Saturday morning, I stirred the pot on the stove
and noticed the contents were too watery.
I felt churning in my stomach
and butterflies in my chest.
Translation:
If this doesn’t work out
I can’t handle it.
This is what puts me over the edge?
Date squares that might not turn out?
I guess I shouldn’t have doubled a new recipe.
Three days before, my ninety-one year old mother called 911.
As I looked for her in the busy emergency department,
I noticed something different in my mouth.
My tongue kept returning to the ragged gap in a molar, hoping it wasn’t true
as Mom called out in pain from time to time.
Four hours later, she was given a Tylenol with Codeine and whisked off to x-ray.
An hour later, the doctor sent her home.
A pulled muscle.
I got Mom’s Tylenol in blister packs
and took her for her first-ever massage.
A trip to the dentist confirmed
I needed even more dental work than planned.
By Friday, Mom’s pain settled down, and
I was getting used to the idea that I would be spending
so much time at the dentist
and so much money.
I thought I was fine.
But Saturday morning, making date squares,
I learned I wasn’t.
My body was calling 911.
It needed to be heard, felt,
taken for a walk, and comforted.
Losing a part of itself so suddenly was a shock.
My body needed compassion and time to recover.
God, incarnate in my body, told me
how I needed to be saved.
The mind deceives. The body never lies.
Listen to the wisdom of the body. Hear its truth.
–Thomas Keating, Open Mind, Open Heart
An Everyday Pilgrim 