“Anyone can hide. Facing up to things, working through them, that’s what makes you strong.” ― Sarah Dessen
Today my strength nearly sent my recently acquired Mac flying through the bedroom window.
This morning I woke early (my body still on east coast time) and as I took my computer out to begin working, I found the darn thing wouldn’t even turn on. This is my third computer in a row to technically challenge me.
Rather than throwing it out the window, which I seriously contemplated, I watched the sun rise through the slits of the window shades and silently thanked my computer for its demise.
When I finally was able to resurrect my electronic friend and foe, the first quote in my email (above) reminded me that it’s the facing things, the working through them, that makes us strong. After reading that, I must admit, I got a strong urge to throw that quote right out the window where my computer was earlier headed.
What if sometimes we need to hide? What if sometime we need to have every electronic piece of equipment fail, every book focused on all the things we need to do to conceive hidden in closets under last winter’s clothes? What if the greatest fertility healing habit was pure unadulterated joy?
How often do we disconnect from the disconnected forms of communication in our world. How many times do we truly connect with ourselves?
When was the last time we rose early to watch God light the world in hues of pink and purple and orange? What if the greatest way to heal our bodies was to heal our hearts, our souls, and our minds?
Today I would like to start a national movement. I would like every RE out there to prescribe one thing to their patient’s–a quiet sunrise and a worry-free day. Perhaps there is something to say for the healing habit of simple, quiet, uninterrupted pleasure.
“It is a time of quiet joy, the sunny morning. When the glittery dew is on the mallow weeds, each leaf holds a jewel which is beautiful if not valuable. This is no time for hurry or for bustle. Thoughts are slow and deep and golden in the morning.” — John Steinbeck (Tortilla Flat)