Escape from a Lazy River

I've been spending time in lazy rivers as of late, both metaphorically and physically.  Remy, Thea and I are busy with 'pool tour 2013', and all the while, I've been thinking.  The thing about a lazy river is that it is just what it sounds: It propels you forward and all you have to do is stride a little and let the water navigate you in an endless circle.  At the Provo Rec center (a magical place on every account), there is a such a river.  Remy and I glide around the giant whirlpool dozens of times when we go. Halfway through,  if you direct yourself in the right way, there is a small, still side pool that you can go in and take a rest from the movement of the river.  I realize that I am a mom and my metaphors unabashedly have to do with things like water parks, but I keep thinking about that calm, quiet pool that is void of movement and the need to keep up with where the water pushes.

For months now, I've felt my spirituality waver in long, thick lines.  I don't fear wavering anymore because I've learned the uncertainty is a necessity to grow into anything certain.  But I've also felt my spirituality move like someone or something in a lazy river, without much thought to it and in a circle that is unsure of its reasons.  My spiritual self is longing for the refuge of a still spot to recollect itself.  The thing about finding that spot though, is that is doesn't just happen.  Just like in the real lazy river, it is a very conscience choice to step out of the movement and into the calm pool, I'm trying to teach myself to  put aside the things that keep me moving without thinking.

There are so many things though: both things that distract me, and things that numb me.  The other night I fell asleep in the room we are staying in at my parents house while Carl does his summer field work.  As I lay in the bed listening to the soft breaths of little, sleeping people in the same room with me, I felt more spirituality connected than I had in a long time. It wasn't about perfection, or should's and shouldn't's, reasons, justifications, guilt, pride or even planning for the future. It was a step out of the moving river. A still and quiet pause when I realized that my happiness, and therefore, godliness, is not to tied to a checklist, but rather to moments when I am becoming someone and something more refined.

I need more space to pause.  It is not my kids fault, nor anyone else's but my own when I miss the opportunity for the quiet I need.  There is always something to do.  There is always something I shouldn't do.  There is always something I should do, but I'm learning to set those aside and allow myself to be what I am and rejoice in that.