It's Just Like the Water...

So, I have been thinking about this whole notion of rest, self-care, and balance since I last blogged. Truth is, I am way off balance. So much so that I get overwhelmed thinking about it. How do I get myself back to a place where I establish a routine that sustains me?

A week or so ago I spoke with a good girlfriend of mine—one who extends way more grace to me than I do to myself—who suggested I stop trying to do it all and start with baby steps. She asked, "What about the pool?" She knew I had purchased an aquajogger so that I could get my run on without hurting my joints. The pool was a great idea! It is a site of rest and renewal, where I can post up with a good book and some good tunes. However, it is also a place where I can work out. The pool it is.

But last night, after my massage, I couldn't help but think there had to be more. Perhaps my unrest was stirred up when Aiken—massage therapist extraordinaire—handed me a bottle of water when we were done. "Drink plenty of water," he said.

Drink plenty of water. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know, but his words struck me. Drink plenty of water. The water, after a massage, flushes toxins away. Drink plenty of water. In general, when I drink water consistently I feel and look better, inside and out: my skin glows, my organs are happy and my energy levels increase.

And so, as I make my way to the pool with my Intak thermos bottle filled with water in tow, I am reminded of the words of Ms. Lauryn Hill when she sang, "It's just like the water, I ain't felt this way in years..."

August Rest...

The English word august comes from the Latin word augustus which means consecrated and venerable. How fitting. This particular month, in this particular year, proves to be quite sacred for me. On Sunday, August 1, 2010, I was consecrated—set apart by the laying on of hands—for the Gospel ministry. It was a beautiful worship celebration, the final kick off what is indeed a new season in my life. I am now a wife and ordained minister, entrusted by God with a new set of responsibilities.

You can imagine that this has been a beautiful, blessed, and crazy time. With so much going on, I have had little time to rest and care for myself (which I believe is part and parcel for being a good steward in the kingdom of God). With that in mind, this month is also consecrated in that it is the time set apart to relax in the arms of God, be renewed in His strength, and to establish new routines of self-care. In a way, this is my sabbatical month. While I will be working, I will be intentional about the way in which the remainder of my time is spent.

I need rest. Duh, you might say....you just graduated from school, got married, moved, started your work as Assistant to the Pastor at Bethesda, and went before the ordination council. Admittedly, I am a woman who thrives on doing stuff. Needless to say, it difficult for me to relax. In fact, I spent Tuesday afternoon trying to figure out and list reason why I was so exhausted until I finally realized that I am simply tired and that I should honor my exhaustion by submitting my mind, body, and soul to rest. So I rested. And I plan to rest for the remainder of this month. This is a holy endeavor so that I may be a renewed vessel for the work of ministry.

Let's be clear. Many of us believe that when we rest that we are being lazy or doing nothing. Not so. When we rest, we are indeed doing something. When we rest, we are acknowledging that we are human beings who cannot do it all. When we rest, we demonstrate our faith in God who is Sovereign and Able. When we rest, we are asking God to revive us afresh. When we rest, we are being still and knowing that He is God. When we rest, we are pausing to hear a fresh word from God.

And so, I will end this post rather abruptly. I must close my computer and make my way to Aiken, massage therapist extraordinaire, who will work out the kinks and knots that have been building up in my neck and shoulders.

Today, on his table, I will find rest...

Breathe. Stretch. Shake. Let it Go...

If you know me well, you know that I quote Biggie, Kane, Salt-n-Pepa, and KRS-One as much as I quote Jesus, Paul, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Obadiah. Hip-Hop Culture has been as much a part of my foundation as an minister/artist/scholar as Church Culture. I open with this truth because someone may be turned off by my title. If it helps, Mace was/is both rapper and preacher...

On to my post. In the midst of finally getting my breakthrough on the homework front (I've been struggling to find/buy/lease/borrow/steal motivation lately), I had to take a break. My Pastoral Care and Counseling CLass is all about trauma and resiliency in children and adolescents. Needless to say, the reading can be a little heavy. OK, quite heavy. Like tears welling up and without your permission and streaming down your face before you can stop them—heavy. Like memories from five, ten, fifteen, even twenty years ago flooding to your minds eye—heavy. Like each page require more and more of you and with each page you feel like you have less and less to give—heavy. Today, as I dove into my homework, I found myself emotionally taken. Instead of plowing through, as I would normally do, I stopped to eat dinner I had prepared a few hours earlier (BBQ chicken, broccoli, cauliflower, and brown rice). After dinner, I read a few more pages. Then I stopped to watch a few minutes of NCIS. Then I read a few more pages. Sensing a pattern here?

So, I stopped again, but this time I did what I knew was going to work. I grabbed my house keys and my iPod, pushed play on my "Worship Walk" playlist, and went out to pray in the fresh air. I had to, in the words of Puff Daddy protégé and preacher Mase, "breath, stretch, shake, and let it go." But more than that, I had to give it to Jesus. As I walked, I was reminded of Jesus' invitation to "Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." I had been laboring, over a textbook about talking with children about death. But my labor wasn't a recent development. I had been laboring for a few weeks. Laboring to pay bills, laboring to find the strength to read, laboring to write, laboring even to pray sometimes. I was heavy laden with memories of DJ and Grandma and George and Neville—family and friends who had passed away all before I turned 14. I was heavy laden with the anxiety that comes with not knowing your next steps. Heavy laden with GRE Exam and Doctoral Program Stuff. Heavy laden with feelings of inadequacy, indecision, and isolation.

So, I walked and I talked with Jesus and somewhere between Vinton and King and Green Village Road I rested. I rested in the care of my Savior, who indeed cares for me. I rested, knowing that as I gave Jesus my hurt and grief and frustration and anger, that He exchanged each one for His love, healing, support, and joy. I rested knowing that even though I don't know what is next, God has a plan and a purpose for my life. I rested, knowing that God's grace will carry me (and equip me) anywhere God's will take me. I rested knowing that with Jesus, I am and never will be alone. I rested, and then I came back home and finished my reading.