People
often say tell a story.
When
I came to my blog this morning, acknowledging that the last time I
had written was back in December, I was startled. I knew it had been
a while. It made sense to me. There have been stories I haven't been
ready or willing to tell.
The
journey into finding yoga as a Christian, challenged me to the core
of all I was. Not the yoga and not Christ. It took me a while to
separate the later. So very many tears. So much struggle. My body
ripped from my ownership at such a young age, was being given back to
me and yet, at the same time I was being told I was deceived,
demonized, back slidden, wayward, leading the faithful astray.
Was
I going to do what I have done? Would the voices of others triumph
and trump my own?
People
connect to story.
But
a story needs to be lived out.
A
life needs to be discovered.
I've
lived my life telling stories.
Sharing
from my past, opening up my mouth so that others could learn.
There
are times I want my mouth to close.
When
the journey of living the life that brings forth the story seems too
long, too complicated, too hard.
People
often use the word, courage.
The
reality is that I don't know if as each step was taken I felt
courageous.
Matter
of fact, I know I didn't.
I
felt fear.
Learning
to live a season of life without allowing fear to hinder, saying yes
to life and what it brings, has been one of the most challenging
seasons of my life.
My
life.
My
family.
My
faith.
My
journey.
The
realities most precious to me, felt up for grabs.
Fundamental
questions of who I am, and what I believe raged deeply in my heart.
Clinging
to the prayers of St. Francis of Assisi, Lord, my God who are you?
And who am I?
Death
and loss and pain seemed as if they would overtake me.
Determined
to not give in, I kept putting one foot in front of the other.
People
asked me often, “What does your husband say about this?” We even
got a message that expressed disappointment in him as a Christian
leader, how could he “let his wife do yoga?”
Oh
there is so much within that statement, that grieves my heart deeply.
Beyond
what anyone can know, and beyond anything else that our lives entail,
his support upon my yoga journey and spiritual journey into becoming
me as been strong and true and real.
For
which I have immense gratitude.
Yoga
connected me to me in ways nothing else had ever done. It gave me a
practice that was mine and empowered me into my body. A place I
hated, I could now abide within. I would acknowledge that trauma had
caved my shoulders in, hindering the flowing of breath of life. As I
stood and sat and moved and breathed, an invitation to inhabit my
body and my life was flooding over my soul.
I've
grown in many ways through the last year and some time, my soul has
been deeply quieted. Rest and compassion filtered in, thundering in
at times, determined to have their affects.
I
didn't have to choose Christ or Yoga. I don't have to choose Christ
or (fill in the blank.) That is His beauty. He loves. He transforms.
My
story in the months of quiet. I have seen a God, walk with me into
places and be my God and I, one who loves Him walk with Him. I wasn't
sure I would ever touch places of spiritual intimacy again,
communities had made it clear that within their paradigm choices of
“either or” had to be made. Except that was never God's
intention, just the intention of men. There would be others who
would teach me “both and,” and for all of you who know that that
is you, immense gratitude for holding my hand and walking with me and
teaching me well.
Namaste
