Roots vs.Resolutions
It’s that terrible and ridiculous season where we berate ourselves for all of our past failures while simultaneously over-promise transformation. I recently read that the most common resolutions are about weight loss, organization, saving money, exercising, and spending time more productively. It doesn’t really matter. It will surely be another year of under-delivery, and we’ll meet in January 2023 to start the whole shame cycle again.
Happy New Year.
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In the true spirit of New Year’s resolutions, I went to a yoga class last week. Even though yoga is my favorite, it’s been a while since I’ve attended a class. Paired with this extended absence, I’m struggling with brittle bones and very stiff joints, unfortunate side-effects from one of my medications.
It was a rough morning.
I can’t even sit cross-legged comfortably; there was quite a bit of shifting and readjusting. Due to my recent surgeries, I can’t do a plank or put pressure on my arms for more than thirty seconds. Wait…who am I kidding—I could never really do a plank.
If I had let myself, I could have been embarrassed. All these things I used to be able to do without a problem are now a stretch (see what I did there?), or even impossible. If I start to compare myself to the other people on mats next to me, I’ll call myself a lost cause and never go back.
Yet, even amid the discomfort and pain, I find life. Inhaling, exhaling, reaching, bending, balancing: using my body in these simple ways—moving as I was designed to—breathes contentment and peace into my weary soul.
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Someone once told me that they’ve never felt closer to God than when they had a medical crisis. We sat together at the consultation table in our studio soon after my own cancer diagnosis, probably working up an order for stationery or a party invitation; I can’t remember. I just recall smiling and nodding while one distilled, clarified question bubbled to the surface:
Why haven’t I felt that way?
Ever since the girls were babies, I’ve had a fairly regular routine of getting up early in the morning, while my house was still quiet. I’d brew a cup of coffee and sit down for what I call a quiet time, which is basically an out-loud time of prayer.
I did not do this because I was holy. I did it because I was desperate.
My circumstances were beyond my control. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of worry: starting and then maintaining a small business with my husband (that’s code for nobody had a paycheck), two babies born a year apart, a new-ish marriage where we were still learning one another, and absolutely, positively no money. Not one penny extra—ever.
But not only did I despair over my circumstances, I despaired over my very heart. I felt my own wretchedness: my bitterness and anger towards my young husband, my envy towards friends that looked like their lives were easier, my continued discontentment with what I had. My very self was hopeless.
In this, I learned to pray.
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Recently I re-read the story of Hannah in the Bible. In 1 Samuel chapter 1, we learn that year after year Hannah has longed for a baby, but she is hopelessly infertile—verse 6 says that God himself has closed her womb. All of the forces work against her until she cannot eat or drink. All she can do is weep.
Perhaps this story already hits close to home for you. Maybe you understand this very particular pain. And if not, I imagine that you do know the bitter disappointment of desperately longing for something—or even someone—that you cannot have. You have no control to change the circumstance. All of the determination and grit cannot get you what you want.
Hannah has a breakdown at the temple. Verse 10 says, In her deep anguish, Hannah prayed to the Lord, weeping bitterly. She is passionately pouring out her heart to God. So much so that Eli, the Priest accuses her of being drunk.
Not so, my lord, Hannah replied, I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I have not been drinking wine or beer; I was pouring out my soul to the Lord…. I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.
Then just a few verses later, verse 18 says Then she went her way and ate something, and her face was no longer downcast.
Why? What changed?
If you read on, you’ll discover that Hannah does become pregnant and eventually gives birth to Samuel, and then more children, besides. But that hasn’t happened yet. Her circumstances haven’t changed at all, but her outlook certainly has.
What changed? Prayer. Her time pouring out her heart honestly before the Lord. That’s it.
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I love the balance poses of yoga. In Tree Pose, one leg stays rooted on the ground while the other comes up like a flamingo. Then the sole of the foot rests on the inside of the stationary leg, forming a triangle. It sounds easy, but balance poses take practice.
As I wobbled all over the floor in my Tree pose last week, I reminded myself to keep my eyes fixed on one still place. I found a spot up towards the front of the room and I kept my eyes on it, but I kept teetering.
Then I shifted my gaze to a spot on the floor that was right in front of me, and I instantly stabilized.
There is the trick to balance: keep your eyes focused on the fixed, unmoving point.
The closer you are to it, the better.
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In her book Women of the Word, Jen Wilkin makes the case that most of us treat time with God like a bank withdraw. Whenever we feel like it, we sit down with a Bible or with some kind of devotional book or with a list of prayer requests and we deem our time successful by what we get out of it. Did it make me feel good? Did I get some kind of ‘nugget’ of wisdom I can file away for the day?
But, she says, when you spend time with God, you’re actually making a deposit. Day by day, you’re pouring into a spiritual account. You’re accruing history and building knowledge and relationship.
And one day, she concludes, you’re going to find yourself in a place where need to make some withdraws.
Boy, oh boy, this year did I ever need to withdraw.
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Once chemo treatments began, those early mornings were gone. I was fatigued and sick. I quickly lost my routine. At first, I sort of worried about it: what would my faith life look like if I didn’t have my quiet time? If I’m not carving out that space, then what?
And God gently reminded me: He carries me, not the other way around. God doesn’t need my morning routine. All He really wants is my tired, weak self. All he requires is my open desperation.
And this year, frankly, that’s all I’ve had to give.
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There is a double-edged sword here. There are two sides to the same coin. Wilkin also famously writes: You cannot love what you do not know.
This cancer season has been a doozy.
The message from my medical teams in the fall of 2020 was:
Cancer treatment is hard, but you’re going to be fine.
By mid-2021, commentary sounded different:
Cancer doesn’t usually behave this way.
We can’t promise anything.
We are going to give this a try.
And my personal favorite—the silent push of the Kleenex box over to me as I sobbed.
It could have unmoored me. There have been lows, yes. But generally, peace beyond all understanding is what I’ve felt. Truly. Even in the middle of all the hard. How?
Years of walking with my God.
Another well-known quote is There are no atheists in foxholes. In other words: everybody wants God when they are in a crisis. But after this last year and a half, I’ve got to tell you, I think it’s a whole lot better if you can get to know him before the catastrophe hits.
No… I did not feel closer to God during this travail. But I have a hunch that it’s because He was just carrying me along like He’s always been. Not much changed between the two of us, frankly. I needed Him before, I needed Him last year, and I still need Him now.
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What if this is the year that we put all of the unimportant contrivances aside and give our time and attention to the One that truly matters? A leaner body cannot save you when the storm rages. A more organized pantry will not deliver you when the floodwaters rise. That pile of money you’re going to set aside cannot rescue you from the pit of despair.
What if we put resolutions behind us and instead turn our attention to Relationship? Will we do this perfectly? No. Will we even do it right? Is there a right way to get to know your Maker? Can we trust Him to take our hearts’ intentions and make them good before Him?
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Yoga is often called a practice, after all. Set your intention for today’s practice, my teacher says.
This relieves the pressure of feeling like I need to do it right, or perfectly. It removes the tendency to compare myself to those around me. It is my practice. It is my achy body, my brittle bones, my bumpy mat, my safe space.
And as with any practice, the first step is just showing up as you are.
Peace be with you in the New Year, friends.
xo,
The teaching from Hannah is inspired by Paige Brown’s teaching “The Desperate Heart” from January 1, 2010 available here. I so encourage you to listen in!