We skated to school today. It was the only way to make it down the hill. "Keep contact!" I cry out to the children. We discover that if you try to walk on ice, that's when the falls happen. But if you keep contact--never lifting your shoes--you can glide smoothly along.
Keep contact! I say it over and over again, reminding myself I will not fall if I keep my feet down.
Later, as I begin the morning rush of dishes, laundry, doctor's appointments, responding to student emails, lesson plans, and all the rest, I stifle my spiritual self, my true self, designed to rest in and receive from God. That little mantra repeats: Keep contact and you will not fall.
On days like this, when I'm already late for everything, I remember that keeping contact matters most of all.
And all of a sudden, the day opens before me, smooth and clear as winter ice. I launch out, skating smoothly with the wind at my back and the sun on my face.
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Journal: How can I keep contact with God today? Is it possible to stay connected on busy days?
Showing posts with label spiritual disciplines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual disciplines. Show all posts
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Forgetting the Thing I Need the Most
Today, I attended that Body Combat class that once made me cry.
I'm front and center with the petite and perky trainer staring right into my eyes. With every muscle toned and every skin surface glistening, she encourages me to "own the space" around me and to "no longer be a prisoner." As I punch and kick the air, I imagine some unnamed demon--depression, failure, regret--and I attack fiercely and swiftly.
I'm working hard.
Then, at the point of my exhaustion, the trainer says, "Don't forget to breathe." It's silly. How could I forget? Why do trainers always command us to do something so simple and intuitive? Breathe.
I ask her why we have to be reminded.
She says (in between one-handed push ups and military crawls) that when the body is working hardest, it forgets the thing it needs the most. The focus on the task (utilizing muscles in difficult configurations) means we forget to breathe. We hold our breath as we focus.
"So I have to remind you. There's no quicker way to fatigue the body than to forget to breathe."
Her lesson in breathing at the point of my most focused and hardest work reminds me that what seems automatic and intuitive often freezes up when I'm working. I fatigue myself because I'm neglecting the thing I need the most.
When I'm fatigued like this, I need to ask myself what I'm neglecting that I need the most.
I'm front and center with the petite and perky trainer staring right into my eyes. With every muscle toned and every skin surface glistening, she encourages me to "own the space" around me and to "no longer be a prisoner." As I punch and kick the air, I imagine some unnamed demon--depression, failure, regret--and I attack fiercely and swiftly.
I'm working hard.
Then, at the point of my exhaustion, the trainer says, "Don't forget to breathe." It's silly. How could I forget? Why do trainers always command us to do something so simple and intuitive? Breathe.
I ask her why we have to be reminded.
She says (in between one-handed push ups and military crawls) that when the body is working hardest, it forgets the thing it needs the most. The focus on the task (utilizing muscles in difficult configurations) means we forget to breathe. We hold our breath as we focus.
"So I have to remind you. There's no quicker way to fatigue the body than to forget to breathe."
Her lesson in breathing at the point of my most focused and hardest work reminds me that what seems automatic and intuitive often freezes up when I'm working. I fatigue myself because I'm neglecting the thing I need the most.
When I'm fatigued like this, I need to ask myself what I'm neglecting that I need the most.
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