My Brush With Life

I wake up this Sunday morning on my day off at 5:00 am. Ugh. But I’m rested and I’ve learned that when waking that early it’s best to get up and do something, starting with a talk with God, because if I lay there it inevitably turns into a talk with Satan, and ain’t nobody got time for that.

 

I get a drink of water and hop in the shower. I cry a little, because showers are good for that, as I talk to God about some of my worries, thank Him for His help this last hard week, enjoy the hot water tapping on my body, so tight and sore from holding in the stress, shave my legs, and scrub my feet. I get out of the shower and feel the worry resurface as I look in the mirror. I don’t have time to be crossfit mom and my 43 years, 3 pregnancies, and too many pints of Ben and Jerry’s is showing on my body. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to let a man look at it again and not have to fight the thoughts that it’s not porn-perfect and that must mean I’ve done something wrong. I try and surrender this, as I have thousands of times before. Maybe someday I’ll actually be able to do it.

 

Some mornings all I want to do is curl up on the couch, but this morning I want to move. I look outside and see the yellow moon lighting up the morning. I open the door and feel the breeze, hear the trees in my yard rustling, and walk outside. I climb up on the trampoline. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on it. I start to jump. My body is clumsy. I feel like an old lady. I remember why I don’t jump as I quickly adjust my muscles so I don’t wet myself. This does not help me fight the feelings of being old and imperfect. I laugh to myself and keep jumping. My heart is banging the wrong way, it’s fighting against the jumping, and there is no rhythm. I’m not in time with myself.

 

I push through it. Just keep jumping. I remind myself that no one can see me. I try out several different ways of holding my body. I think about lots of things. I think about my babies that died inside my body. I think about how safe I feel in my neighborhood. I think about how many things aren’t right and how many things are right and wonder if I’ll have to wait until I’m dead to be fully healed.  I think about how I have a son who is afraid of dying and of everyone around him dying and how nothing I say seems to make it better. I think about how I have a son who came home from college for fall break and chose to stay with his dad. I hate that there is even a choice. I think about my divorce and how it still isn’t final and wonder what’s God’s timing and what’s people just being ridiculous. I think about how much I’ll miss my chickens when I move. I think about how I have a brother who wants to be dead and how I can’t help him. I think about the time this week when I broke down crying from sheer exhaustion after I saw that the dents in the wall upstairs that I had just patched and repainted two weeks ago had already been replaced by new dents. I think about how much I love my yard, the trees, and the waterfall. I think about my car and hope that it will keep running and is it wrong to ask for a car to have a priesthood blessing? I think about how nice it is to be jumping in soft leggings and not be in my ugly work uniform. I do lots of wondering about love until I have to tell myself to stop.

 

I try to concentrate on what I am doing right now and only that. I start to find a rhythm. It starts to feel good. I feel less awkward. I thing about how the weather is perfect right now. I think about the moonlight.  I think about jumping on the tramp as a kid with my brothers. I remember jumping off the deck onto the tramp, jumping with the sprinkler under the tramp, sleeping out on the tramp and ending up in the middle in a pile on top of each other. I feel my body relax. I stretch out and up to touch the branches of the tree above me. I feel my breath start to fill more than the top half of my lungs. I feel my heart start to beat in time with the jumping and stop banging. I think of the earth and the pain that is on it, I jump off the earth as high as I can over and over. I jump until my hair is dry and my body is tingling and my breath is ragged.

 

Then I flop down on the mat. I splay my body out, hands overhead, my hair now dry making a static halo around my face. I breath, I watch the moon start to sink below my neighbors tree. I listen to the crickets and the wind. I watch the stars peak through the wispy clouds and just try to BE.  Suddenly a start shoots across the sky in a blaze of light right above me. For me, it’s clearly God saying, “I see you”.  I start to cry in gratitude. I feel alone a lot, but I know I’m not. I try to keep the crying in a place of gratitude as I feel the grief behind it wanting to jump on the train and take control but then I remember that God will be with me in thanks and in pain and that He understands the complex dualities of life. So I let the grief come and stay for a while, because I’ve learned that it’s okay to swim with feelings. That way you don’t drown in them.  The tears run down my face and into my ears and I can taste them running down the back of my throat but my body is relaxed so I stay on my back looking up to heaven. Then they turn to giant sobs. I cry so hard that it shakes the trampoline and my feet and hands start bouncing and it’s so absurd that I start laughing again.

 And it’s okay and I made it through the wave and it’s time to go inside and have some hot chocolate while I read my scriptures to armor up for the day before my kids wake up.

And the Spirit whispers “write it and share it”, so I take a deep breath and I do and here it is.