Gina Calvert | This Moment

Holding the Pose

Tree Pose

In yoga they say that the pose doesn't really begin until you're ready for it to end. That moment is called "your edge." Before that, you're holding on through some kind of natural strength. It's easy, in the same way it's easy to say you've got willpower for your diet right after you just ate a big satisfying dinner. The test of how well you'll do on your diet actually occurs the next time you get hungry (or sad).

You enlarge your edge when you hold the pose as long as you can, then stay one more minute. Or you get into the stretch as far as your body will let you, breathe there, then lean into it 1/4 inch further. Yogis also say that the way you approach the yoga mat is the same way you approach life. You learn a lot about, and challenge, your emotional responses to life in yoga poses.

About two weeks ago, I came to my latest edge with the boy we took in almost two years ago. He was in big trouble again. Suddenly, ideas that were absolutely unthinkable (like not having him) seemed not only plausible but preferable. I lost my vision and hope for his future. Suddenly everything we had done, everything we had sacrificed, all the blood, sweat and tears seemed like a gigantic waste of two years of life force. Suddenly, the idea of life without him stretched before me like a serene, white sandy beach winding between a three-shades-of-turquoise sea and a snack shack that served mango margaritas. I wanted to stroll along that beach and recline in its lounge chairs.

I was so angry and sad. And done.

Right before everything came to light, I had been saying to God for about a week, "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening." I didn't have a specific prayer, just an openness to whatever he might want to tell me on any subject. One day I sensed him telling me that my help might not be helping our boy. I told our boy that: "I'm not sure our help is helping you." Minutes later, we discovered even more evidence of his struggle with darkness. The next day even Beth Moore got in on the message. In my women's class, she said you should draw a boundary--say no--whenever your help isn't helping.

I tried to get into a place of love, but I was too overwhelmed by flooding emotions.So I had to go with what I had to work with: anger, sadness, doneness. I met them at the door and welcomed them in, (a'la Rumi) knowing that they would eventually lead me to truth. I know that love was still my abiding force because I began to attract wisdom to me in the form of counselors, principals, spiritual leaders, coaches, teachers. Everyone supported our decision to give him some perspective by having him spend spring break with his dad without his phone or computer. They supported our decision to draw a line in the sand and enter into what could be our last season with him. Still, I knew Jesus would have the last word and I waited for it.

We didn't speak on the way over to his dad's or hug before I drove away. Having him gone was a relief but I was still very attached to him in thought and emotion. Near the end of the week, I began to emerge from the torrent to experience momentary feelings of peace and hope, only to be knocked over by a giant wave of crushing sadness, pressing on my heart like an elephant just plopped his big rear end down on it. By this time, I was able to at least see the Isle of View and reach for it.

I went for a run this morning--only my second run since November. I couldn't help fixating on the trees again. There they all were, lining the streets, holding their poses in every kind of weather...when they're in their Sunday best in spring, their breezy sundresses in summer, their colorful fall wardrobe and even their bare bones in the frost. If they're rooted, they never reach their edge. I felt like they were applauding me in my run and impending emotional victory, like the volunteers who lined the 5k path I took in September, holding up signs of encouragement, offering paper cups of water or just smiling and shouting, "Great job! You're almost there!"

I remembered my favorite line from The Mexican: When you love someone, when is enough enough? And the answer that even the gangster knew was: Never.

The trees provided my final encouragement to cross back over this morning. Suddenly, I have a great need to go get my boy and give him the biggest hug ever. I imagine he will hold back to see how I feel about him. I wonder if he has worried that he will lose us?

The wisdom put in place by others during the storm can now be removed from the windows it was nailed up to protect. We will use it to rebuild our support system and firm boundaries, and hold him accountable. But we will do so with grace and love--the only truly motivating forces for real change--not anger, not doneness.

As I look back at that prayer, "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening," I know that it was similar to asking for patience. He knew what would happen when he peeled back the facade and showed us what we were really dealing with. He knew it would send me through this predictable roller coaster called grief. He also knew my edge would have been stretched by 1/4th inch by the time we reached the end of the ride; that I would emerge with sleeves rolled up, heart expanded, ready to reenter the pose.

And I think I am.
Namaste'