You Are More Than Your Body: The ‘Wolf At My Door’ Series

{For the beginning of this series, click HERE}

July brought a turnaround from my early March lupus-crash, to which I credit Rx shifts, natural medicine, aggressive acupuncture, rest. Now, as I measure plans and activities against new limitations, my life is changed; but my gratitude is great for the reprieve.

And some things I don’t want to forget, like the white space of silence. In the midst of the crash, down time was imperative, not a choice—in fact, down time was the only kind of time. But then I started feeling incrementally better. As in my old life, I started using up my energy doing until I was nearing exhaustion. Only then did I resume down-timing. The difference between now and my former life is that I do heed the foreshadowing. Even before I reach exhaustion, I stop. I don’t ignore it or continue pushing through despite depletion.

But while this is progress, it isn’t enough. I want to choose down time even when I’m not tired; I want more silence, the negative space that makes everything around it sing.

The other day I was reminded of why this is so important. With twenty free minutes before an appointment, I sensed silence beckoning. So instead of starting another task, I sat in a camp chair on the front lawn to do—well, to do nothing. As I felt the air and broken sunlight and took in bugs and the shabbiness of summer’s outdoors, I found myself thinking of a friend. Indeed, I felt concern for this friend rise in me, though I didn’t know why. Following what felt like a nudge, I sent a quick text to tell “F” I was thinking of her.

Stillness Lets in Inspiration

What happened next is what surprised me into inspiration. F wrote back immediately. And she was at a perilous low point. A major disappointment had just befallen in a week of repeated, mounting losses and disappointments. What I heard in her voice was not just concerning, but scary. Like an end had come to that rope. I offered what words I could then sat in the remaining silence asking for guidance. Several things came to me that didn’t feel right. My distance from this friend was too great for a visit, but I did know someone near to F, someone in ministry who had a relationship with her. I reached out to this friend and expressed my concern. Not only did this person immediately reach out to F and connect, but she expressed voluminous gratitude that I had shared with her. The next day, F expressed gratitude as well. My care, the care of our minister friend, helped F back to solid ground.

I have no illusions that I was F’s only hope at that moment. Something else likely would have transpired—something healing—if I hadn’t sat long enough in that chair to gather inspiration on her behalf. But I was glad I happened to be available. It was a profound reminder to me of how often I probably miss nudges, or moments of luminosity, because I’m just too damn busy—too engaged in my thus and so. Not only did sitting in silence inspire me to text this friend at the right moment, but the sitting helped me ascertain what to do next.

As I regain more physical ability and more energy, I’m tempted again to define myself by what I do, create, accomplish. In the worst of my crash, as I lay in bed taking in dancing shadows, I had to find ways to understand myself and my life that were not about doing but being. Being whole in a body that felt broken. At the time, I didn’t know if that brokenness would be temporary or my new normal. In the midst of the crash, certain things became more clear.

One thing that became clear: I am more than this body. And even when it turns to worm food, I will be more. My spirit is connected with, a part of, Spirit—a part of the love-pulse that enlivens everything. I don’t have to wait until death to receive the inspiration it offers.

Roughly 52% of Americans live with chronic illness. If you know someone who might benefit from this series, please share.