Empty coffee cups sat around the kitchen by the time my sister stopped by with her neighbor's baby boy. Already enthralled by the presence of my seven-month-old grandson, a house full of chatter took me far from the MRI machine.
Over twenty years after my first husband died, I fight an ingrained protection mechanism. When sweet moments come to an end, I often worry someone won't make it home safe and prep for the unexpected.
It's weird. Almost subconscious. Far more black and white on the page than in my mind.
My faith pushes back against the worry, but the familiar emotional dance wearies me more than I admit. And until I heard about the book, I never entertained the idea that I could avoid the two step.
After explaining this to my sister, she said, "Newt had a saying, 'Rest between the punches.'"
Soon after Laura graduated from the College of William and Mary, she worked for Newt Gingrich, the House Minority Whip. As his personal assistant, she was well aware they never knew what the next day's headlines held.
"I once asked how he handled the unexpected blows," she explained. "And that's when he said, 'I rest between the punches.'"
He didn't brace for them or try to anticipate them. He simply rested in between them.
The punches are coming. Surprise encounters lay around most river bends. We can't guess them. Not always.
We can plan for them. Take precautionary measures. Eat healthy and exercise.
But the punches are coming. The unexpected will interrupt our lives and take our breath away.
So, perhaps, living by faith demands we take time out to rest when rest avails itself. Like it did this weekend.
While the world churned, I cooked, fed my kids, cleaned my kitchen, and watched Elijah enjoy life. His smile filled my soul much like time at the ocean's edge. Watching him play with toys that once enamored his dad transfixed me.
Was it serendipitous? Surreal?
I don't know. But it allowed for a rest between the punches. One I'm still savoring.
Don and I took two of our granddaughters, Hazel and Penny, to Yogli Mogli today. When I noticed Penny was walking barefoot on the sidewalk, I started singing, "Put your shoes on Lucy don't you know you're in the city."
And then, for the first time in my life I thought, "Where on earth did that line come from?"
A quick google search led to the following.
I don't know what's on your list to accomplish between the punches this summer, but I plan to memorize this song in honor of my grandparents who often chided me for barefoot walking. And then, I'll teach it to my grandchildren.
Why? Because after a painful morning massage that almost hurt more than it helped, I found rest between the punches in the lyrics of this song and the twinkle in Penny's eye.
Some photos courtesy of pixabay.com
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