My grandma was batpoop crazy, which had both up and down sides. (Note: I'm not talking about mental illness here, although I'm not ruling that out as a contributing factor. I'm talking good, old-fashioned unchecked eccentricity.) She used to get a huge kick out of the memory of her older sister sitting in a rocking chair in the dark. When Gram asked her sister what she was doing, the response was simple: "Just breathing in, and breathing out."
Over the last couple of months, my yoga practice has finally gotten consistent, and I notice that those few hours seep into other parts of the week. I let my heels sink down and feel grounded when I stand in line. My attention starts to wander in Doctrine or Christology, and I refocus on where I am. Most helpful, though, are the moments throughout my week when I pause to feel myself breathe.
I'm amazed by the autonomic nervous system. In healthy bodies, our blood circulates, our lungs expand and contract, and our food gets digested all without any thought or intention on our parts. Major stuff is going on, and I don't need to direct it in any way. I can (if I choose to) notice my breathing and my heartbeat, but I don't have to wrestle those functions into place. I am being sustained, without any effort or skill of my own.
This week, I'm praying without ceasing, just by breathing in, and breathing out. I'm receiving constant grace, so quiet and steady that it rarely calls attention to itself.
Are you feeling sustained this week? Does grace feel easy, or are you gasping today?
Haunted by Color, Soothed by Stitching
23 hours ago
