This morning I woke up at nine to the sound of a lawnmower outside my window. It might as well have been a freight train it was so loud. One minute I was sleeping soundly, and the next I was jumping out of my skin. Honestly, I thought it was the rapture, that the good lord was returning and the Archangel Gabriel had–I don’t know–lost his trumpet in a hand of blackjack and therefore was forced to use a weed whacker to announce the end of the world. Wouldn’t THAT be funny?

“Really, Gabriel?” the lord would huff. “Today is my big day! Is this the best you could do–A MOWER? I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sorry about the whole trumpet thing, lord, but how was I supposed to know Michael used to deal cards in a Las Vegas casino?” Gabriel would reply. “Plus, I really didn’t have time to adequately prepare. ‘No one knows the hour’ and all that. This took me COMPLETELY by surprise. I was in a pinch. It was either a mower or a kazoo, and since you were too busy putting on your white robes to weigh in on the matter, I made a last-judgment call. So sue me! Seriously, have some mercy–isn’t that your thing? I’m doing the best I can here.”

Twisted, I know.

Anyway, this morning after the mower woke me up, I put some earplugs in and went back to sleep. A few hours later I got up “for the day,” made breakfast, and read a chapter–a single chapter–in a book about healing. But then I got tired and took a nap. Then I read some more and went to Fort Smith to have dinner with friends and do some handyman work for my aunt. (You’d think I were a lesbian, what with my toolbox and all.) Then I taught a dance lesson, and now I’m home again, exhausted. I keep telling myself I’m going to keep these posts short so I can sleep. But then I get carried away–you know, imagining conversations between Jesus and the Archangels.

Jesus and the Archangels. Sounds like a band name. A gospel band name, of course.

On the heels of yesterday’s therapy session about rewiring my brain, I’ve been hyper-focused on being gentle with myself today. That’s why I took that nap this afternoon. Normally I would have powered through in order to keep reading, to learn something, to be “productive.” But shit, my body is tired. (There, I said it.) Even now I’m wiped out. And let me be clear–I hate that–I hate that my body has been so tired these last several months, that my skin is all freaked-out, that my muscles sometimes shake without my permission. Hate it. But it’s the truth, so this is me doing my best to accept it.

Fine.

In addition to trying to rest and take things easier, I’ve also been trying to be kinder to myself in my thoughts today. Like, whenever I’ve gotten frustrated about my health, I’ve reminded myself that my body is stronger and wiser than I give it credit for. In the book I read today, a word popped out to me–serenity. And whereas serenity is not what I felt this morning when the mower cranked up, it is what I feel when I show myself mercy and place fewer demands on myself, my body, and my life. It’s that feeling of calm I have when I know and trust that every experience I have is helping me somehow, that all things are working together for good (as they say), that they have to work together for good because–well–they just have to. For me, serenity starts whenever I acknowledge that, like Gabriel in the above scenario, I’m doing the best I can here.