Like many adult children who have lost their parents, I have a tendency to talk to my mom and dad when I have something on my mind. When it’s something to do with writing, I check in with my dad, especially when a column deadline is looming and I’m struggling with an idea.
Recently, I proposed, “So, what do you think about the topic of keeping your balance? You think that’s important, right?” Suddenly, a framed collage of photos began to slip from its precarious perch on a much too thin nail, and head for the floor. I was able stop the momentum with an outstretched cane and grab it before it crashed to the ground.
“Seriously?” I complained to my dad. “A simple yes would have been sufficient.”
It may have just been his enthusiasm for the topic because he was someone who consistently preached “all things in moderation,” which for him meant “keep everything balanced.” I guess I just didn’t realize how many “things” there were that needed to be kept in balance, which, I discovered is not the same as having so many things to balance, like the circus juggler or plate spinner.
When I was raising my family there was barely time to think about balancing anything. There was just a continual momentum of trying to meet responsibilities. But as the nest began to empty, I became aware of a lopsidedness in my spiritual life, which had for so long taken a backseat to my role as a parent, especially when I became a parent who also worked outside the home.
At some point, probably through a fatherly nudge, I found myself recalling the things my father taught me as a child to help me know myself and center myself when I felt lost or disconnected or overwhelmed – to sit in silence and listen, to the sounds of life or the whisperings of God; to control my breathing and meditate on the breath of life with which God created us, and which keeps us alive; to create something, whether it be growing flowers in my garden, drawing and painting, writing poetry, playing the piano or baking his favorite apple pie.
I realized these were all things, among others, I had let slip away off the thin nail of my unbalanced life, and almost lost them, and me.
With prayer and introspection, I regained an understanding that being balanced was not just a matter of not being overly busy, but learning to let go of all the emotional and spiritual baggage I had horded over the years, weighing down one side of my life’s seesaw – the fears, the failures, the fear of failure, the hurts and grudges and, at times, the inability to forgive. Add to those, grief and losses, which often kept me feeling like I was mired in cement.
When we examine our lives, we often discover we are weighed down with many things, among them the baggage of woundedness that so often impedes our growth. We find ourselves in cycles of behavior we can’t seem to break and buried in emotional clutter. Our spiritual lives are ruptured.
Today when I am challenged to rebalance my spiritual life, I recall the words of author Anais Nin: “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”
Our life also expands when we make a commitment to letting go, to developing an interior sense of peace and calm, all of which requires the courage to look honestly at who we are as God’s children, what we value, what we are holding on to and why.
Letting go is hard, so much harder than holding on. But over the many years of my life, I’ve learned that you can’t hold on to God when your hands, and heart, are filled with everything else.