It’s not difficult coming across ‘good’, here. There are people and moments and feelings and truths that deserve to be invested in and relished.
Take today, for instance. When my alarm clock dictated the time for me to peel my bag-of-bones off my mattress, I did so, but with ever-so-much pain. I think that this was the second worst migraine in the history of migraines. I trudged up to school. Was late. Didn’t finish my pre-lab. I went home and wasted 2 hours almost sleeping. I missed my anatomy lab quiz…again. Then I carved 20 minutes to focus on my body…as if I hadn’t given it much thought already today. What I found was interesting. I needed water. I needed stretch. I needed blood flow to my brain. I needed to stop and soak in the few precious moments of sunlight this day had to offer. I needed to get my eyes off of myself and onto the one Man who truly understands suffering.
This is what I don’t like about schedules. They are most often unchanging and unevolving. Having character makes it worse, because what you say you’re going to do, you do.
It doesn’t leave much room for the ebb and the flow of real life. It’s like building your house too close to the sea. The sea grows and shrinks all in a day. It has its wild and terrible moods. Somedays it is pristine.
My sole purpose in life is to follow Jesus. What he says goes because he is wise and I am not. I think I’ve learned one thing following him. I think I have learned [and I use that phrase loosely] that when I stop and drink in these moments of blessings, I begin to realize things that were before, too obscure, too confusing, and maybe even too scary to take notice of. They are details, rhythms, mindsets and shadows that I didn’t want to see because I didn’t want to admit to the scary, ugly, big, beautiful, light-filled layer of ‘heart’ that the Lord had unearthed for this season. I kept busy and frantic and worrisome to keep from having to see what was there. To keep from having to lay these things down–not at my own feet during yoga or in the middle of the forest in no-man’s-land Minnesota, rather at the feet of Christ. Humility and dying to one’s self comes with a cost, which I sometimes feel too poor to offer.
So, as Shiva Rea continued in her deep-back-bend salutation, I lagged in my own space and time. Eventually, as I felt my spine release it’s death-grip on my posterior muscles, I recognized it. That timeless, familiar and invigorating peace that comes with surrendering one’s concerns and cares upon the Lord. That fearless taste of the future when you realize that all things come and go, all things have their time and place, and that no matter the failure…or forgetfulness of a day, there is redemption and there is a cure.
Jeanne Guyon wrote: “Oh, Source of Love! You do indeed seem so jealous of the salvation You have purchased, that You do prefer the sinner to the righteous! The poor sinner beholds himself vile and wretched; is in a manner constrained to detest himself; and, finding his state so horrible, casts himself in his desperation into the arms of his Savior, plunges into the healing fountain, and comes forth white as wool.”….I love the idea of being a broken sinner, too weak to carry on in my nonsense that I have no other choice but to ask for help. Just. Like. Today.
When my body hurts this bad, it is a troublesome feat just to lie in my bed. It is more than easy to become depressed…and…well, scared pantsless. I was wondering if I was dying. Sitting upright in a wooden chair at a wooden table with a cup of something cool and icy. There was a fireplace at my feet. So warm. And the sun, making her way to the West, had decided to cloak me in golden-orange heat.
I literally wondered if I was dying.
Then that moment dissipated. I was left with the reality that I was indeed, alive. Pure. Holding onto gratefulness as though it was my lifeline…actually I do believe it is. I felt something fall away. This time, it was not the tension in my body or the stoney pains in my joints, it was my fear of what had yet to be accomplished in this one wild, short and precious life. It was not the fear of forgetting the path on which I walk, it was the fear of forgetting how to walk. It was the fear of the personality of the sea, of life. It was the fear of losing sight of the future for what I am living for in the present.
When things are working right in our bodies, our gardens, our lives, our relationships, and the world, it seems that the important things are best left to cycle in and out as they please. Like the sun and the moon, or the stars and the tide. Like our hunger for the Word, our energy to serve, our need to be forgiven, or our dearest of friends. The good things do come back in the Lord’s time, by the Lord’s rhythm. Not by my own wo-man-ufactured ideas and plans.
I stood up. The sun’s invisible rope lowered her further below my horizon and I had an important person to meet. Sometimes the people, the moments, the feelings, the truths seem too good to let go. Today I learned, that sometimes, they are too good not to let go.