Through this journey of life, I am learning that my emotions are not interruptions but my body’s way of responding to life. They are signals that give rise to draw me toward what I care about and the people I need.
Yet over the years, I learned to push them down to stay composed, to keep the peace, to be the strong one. And while that may have worked on the surface, my body held the rest. My body remembers, it keeps the score. It becomes illness and dis-ease when stuck, hindering the flow through me.
I continue to discover that the holiness to which we are called is not about rising above but about integrating body, mind, and spirit so fully that nothing has to hide.
Yesterday morning after a late night of taking my husband to the ER again, I sat in prayer connecting pondering things of Christ through the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The graces of comfort, understanding and connection flowed.
After my time in silent listening through my centering prayer practice, my mind was quiet, but my body was humming with something unspoken. Then the Spirit whispered: Get up. Move. So I did. I walked, and prayed the rosary with my whole body, and let each step become a release. As I passed the Holy Name Retreat Center, I went into the beautiful grounds and finished my rosary gently rocking my body in a chair, feeling the gentle breeze, my heart soften and my spirit open.
As I walked off the grounds, I turned on my playlist and the Spirit gave me what I needed. I began to dance around a statue of St. Michael the Archangel (the warrior of God) as I heard the Divine Lover say:
You my lil’ boo thang…Hey Girl, you got me, I’m singing, It’s like Oh, ooh-oh, you got the best of my love.
And my response: Oh, ooh-oh, you got the best of my love.
I’m reminded that Christ is well pleased with the orientation of my heart even when the holy visitor of sadness shows up in my life. When the heaviness and exhaustion and my environment drains me. But what sadness needs is connection—people who understand, beauty that steadies me, content that nourishes rather than depletes.
When I listen, my body guides me. My emotions are invitations. The body may keep the score, but God keeps the story, and that story is always moving toward healing, integration, and love.
Another song comes on and speaks life to me:
Then I look at you (Lord)
And the world’s alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it’s gonna be
A lovely day
This grounds me in the reality of what is before me, the beauty of the present moment and the quiet joy of relationship, even if in a hospital room.
This is what healing looks like for me now—letting my body speak, letting God meet me there, letting movement and music become prayer. It is the slow, sacred work of becoming whole.
Smitten With Goodness 