school; Anne Frank’s diary too sad.) Trump and Musk are now in the midst of driving the best economy in the world into depression, where we can imagine Orwellian proles (us!) trudging bleakly on while the billionaires ride in gold-plate chauffeured cars, lick-spittling to the tyrant. Under these conditions it is hard for people to trust each other: will your neighbor, or your son or daughter, turn you over to the police? Will you be fired or imprisoned? Will the state you govern be punished by withholding federal funds? Will you survive a depression, homelessness, lack of health care?

Until recently, I have written about angels. Today we are called ourselves to be the angels and like the archangel Michael, to raise our swords and fight. We have seen what happens when we cede authority. We see what happened Soviet Union, in Putin’s Russia, in Iran and North Korea and Myanmar and Venezuela and many other places.

Stand with the angels. With prayer and courage, let us pick up our swords of virtue and with the angels to help us, let us FIGHT. We are all in this together. Call on angels, and fight.

Thank you,

Sophy Burnham 

Recently I broke my leg and right after that I broke my arm so I have not been able to post anything for a long time. However, I wanted to share with you a story of a miracle a friend just sent to me. I think of it as a miracle, and like many others there is nothing miraculous about it. Like beauty, it’s all in the eye of the beholder but to my friend Kimberly it is extraordinary. And I think it is too.

I wanted to share with you an incredible story of a miracle.

On January 29th, at 4:30 am, I was awakened by a northern mockingbird singing loudly outside our bedroom window. I thought it strange, a bird singing well before dawn. And I was a bit annoyed that I had been woken up by his noisy vocalizations. However, once awake, I turned to check on my husband. He was struggling for breath, as if he weren’t getting enough oxygen. I thought he was having a nightmare. I shook him. He wouldn’t wake up. I yelled at him, “Dan, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”  Unresponsive.

I grabbed my phone and called 911. The paramedics came within seven or eight minutes. As they were assessing Dan, his heart stopped. Cardiac arrest. They placed him on the ground and commenced CPR. They charged the defibrillator and shocked him, too. A minute or two later, Dan took a deep breath in.

He spent five days in the ICU at Cottage Hospital. Doctors determined it was ventricular tachycardia, possibly triggered by a 90% occlusion in his right cardiac artery, which now has a stent.

Of course, I’m suffering from PTSD and all of the emotions and bodily symptoms that come with it. I wake up at 4:30 every morning thinking that I am responsible for my husband’s life. The overarching emotion I feel, however, is one of deepest gratitude, because I feel that mockingbird was sent by God to say, “Wake up. Pay attention. Something’s about to happen.” I felt called to do the right thing, and by some miracle, I did exactly that.

The paramedics are the true heroes in this story—but the bird singing in the nighttime that saved my husband’s life–that was the miracle.

Recently I broke my leg and right after that I broke my arm so I have not been able to post anything for a long time. However, I wanted to share with you a story of a miracle a friend just sent to me. I think of it as a miracle, and like many others there is nothing miraculous about it. Like beauty, it’s all in the eye of the beholder but to my friend Kimberly it is extraordinary. And I think it is too.

I wanted to share with you an incredible story of a miracle.

On January 29th, at 4:30 am, I was awakened by a northern mockingbird singing loudly outside our bedroom window. I thought it strange, a bird singing well before dawn. And I was a bit annoyed that I had been woken up by his noisy vocalizations. However, once awake, I turned to check on my husband. He was struggling for breath, as if he weren’t getting enough oxygen. I thought he was having a nightmare. I shook him. He wouldn’t wake up. I yelled at him, “Dan, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”  Unresponsive.

I grabbed my phone and called 911. The paramedics came within seven or eight minutes. As they were assessing Dan, his heart stopped. Cardiac arrest. They placed him on the ground and commenced CPR. They charged the defibrillator and shocked him, too. A minute or two later, Dan took a deep breath in.

He spent five days in the ICU at Cottage Hospital. Doctors determined it was ventricular tachycardia, possibly triggered by a 90% occlusion in his right cardiac artery, which now has a stent.

Of course, I’m suffering from PTSD and all of the emotions and bodily symptoms that come with it. I wake up at 4:30 every morning thinking that I am responsible for my husband’s life. The overarching emotion I feel, however, is one of deepest gratitude, because I feel that mockingbird was sent by God to say, “Wake up. Pay attention. Something’s about to happen.” I felt called to do the right thing, and by some miracle, I did exactly that.

