I had an inspiring all-day class at the Smithsonian last Saturday--A Day at the Louvre. When I emerged at 4:15, I was delighted to discover not only a beautiful summery day in the mid-60s, but that, now two months passed the winter solstice, the days are noticeably longer. After being in a cavelike classroom all day, I relished the warmth of the sun on my face, and rather than ducking into the Metro station that was feet away, I decided to walk 20 minutes to a more distance station to enjoy the day and movement.
In the short duration of a 15-minute train ride, by the time I emerged from the subway, I was feeling really tired and a definite tickle had developed at the back of my throat. Determined not to let the feather at the back of my throat spoil this splendid day, I nearly sprinted toward the pharmacy and grocery to run my errands.
But my determination was thwarted. With every step, my feet became heavier until, as I walked into my doorway, my shoes felt like I was dragging lead. I tossed perishables into the refrigerator, put on my jammies, got a hot pack, and curled up on the sofa, where I vegged until my eyelids, now equally heavy, would no longer stay open.
Mid-evening I awakened, and pushed into the kitchen to mark my name on freezer containers, which held my contribution to parish lunch. I gathered books for a lecture the next day. I kept pushing. I was not about to let something like an upper respiratory irritation keep me from my plans.
I should know by now, but the will of my ego is intransigent. If I push hard enough, I can will my way through anything, I seem to believe. I think that may have been more true at some point, but as I focus more on spirit, my inner knowing will no longer allow it.
I coughed a lot in the night as the congestion in my chest grew thicker. Yet, I still wouldn't surrender.
Finally, at 7 on Sunday morning, I gave it up. I emailed a woman in my building who attends the same church to take my contribution and the pastor to let him know she would bring my goodies.
I crawled back in bed and slept for what totalled 13 hours. (You think my body was trying to tell me something?) I moved from bed to the couch, watched something on TV, and passed out for a few more hours. Repeat the pattern.
Monday morning the ego rears its head yet again, and I push through to the office where I cough, am cranky, and feel miserable all day. At 4, I tell my boss that, if I can get out of here, I will go home early. I couldn't get people out of my office, phone and email to make that happen. Finally at 5:15, I left. Finally! I went home and slept another 36 hours or so.
Why is it so hard for me to admit that I am a mere mortal? My body gets tired and stressed, and my compromised immune system fails me. Through the ancient miracles of surrender and sleep, I feel great today, but I really wonder why it is that I have to fight this up and down thing.
Most of my life my commitment to health and fitness have been a testament to my intention to create wellness in my life. Even my struggles with sugar are against amounts miniscule compared to the general population. Am I so hard-headed and strong-willed that I cannot seem to listen to my body when it speaks? Or, perhaps even worse, am I so hard-headed and strong-willed that I will not listen when God speaks to me through my body?
I am very busy much of the time, and perhaps the only way that God can get my attention is to knock me off my feet. OK. I get it. I listened. It is Lent: my very work is supposed to be prayer, meditation, and reflection. So, if it takes a respiratory infection, and it would seem it does, I finally listened. Ahh!
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