- Home
- Article Topics
- Spiritual Formation
- Giving It a Rest
Giving It a Rest
- By Beth Slevcove
- Published 11/16/2007
- Spiritual Formation
- Unrated
Beth Slevcove
Beth Slevcove is a second-generation youth worker, former schoolteacher, and coowner of a small business with her husband, Joe. She serves as the spiritual director for Youth Specialties and leads retreats for people in ministry. Beth lives and surfs in San Diego.
My brain causes an awful lot of my exhaustion
I’ve been learning a lot about my brain lately.
Or maybe I’m just noticing how much my thoughts drive me. Sometimes they’re fun and send me hopping off to explore one happy fantasy after another, but often they’re demanding and drag me from one draining, often self-critical thought to the next.
My thoughts inform me that I should be doing more: “Why are you sitting here? Get out there and do something!” “God needs you!” “The world is suffering.”
Exhaustion
Two years ago, I had a surfing injury that confined me to my easy chair for a couple of months. Being trapped in my home brought an awareness of a deep exhaustion in me. This exhaustion revealed itself to be a full-body experience—physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental.
What on earth!? I thought. I’ve been working at living a healthy rhythm for years. I am meticulous about creating spaces in my calendar that allow me to rest, ponder, meditate, gaze at God’s beauty, surf, and coffee-house sit. All things I’ve come to recognize as vital to the ways God has wired me. So how on earth can I be exhausted!? I shouldn’t be exhausted!
I live in a lot in “should” and accepting “what is” is not my strong suit.
Brain Drain
It took me a while to recognize that my external rhythm hasn’t been draining me of life—my brain has. Don’t get me wrong: I love my brain, and I’m very grateful to have it a part of my life. I just don’t want it to be so fussy, and I don’t want the rest of me (heart, soul, strength) to so passively submit to this chatty dictator.
Who says my brain is any more informed or “saved” than other parts of me? I’m fully aware that in the process of discernment, of opening myself to hear God’s intention and leadings, I must quiet my mental processes. Not turn them off, but quiet them in order to hear/feel/experience God’s deeper call in my life.
Rocking the Baby
I’ve begun to think of my brain as a colicky baby. As my colicky baby. As a precious one in my care, whom I love, and is a part of me. I’ll admit, sometimes I want to rip it out of my head and throw it out the window, but that’s really not possible nor helpful (besides, it might hurt). So, how to live with my colicky mind?
What the “baby” needs is for me to hold it and rock it until it can finally fall asleep in my arms and be at peace. So I’ve decided to try this more loving approach. I’ve decided to actively take this part of me into Centering Prayer, which I’ve been practicing a couple times a day for 20 to 30 minutes.
I sit in my rocking chair, and I visualize removing my brain from my head and holding it in my arms. Then I sit back and allow God to hold and rock us both in God’s loving arms.
My “Inner Brain”
Now for some readers, this may seem a little freaky. But psychologists employ a similar visualization technique with adults who were abused or neglected in their childhood. Patients are encouraged to visualize a part of themselves that’s still young—an “inner child”—who can now be imaginatively cared for in appropriate ways. The technique allows many to experience true healing from some horrific situation in their pasts.
What I experience is not altogether different, though for me it’s a prayerful experience. It’s a time for me to imaginatively offer to God a part of myself that’s often less than cooperative. And God lovingly embraces that part of me, as well as everything else.
Sometimes the baby fusses the entire time, sometimes I do; but it doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference to the One who’s holding us both. Eventually we’ll settle down and enter into our birth-giver’s deep rest.
Or maybe I’m just noticing how much my thoughts drive me. Sometimes they’re fun and send me hopping off to explore one happy fantasy after another, but often they’re demanding and drag me from one draining, often self-critical thought to the next.
My thoughts inform me that I should be doing more: “Why are you sitting here? Get out there and do something!” “God needs you!” “The world is suffering.”
Exhaustion
Two years ago, I had a surfing injury that confined me to my easy chair for a couple of months. Being trapped in my home brought an awareness of a deep exhaustion in me. This exhaustion revealed itself to be a full-body experience—physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental.
What on earth!? I thought. I’ve been working at living a healthy rhythm for years. I am meticulous about creating spaces in my calendar that allow me to rest, ponder, meditate, gaze at God’s beauty, surf, and coffee-house sit. All things I’ve come to recognize as vital to the ways God has wired me. So how on earth can I be exhausted!? I shouldn’t be exhausted!
I live in a lot in “should” and accepting “what is” is not my strong suit.
Brain Drain
It took me a while to recognize that my external rhythm hasn’t been draining me of life—my brain has. Don’t get me wrong: I love my brain, and I’m very grateful to have it a part of my life. I just don’t want it to be so fussy, and I don’t want the rest of me (heart, soul, strength) to so passively submit to this chatty dictator.
Who says my brain is any more informed or “saved” than other parts of me? I’m fully aware that in the process of discernment, of opening myself to hear God’s intention and leadings, I must quiet my mental processes. Not turn them off, but quiet them in order to hear/feel/experience God’s deeper call in my life.
Rocking the Baby
I’ve begun to think of my brain as a colicky baby. As my colicky baby. As a precious one in my care, whom I love, and is a part of me. I’ll admit, sometimes I want to rip it out of my head and throw it out the window, but that’s really not possible nor helpful (besides, it might hurt). So, how to live with my colicky mind?
What the “baby” needs is for me to hold it and rock it until it can finally fall asleep in my arms and be at peace. So I’ve decided to try this more loving approach. I’ve decided to actively take this part of me into Centering Prayer, which I’ve been practicing a couple times a day for 20 to 30 minutes.
I sit in my rocking chair, and I visualize removing my brain from my head and holding it in my arms. Then I sit back and allow God to hold and rock us both in God’s loving arms.
My “Inner Brain”
Now for some readers, this may seem a little freaky. But psychologists employ a similar visualization technique with adults who were abused or neglected in their childhood. Patients are encouraged to visualize a part of themselves that’s still young—an “inner child”—who can now be imaginatively cared for in appropriate ways. The technique allows many to experience true healing from some horrific situation in their pasts.
What I experience is not altogether different, though for me it’s a prayerful experience. It’s a time for me to imaginatively offer to God a part of myself that’s often less than cooperative. And God lovingly embraces that part of me, as well as everything else.
Sometimes the baby fusses the entire time, sometimes I do; but it doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference to the One who’s holding us both. Eventually we’ll settle down and enter into our birth-giver’s deep rest.
