Pace Of Grace

(Rocky Mountain High – Colorado) 

As I enter into my third week of recovery and begin to experience a little taste of heart pacing stability, it feels good. Simultaneously, my body reminds me that I need to go slowly as my heart is also healing from the Takotsubo assault which hit it hard a few months ago. I have been told that it takes many months (sometimes a year or so) to recover and stabilise from all that my heart has endured this year, and so I must not push nor rush ahead. My heart tells me this too. 

Thus, patience needs more exercise than my body at the moment. 

For years I have watched from the sidelines as people experience the physical freedom, joy and confidence that I once knew, loved and quite honestly took for granted. 

Initially this was hard for me but latterly it has become the norm and doesn’t feel jarring to my system. I can genuinely enjoy others enjoyment of an active life. And perhaps now, I am at a stage where I can at least dream of toe-dipping in those shallow waters again myself. 

Meantime over these years at home, I have become more contemplative. A consequence of a quiet, slowed, stripped back life. This seemingly fallow season – unchosen, initially unloved, but now cherished – has held a range of hidden seeds waiting to be nurtured. 

At times, contemplation has a propensity for intensity which needs to be tempered. In seeking balance, time has allowed me to soften my focus and cultivate practices such as meditation and mindfulness, helping me to navigate life with chronic pain and illness. There has been a richness and depth to this period, aspects of which have been good for mind, body and soul. I will speak of one such practice here. 

I love the outdoors and I have sorely missed the simple experience of a long walk in the countryside or by the sea. While my body is not well enough to be out and about, intentional medatitive practice enables me to escape into the virtual beauty of nature through slowing the ‘windmills of my mind’, so to speak. 

In such context, this can take the form of recollecting and feasting on a helpful memory as if it was happening in the present moment – and the remarkable thing is, the mind and body respond as if it is! Just mindfully imagine sucking a slice of fresh lemon – the salivary juices respond as if it were happening in real time. 

Research has shown that repetition of an action, coupled with its associated emotion, can actually influence the structure and chemistry of the brain over time. As a way of lifting my spirits and engendering a ‘feel good’ relaxed bodily experience, deeply visualising my ‘happy place’ often helps me. It’s not as strange as it may sound, and we all do it to a degree 🙂 It isn’t a wistful, melancholic exercise, but rather one born from a place of peace, gratitude and joy. For me, this helps to douse and heal the more traumatic medical memories of these past years and also aids in distracting me when dealing with physical pain. 

The wisdom of such practice is nothing new. Thousands of years ago, God’s Word instructed us:

“Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse.” (Philippians 4:8, MSG).

My chosen meditation theme has varied in my mind’s eye, but time and time again I come back to one of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever laid eyes on and I immerse myself in the memory of its majesty once more. Let me bring you along with me…

In 1986, my husband’s parents moved to Colorado. This meant that we were fortunate to visit them there several times over the course of the 20 years when I was fit to travel. Our boys reacquainting with grandparents, free board and lodgings and wonderful extended family reunions. What’s not to love about that? 

Colorado is one of the most breathtakingly stunning states in the USA and has a plethora of beauty spots amidst the mountains and lakes. It also looks vastly different in each season of the year ranging from winter’s thick snow packed mountains to summer’s hot, dry, dusty trail roads and cloudless skies to autumn’s golden aspen groves and so much more. 

But one of the most beautiful places I have ever witnessed lies nestled high in the Glenwood Canyon – like a secret treasure. One summer we were privileged to discover this gem of a place and hiked it with our boys. The trail ascends some 1000 feet in elevation for about 1.2 miles. It’s a fairly steep climb and follows a tributary of the Colorado River. The top of the trail finishes with a harsh rocky incline, the ascent of which is rewarded by a picture-postcard slice of paradise! There, in all its splendour, lies a crystal-clear bright turquoise lake, seemingly suspended on the high cliff ledge. This lake was apparently formed when a geological fault caused the lake bed to drop away from the valley floor above. Minerals give it its magnificent colour. Water flows into the lake from a gorgeous waterfall called Bridal Falls. 

The cool, still, iridescent blue lake water is utterly mesmerising and teems with life in an array of plants and fish. Giant brightly coloured butterflies dance on the water surface and then rest on the warm stones at the water’s edge. The rush of the falls on the rocks provides a soothing melody to this picture-perfect spot. 

Standing under the waterfall is invigorating, being drenched in exhilarating purity, then basking in the baking sun to dry off, soaking in the fresh alpine beauty all around. I can still capture the full sensory experience of that moment and it fills my heart with joy. 

As I look back on the photographs we took at that time in 2003, I can taste the peace and pleasure of that family experience as if it were yesterday. Twenty years later, toned abs have metamorphosed into an ample belly and pillow thighs. But I do not define myself by the shape of my body. And as with mindful visualisation, I can choose what I see – how I see myself and the meaning I make of it. In many ways, though moulded by adversity, my present physical form, though ‘softened’, has yet remained steadfast – and speaks now in more tender mellow tones of compassionate care towards myself, and towards life in general, and that feels good. 

And so, as I look ahead on my recovery path, I see that it will not be a swift, steep climb. Not hurried nor pressured, but rather gentle and meandering. I listen to my body and to my gut instinct. I treat myself with soft, kind grace and go at a pace which my heart will (literally) guide. And I will be satisfied. 

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