Hot Stones

A couple of days ago,  I found myself laying on a table, face down, naked bod covered by a blanket (oooh, cover your eyes!), table warmers on, and hot river stones on my back. I was blessed to be at a spa getting my first ever hot stone massage. While I have had a massage before, this is never a frequent occurrence in my random life so when the opportunity presents itself, I fully enjoy it.

Feeling the warmth from the table combined with the heat of the rocks on my skin and the pressure of the the therapist's hands working through my muscles, should have been enough to put me to sleep or at least get me close, but while my body felt relaxed, my mind and heart were not. A sadness sneakily crept over me and as my head was face down in the little cushiony breathing hole, my eyes welled up with tears and I could feel them gliding down my cheeks and plopping to the floor beneath me. It was a quiet cry that was not noticeable to the therapist, but a cry nonetheless. My nose even began to run, and not having access to my arms at the moment, and feeling very much like a veggie tale,  I could either let my nose drip or inhale the drippage back into my head. Choosing the seemingly subtle option, I inhaled still hoping the massage therapist was blind to my sad little state.  Just then, however, she instructed me to turn over. Busted. While keeping my eyes closed I obeyed hoping she thought it was normal to have wet eyelashes and damp cheeks, and then hurriedly wiped my nose first grade style against the back of my hand and tried to regain composure. Thankfully, the tears dried up and the massage continued without any huge emotional hiccups.

As I sit here a couple of days later and process my experience, I realize that the grief that showed up very much unannounced is part of God's healing process for me. A wise man in my life told me that when grief grips, go ahead and do the work of experiencing it. Don't try to ignore it or run away from it, feel it and know that God is still purposeful in the pain and in the loss. So yesterday when I was on that table and the pangs of loss jumped on my back along with the hot stones, as untimely as it was, I knew I had to be in it.

Many times I want my grief to hurry up and run it's course.  I want to feel happy and my eyes to dance with lightness more often than naught, but then I am reminded of the realness of pain. It is typically not an overnight fix and in the earlier stages, I found it to be sometimes a moment by moment process. Yet I am convinced pain brings our insides to light and the reality of it connects us and moves us in ways that sometimes all of our successes never could. 

Thankfully, I know this pain will not be forever.  I also know it has served to connect me in beautiful ways to others and to God himself. The twinge of my grief reminds me that this world is not intended to be traveled alone, and that I am in desperate need of a  God who restores and redeems. Pain pushes me forward to do the things I was created to do because I am reminded of life's brevity and how I want my days to be spilled out purposefully.

During the massage, the therapist would take a stone and push it down the lengths of my muscles, working through the tension with both pressure and heat which formed a picture in my mind of my own grief. Like the hot stone treatment, God is using His realness wrapped in pain to apply pressure, heat, and sometimes unexpected grief to call out very clearly the dreams in my heart and mind that had become muddled and even confusing in my own strength. It sounds odd, but in many ways, God is bringing relief through my pain and putting me in a place to more effectively be His relief.  Such beautiful, twisted, foolishness...

If you ever have the chance, try out a hot stone massage. You probably won't cry but it's ok if you do. Realness connects and his hot stones are often necessary for us to ultimately become. If I am to be a sucker for the ridiculousness of Christ, pain, in a weird way, is both a compassionate and beautiful part of the deal.

Oh, and the kitty caller did not do a good job of beckoning her cat back to her homestead last night (although Jourdan reported that close to midnight she certainly tried very loudly for a good while).  I woke up to meowing over and over again at about 2:30 am which leads to this official statement: Kitty and kitty caller beware. If we wanted you for an alarm we would have set our phones to the odd neighbor ring.  But we don't and we didn't.  Now go and sin no more.

 I mean, what if?