Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.
Words said to me over and over again with every single contraction I had as I labored with each of my four kids.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.
Words I say to myself whenever my heart starts to race, my palms get sweaty and my brain is off to the races, filled with anxiety and dread.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.
Words the Tender Lover of my soul speaks to me when the heartache both within and around me feels unbearable.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.
Words that I imagine were spoken to Mary by the women in her caravan coaxing her through the laboring pushes and birth of Jesus and the comfort and joy that prevailed in the afterbirth.
----------------------------------
It's now past midnight.
Someone I love is in much pain.
Most days, I would push it aside and go to sleep.
Not tonight.
I'm sitting at my table just breathing.
In and out.
Breathing in her pain. Long. Slow. Deep.
INHALE.
Holding my breath for just a few seconds as I hold her before the God who is with her in the middle of her pain, her heartache.
Breathing out the love of God to her. Long. Slow. Deep.
EXHALE.
I'm not in the physical room with this one I love.
I can't be right now.
I can't take away her pain.
I can't make it magically all better.
But I can breathe for her.
I can breathe with her.
Long. Slow. Deep.
In the story of creation, God took the dust, the dirt, the ground and breathed life into it. His powerful, beautiful, love-filled life.
What sprang forth in all its beauty was us. You and me.
We were glorious.
We were sacred.
But we were also fragile.
But God didn't and doesn't stop there.
He didn't and doesn't create us and then leave us alone.
We are still glorious.
We are still sacred.
And we are still fragile.
We need Him, His breath of life, every single day.
In our pain.
In our fear.
In our sadness.
Even in our joy.
We need His powerful, beautiful, love-filled life.