I am Strong When I am on Your Shoulders
Church has
been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. It started with my great
aunt, Ruth, God rest her soul, who lived down the street and decided, when I
was five or so, that I should go to church with her family. Since Aunt Ruth ultimately had nine children,
I guess she decided that hauling one more kid to church wouldn’t make that much
difference. So off we would go on Sunday
mornings, a couple of kids in the rear cargo area of the station wagon, three
or four on the backseat and one in the front squeezed between Aunt Ruth and
Uncle Walter, a meek, taciturn man whose mild manner belied his obvious baby
making potency….still waters do apparently run deep. We wore no seatbelts, no safety restraints of
any type except for the occasional arm across the chest if you happened to be
the kid in the front seat; otherwise, we simply rolled and tumbled around in
the car like so much loose change, making our way to Sunday worship,
appropriately, on a wing and a prayer.
And that was the start of my church
history….Sunday school, vacation Bible school, church camps, revivals, GA’s
(the Baptist take on Girl Scouts), women’s auxiliary groups. Eventually, my parents attended church regularly
as well, so, with the exception of that brief period of non-attendance in
college that I went through, which was really more about being too lazy to get
up on Sunday mornings than any questioning of my faith, church has always been
an integral part of my life. Today I’m a
soprano in the choir, a committee member, a women’s group officer, and an adult
education teacher.
This litany
of church activities isn’t some sort of brag list. It’s a little background to illustrate that
perhaps I should not have been surprised that a kind of spiritual element
inserted itself into my walk on the shoulder of the highway. But I was taken aback. My walk is about better health and a smaller
dress size. It wasn’t supposed to be
about having a religious experience, but I did…kind of.
Religious is a bit misleading,
perhaps. I don’t want to paint a picture
of myself as Paul on the road to Damascus or
Bernadette at Lourdes
talking to the beautiful Lady. What I’ve
experienced have been occasional, brief episodes of heightened awareness, of
connection. In those moments I feel
lifted up and linked to…..the universe, to everything. The pulse I hear pounding in my ears echoes
and re-echoes all around me, reflected from the rocks and sky and ground
beneath my feet. I feel simultaneously
infinite and microscopic, towering over the tallest trees, gazing down at the
Earth below, while, at the same time, peering up at the blue sky through tiny
blades of grass.
Two years
ago when I began my daily walks, my goal was to drop a few pounds and, perhaps,
to drop some of the ideas and attitudes that had burdened me my whole life and
contributed to my obesity. Despite being
loved by wonderful parents and relatives, I struggled with feelings of insecurity
and inadequacy. I constantly grappled
with the need to prove myself, while others seemed to possess an assurance
about their worth. Innately, they
understood something that I didn’t. Just as other people seemed to wear their
clothes with ease while mine pulled and pinched, they were also comfortable in
the world; they fit.
In those
short, focused spans of awareness on the highway, the presence of the Divine in
the universe becomes clearly evident to me, and, as importantly, my place in
the grand scheme of things is affirmed.
An overwhelming sense of belonging fills me with joy, and I experience a
rare moment of feeling completely adequate, of being enough. I understand that I don’t need to earn my
place. I am. Fat or thin, dull or clever, attractive or plain, I was meant to
be here, and my presence is enough.
My
moments of clarity, unfortunately, are brief.
With the blast of a car horn or the roar of a motorcycle, I’m back on
the shoulder of the road, sweat dripping, knees aching, back to the mundane,
everyday experience of the world around me. But the connection doesn’t
completely evaporate. There’s a residual
spring in my step and smile on my face.
The knowledge stays with me and lifts me up. I belong. I am enough. I fit.
