Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Body, Heart, Soul...


This morning I rode my pink bike, LuLu, in the rain. It seemed like the right thing to do. I’m on a quest to take better care of myself now and exercise is part of the deal. I decided a little bit of rain shouldn’t spook me, after all, its just water. So off we went. It turned out to be quite a lovely ride.
This quest I’m on has many facets. For almost a year now, my body, heart and soul has taken it on the chin, so to speak. Food and grief have become like naughty children egging each other on until something gets broken. I’ve eaten anything and everything. My sorrow craved sugar or bread or chocolate. When my husband died, I stopped cooking. Cereal and popcorn became staples in my house. I’ve eaten both for breakfast and supper... on the same day. Recently, my insides sent up a white flag and pleaded for broccoli and a dozen or so vitamins.
Exercise and better meal planning will take care of my wounded body. As for my heart, that’s a little tougher. My heart is a stranger to me now. Once it throbbed with anticipation, contentment and great love. No more. Now, I barely get a ping. But fortunately, just lately the ping has gotten a little stronger. Saturday was a milestone day for me. I cleaned out Gary’s sock and underwear drawer. His closet still looms, but I’ll have to slay that dragon another day. What do you do with someone’s underwear? I don’t even know if thrift stores will take them. I had to talk myself out of rolling each one up to put in the mailboxes at church for our friends. They may want a keepsake of some sort, but I’m pretty sure his undies aren’t it. As I carried them out to the trash, this feeling I didn’t recognize sprouted somewhere near my heart and penetrated up through my shoulders. Something happened; a lightness, a hand turning a page, a flame flickered. It was foreign, yet familiar. Suddenly, it dawned on me. That’s what letting go feels like.
As for my soul, I can do nothing for it. At least I can’t do anything for it by myself. It’s not like an avocado, kale and almond smoothie and a ten-mile ride on LuLu will fix it right up. The soul belongs to God. It’s the part of Him that is on loan to us. He has to gently coax it to feel again. He has to direct its paths. Its healing is unquestionably tied to my willingness to be healed, to allow the God of the Universe to massage it, bandage it, hold it, and finally kiss the hurt with holy lips and shoo it away. I must be willing and He must be God. 
I sit up in bed as I write this. The pup, Atticus, is asleep on my feet. It’s midnight and the wind is whipping up outside. The morning sun will greet me in a few hours. Sleep heals as well. So, I best get to it.
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I shall die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”

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