My life took an abrupt turn on July 8, 2011, when my friend Jim had a seizure and was diagnosed with a very aggressive brain cancer. After surgery, he moved into my home, and I cared for him until he died nine months later.
Caring for someone who was terminally ill required changes to my daily routine; my schedule was no longer my own.
A year after Jim died, I moved “home” to Michigan; I had left when I was eighteen, so moving back meant starting over. Loss on top of loss created cumulative grief, and I felt like I was climbing out of a deep hole the first few years.
From deep inside that hole, I would find myself trying to remember what my life looked like before Jim got sick. What did I do in the evenings? Weekends? What routines had I lost? What habits had I abandoned?
But, bit by bit I remembered and reintroduced things I had to let go of while caring for Jim—baking, reading and jigsaw puzzles, to name a few. But some habits were more difficult to reestablish.
Daily prayer and exercise fall into that category.
I had kept the habit of spending quiet time every morning, writing in my journal and reading scripture; but actually praying, having conversations with God—not so much.
And I missed those conversations with God. I missed the practice of reading scripture and paying attention to what word or phrase caught my attention. I missed the practice of carrying that message with me throughout the day and dipping back into the well of conversation with God. I missed the grounding of it, the nourishment of my spirit and the comfort of it.
So why wasn’t I praying? I knew that God was waiting for me to come back. What resistance was at play? And, more importantly, how could I get past my resistance.
It was one of those catch twenty-two situations—getting past my resistance required prayer, but my resistance was to prayer. I was trapped, stuck, paralyzed.
I needed an attitude adjustment.
Sometimes, a moment of awareness that I am being resistant is the jolt I need to adjust my attitude, and that opens the door to greater awareness.
It is an inertia kind of thing, and once I start, once I am in motion, all kinds of possibilities open before me.
Advent seemed the perfect time to reestablish my prayer practice. Every morning, I lit my Advent candles, journaled, read scripture and asked for the courage to move against my resistance.
And every morning, a word or phrase of scripture caught my attention, and I remembered it.
The growing light from my Advent candles corresponded to my deepening prayer. By Christmas, my prayer was back on track, and moving into the New Year, I feel more grounded in my relationship with God.
Now, for reestablishing my exercise routine—I signed up with a personal trainer for an eight-week program.