The paramedics are the true heroes in this story—but the bird singing in the nighttime that saved my husband’s life–that was the miracle.

The post What is a miracle? appeared first on Author Sophy Burnham.

This week I want to share a letter from a young woman, only 22, who wrote a while ago about her dismay and hopelessness as she struggled for spirituality — and what happened.  Isn’t that often how it works? You are brought to your knees, and suddenly when all is lost, remember a moment that brings you to your feet again, sword in hand.  I was giving a workshop once in Russia, where a young woman angrily told me that never in her life had she ever had a hopeful experience. She didn’t believe in hope or beauty or goodness or angels (Why was she in my workshop?). This was in the early days of Glastonost, soon after the fall of the brutal Soviet Union. Her entire life, she said was bleak, black, hopeless, horrible. Suddenly, during one of my meditations, she remembered, as a child, standing on the birch strewn bank of a lake, when suddenly the air, water, trees, were afire with light, song, hope, as if she were seeing into other dimensions. She left the workshop smiling.

The letter below begins by describing the writer, then praises my A Book of Angels (and I’m so happy to be praised that I repeat her gratitude here), and finally it tells the story of when she experienced an angel. Not the sight of one, but the extra-ordinary Signs. I have other stories of the Silence she speaks of and Time-Stop.  I have experienced it myself, and it is like no other silence I know. Here is her story:

Hello,

My name is Natalina M_______. I was born into an Italian Roman Catholic Family, though my father is Scottish (hence the last name). He adapted into the (Catholic) religion and the lifestyle. I think I’ve always believed in God, and I’ve always been interested in Religion. I used to read the Bible like it was peak fiction when I was young (I guess, I still am, I’m 22 this year). 

I recently graduated University in Canada with a degree in Religious Studies. It hurt me many times. The degree was like reading a list of all the bad things in the world, beside a much smaller list, of all the good, and I wasn’t sure it could make up for the bad like everyone said it would. I questioned not if God was real, but if he was worth worshipping. I wanted to know if all those men (and even women) who asked for forgiveness while raping, molesting, abusing and murdering innocent children and women and even boys/men would really get forgiveness. God certainly wouldn’t give them mercy, would he? He couldn’t.

I like to think I’m better now, but I don’t think so. I’ve tried to give love and was used, and I feel like there’s something wrong with me for not being lustful like everyone else my age. 

I asked for “A Book of Angels” for Christmas. Even though I’ve graduated university, I continue to study religious concepts. Right now I’m particularly interested in the lore of ancient culture and the belief in a sort of magic—protective amulets, talismans, as well as the mythology of King Solomon and the demons he summoned to do his bidding—all of that led me here, to your book, to learn more about Angels. They play such a massive part in not just catholic (monotheistic) history, but all history. 

Every few pages, I have to put the book down. My eyes fill with tears and I feel like there’s hope left. I must first thank you for writing it. For forcing it into the world, because how beautiful, to be reminded that there is hope, even if you don’t have it right now. 

Secondly, I wanted to tell you a story. Because the moment I opened the book, I remembered the day I witnessed an angel save my sister.

My Grandmother, before she died of leukemia, claimed to see an angel waiting for her in the corner of the hospital room. No one else could see it, even though my mother was there. My mother told me my grandmother visited her in the house after her death as well, and I used to wonder why I’d never gotten visited. I wanted to see one too, an angel, or a ghost—anything. I didn’t need to see to believe it, I was just jealous, I think, in a childish way.

I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but my younger sister was probably around 6 or 7, so that would put me around 8 or 9. My grandfather lived a two-minute walk from our house, just outside the neighbourhood across a busy street.

In the midsummer, we were walking back from visiting him, and were quickly rushed across the street in the little break the cars had given us. There was no stop-light near by, or a safe spot in the middle of the road to pause and wait for traffic from the other direction like there is now. 

