I rushed into yoga this morning, grabbed my mat, found a place on the already crowded floor, and assumed the position — lying flat on my back. The instructor likes us to start supine. We spend several moments listening to our breath and quieting our minds.
I noticed right away that my mind was a little extra frantic this morning. I heard her voice in the background saying, “Quiet your mind….Connect to the breath…” but I heard my mind saying, “But…but…but…what about the bills that need to be paid? What about the fact that I did such a mediocre job teaching yesterday? What about the election? What about our children?”
“Connect to the breath. If it’s helpful, repeat to yourself, ‘inhale, exhale’.”
Sometimes while we are in this stage of the yoga class, the instructor will say, “Set a purpose for your practice today. What is your intention? What would you like to focus on?” I typically pick a prayer that I want to repeat over and over again. Usually it is something like “Thank you.” or “Heal me.” I repeat this phrase over and over again while I breathe. It’s my attempt — albeit often feeble — to turn my focus away from myself — my body, my pain, my worries, my agenda — and aim it in the direction of God.
Today, when I noticed that extra layer of anxiety, I asked myself, “What is going on? Why are you so amped up?”
“Hmmm,” I answered. “Could it be that you have made yourself so busy that you haven’t been spending time in prayer and Bible study? Again?”
I was totally busted. As much as I ‘set my intention’ for life — my intention to be balanced, my intention to take time for self-care, my intention to put God first — I get caught in the immediate and forget the Essential.
The immediate screams out for me — the email from the student, the phone call from the husband, the laundry, the grading, the projects. And, you know, the essential sits quietly on the sofa, sipping tea, waiting for me to realize that it’s sitting right there, waiting for me.
The immediate whines and begs, grabbing onto my arm and dragging me down. The essential says, “You know, you always feel better after we spend time together. I feed you. I listen. I care. I nurture.”
Yes, You do. You were patient enough today to wait for me while I did my yoga, went to the chiropractor, prepared for tomorrow’s class, and made myself some lunch. And then, when I finally sat next to You on the couch and picked up the book You’ve been holding out to me, the first chapter said, “The Sabbath is a basic unit of Christian time, a day the Church, too, tries to devote to reverence of God and rest from toil.” It’s like You couldn’t wait to blurt it out — You had to speak while you had my attention. I chuckled to myself, put that book aside and opened my devotion to the page that said, “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.” Yes, yes. It is Yours, is it not? It is not mine to worry about. I don’t have to be frantic. I can take the time to ‘devote reverence to [You] and rest from toil’. I can. I must. It’s essential.
“Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”