Gift of Pause and Rest


“Mama, let’s spin”. My two year old Haya invites me to play. 

“Haya, I’m tired.” I say. 

“No, Mama. Spin me, now!” Haya yanks on my pants with such sheer force that I fear she may pull them off. This gentle invitation just turned into a threat. 

“OK! I’ll spin with you. But just once.” I haggle with a two year old. 

I embrace Haya in my arms with a strong grip but still gentle enough. I find the right balance of firm and soft. When I’m sure she is secure, I take a deep breath in and recall how much I hate spinning. 

“Here we go!” I say to bring it not only to Haya’s attention but mine as well. 

Round and round we go. It starts out slow. Haya’s giggles reverberate the room. Our surroundings blur. Objects and forms bleed into one another. Everything becomes one. I’m a dervish fervent in my zeal. I’m a dancer absorbed in my movement. I’m the Earth spinning on its axis. 

It’s too fast now. I’m starting to lose traction. If I don’t stop now, I’ll fall and hurt us both. 

I look for an anchor to ground myself. I see an image of my bed through the hazy background. I slow it down and plop on the bed with Haya right beside me. 

Heart races too fast and wants to run out of my chest. I attempt to catch my breath that is out of control. 

“I’m so dizzy.” Haya exclaims and laughs. 

“Me, too! It’s still spinning.” I say. 

This rest is necessary. This pause to note how I was about to lose my traction opens doors of reflection. 

Life has challenges. I spin from here to there in an effort to meet those challenges. As I spin, I feel the need to ground myself. To find balance yet again. If I keep spinning, I’m bound to lose my footing and fall. 

I catch myself before the fall to give myself the chance to recover. If I were to fall, which I have many times, I extend grace to myself. It’s quite alright to fall. It’s quite alright to pause for rest. 

In these moments of rest, I breath and wait. I wait for the craziness of a blur to make sense again. I find my heart at ease. My breath is more regulated. The blur of surroundings have fallen into their natural space. It all makes sense now. I’m so appreciative of this moment to pause, to rest. 

“Spin again?” Haya invites me for another round. 

“Not again!” I say. 

“Please? Let’s spin again.” Haya puts the weight of her body on top of mine and my insides seem to spew out for a second. 

“OK. But this is the last time.” I give in. 

And then we spin all over. Again and again and again. Between each spinning, I make sure to give myself the gift of pause and rest. 

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