My sister’s hat flew off her head, and she turned around to grab it without thinking. Her hand slipped out of mine ,and I turned—and then the time stopped. I’m not really sure how to explain it. . . . it just . . stopped. I swear it—a car would have hit her if it hadn’y. I didn’t really see an angel, not like the white dress, long hair, sets of wings and halo. Just the time stopping, and there was this sense of calm, a patience, and I wasn’t afraid. 

I waited for my sister to pick up her hat, put it back on her head, and walk back over to me. We made it across the street safely, and then Time started up again, and the cars zipped by. I must note there was no noise either. At first I thought this was my memory failing me, but I don’t think so. Because the second she was safe, the sound came back, and I remember that sound, all the cars speeding down the hill. Over the noise, my mother scolded my sister for being so reckless. I don’t remember anything after that.

I care about my sister very much, to the point where an event like that would make me over-worried and angered as my mother was. How could she choose a hat over her own life? What a fool!  But at the time, I wasn’t scared. I’m not scared when I think of it, either, it’s so calming. Such a gentle peace in the frozen picture of my memory. I should have forgotten it, I think, but I remember exactly what happened, exactly how I felt, and I’m still so positive that she would’ve gotten hit without the angel’s intervention. An angel stopped Time for her—for us. 

I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never felt the need to tell anyone, I didn’t need justification or a second opinion. It was real to me. 

Thank you for listening. And thank you for all your hard work. 


Natalina M_____

This week I want to share a letter from a young woman, only 22, who wrote a while ago about her dismay and hopelessness as she struggled for spirituality — and what happened.  Isn’t that often how it works? You are brought to your knees, and suddenly when all is lost, remember a moment that brings you to your feet again, sword in hand.  I was giving a workshop once in Russia, where a young woman angrily told me that never in her life had she ever had a hopeful experience. She didn’t believe in hope or beauty or goodness or angels (Why was she in my workshop?). This was in the early days of Glastonost, soon after the fall of the brutal Soviet Union. Her entire life, she said was bleak, black, hopeless, horrible. Suddenly, during one of my meditations, she remembered, as a child, standing on the birch strewn bank of a lake, when suddenly the air, water, trees, were afire with light, song, hope, as if she were seeing into other dimensions. She left the workshop smiling.

The letter below begins by describing the writer, then praises my A Book of Angels (and I’m so happy to be praised that I repeat her gratitude here), and finally it tells the story of when she experienced an angel. Not the sight of one, but the extra-ordinary Signs. I have other stories of the Silence she speaks of and Time-Stop.  I have experienced it myself, and it is like no other silence I know. Here is her story:

Hello,

My name is Natalina M_______. I was born into an Italian Roman Catholic Family, though my father is Scottish (hence the last name). He adapted into the (Catholic) religion and the lifestyle. I think I’ve always believed in God, and I’ve always been interested in Religion. I used to read the Bible like it was peak fiction when I was young (I guess, I still am, I’m 22 this year).

I recently graduated University in Canada with a degree in Religious Studies. It hurt me many times. The degree was like reading a list of all the bad things in the world, beside a much smaller list, of all the good, and I wasn’t sure it could make up for the bad like everyone said it would. I questioned not if God was real, but if he was worth worshipping. I wanted to know if all those men (and even women) who asked for forgiveness while raping, molesting, abusing and murdering innocent children and women and even boys/men would really get forgiveness. God certainly wouldn’t give them mercy, would he? He couldn’t.

I like to think I’m better now, but I don’t think so. I’ve tried to give love and was used, and I feel like there’s something wrong with me for not being lustful like everyone else my age.

I asked for “A Book of Angels” for Christmas. Even though I’ve graduated university, I continue to study religious concepts. Right now I’m particularly interested in the lore of ancient culture and the belief in a sort of magic—protective amulets, talismans, as well as the mythology of King Solomon and the demons he summoned to do his bidding—all of that led me here, to your book, to learn more about Angels. They play such a massive part in not just catholic (monotheistic) history, but all history.

Every few pages, I have to put the book down. My eyes fill with tears and I feel like there’s hope left. I must first thank you for writing it. For forcing it into the world, because how beautiful, to be reminded that there is hope, even if you don’t have it right now.

Secondly, I wanted to tell you a story. Because the moment I opened the book, I remembered the day I witnessed an angel save my sister.

My Grandmother, before she died of leukemia, claimed to see an angel waiting for her in the corner of the hospital room. No one else could see it, even though my mother was there. My mother told me my grandmother visited her in the house after her death as well, and I used to wonder why I’d never gotten visited. I wanted to see one too, an angel, or a ghost—anything. I didn’t need to see to believe it, I was just jealous, I think, in a childish way.

I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but my younger sister was probably around 6 or 7, so that would put me around 8 or 9. My grandfather lived a two-minute walk from our house, just outside the neighbourhood across a busy street.

In the midsummer, we were walking back from visiting him, and were quickly rushed across the street in the little break the cars had given us. There was no stop-light near by, or a safe spot in the middle of the road to pause and wait for traffic from the other direction like there is now.

My sister’s hat flew off her head, and she turned around to grab it without thinking. Her hand slipped out of mine ,and I turned—and then the time stopped. I’m not really sure how to explain it. . . . it just . . stopped. I swear it—a car would have hit her if it hadn’y. I didn’t really see an angel, not like the white dress, long hair, sets of wings and halo. Just the time stopping, and there was this sense of calm, a patience, and I wasn’t afraid.

I waited for my sister to pick up her hat, put it back on her head, and walk back over to me. We made it across the street safely, and then Time started up again, and the cars zipped by. I must note there was no noise either. At first I thought this was my memory failing me, but I don’t think so. Because the second she was safe, the sound came back, and I remember that sound, all the cars speeding down the hill. Over the noise, my mother scolded my sister for being so reckless. I don’t remember anything after that.

I care about my sister very much, to the point where an event like that would make me over-worried and angered as my mother was. How could she choose a hat over her own life? What a fool!  But at the time, I wasn’t scared. I’m not scared when I think of it, either, it’s so calming. Such a gentle peace in the frozen picture of my memory. I should have forgotten it, I think, but I remember exactly what happened, exactly how I felt, and I’m still so positive that she would’ve gotten hit without the angel’s intervention. An angel stopped Time for her—for us.

I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never felt the need to tell anyone, I didn’t need justification or a second opinion. It was real to me.

Thank you for listening. And thank you for all your hard work.

Natalina M_____

The post The Silence of Hope appeared first on Author Sophy Burnham.

After my last post, about the two angels in clouds, I came across a (lost) email that was sent to me a while ago. The writer has given me permission to use it. Who knows how many have seen angels in the sky or with their spiritual eye? Who knows how many times the angels come in our despair and we miss it? My apologies that the image does not recreate well: I can’t get it to show the original blue, blue of the sky, the white, white of the angel. Scroll down to see her comforting Toni the day after Jan 6 two years ago.

From Toni:

Subject Angels

Dear Sophy, recently I found myself thinking about what happens after death and feeling so agitated about not having any positive or hopeful feeling about it. I have believed in angels for a long time though. That same day this picture showed up randomly on my phone. It’s a picture I took the day after January six when I was outside in my hot tub thinking about the events of January sixth. On that day I spent the afternoon praying and picturing angels at the capital building to help. When I saw this Angel in the sky I was filled with joy, such a feeling. Seeing the picture pop up like that made me think of The Book of Angels which I used to own but gave to a granddaughter a few years ago. So I found the book on line and got it today. I love this book and now I can read your other books, too. Thank you. Toni Foltz, retired public school teacher from Toledo Ohio

Date: June 17, 2023 at 1:34:15 PM EDT

To: sophyburnham@gmail.com

Sometimes when you are feeling discouraged and very low, or when you think you are alone in the world, something catches your eye — and it needn’t even be anything magnificent, but suddenly your heart opens. Sometimes you see it (whatever “it” is, hope, joy, calm) in the clouds. You know it’s just a cloud, but it feels like a message. How to explain the sense you are cared for, that everything will be all right? Suddenly, in the words of St. Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well. All manner of thing shall be well.”

The post Two Angels appeared first on Author Sophy Burnham.

Sometimes when you are feeling discouraged and very low, or when you think you are alone in the world, something catches your eye — and it needn’t even be anything magnificent, but suddenly your heart opens. Sometimes you see it (whatever “it” is, hope, joy, calm) in the clouds. You know it’s just a cloud, but it feels like a message. How to explain the sense you are cared for, that everything will be all right? Suddenly, in the words of St. Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well. All manner of thing shall be well.”