swim.

Everything feels lighter in the pool. My body, my muscles, my bones...my mind, my anxieties, my irrational worries...the heaviness seems to dissolve as soon as I immerse myself in the water. I am certain that water has healing properties. It relieves the pull of gravity and makes me buoyant even when I feel like a ton of bricks. There's a sense of tranquility I feel after a swim that I don't experience with other forms of exercise.

I started swimming as a last alternative. I guess that sometimes the only way we can come upon new blessings is in the face of loss. Over the past month I've been coming to grips with the fact that I just can't run anymore. Perhaps it's just the season of life I'm in and one day my body will embrace the road again, but for now, it's too much pounding. My body was rebelling in new ways every time I attempted even a light jog, so I finally had to throw in the towel. This was hard for me. Running has always been my thing.

Last December I got mononucleosis. The acute stage consisted of several weeks of fevers, the worst headaches of my life, body sweats, chills, a whacked out GI track, and an extremely inflamed liver. Once the acute stage subsided, I was told to except a long and slow recovery that could take up to a year. I believe I contracted it because my immune system was so knocked down after the stress of 2012 and I was more susceptible to getting sick. It has indeed been a long and slow recovery process, one that has required a lot of patience, support, and prayer. I reached a very low point back in February when I felt like I just wasn't getting better--a lot of fear and depression and anxiety plagued me. I ended up in the ER with severe GERD and gastritis--who knew that could cause so much pain? One week later I ended up on an antidepressant and was surrounded by the support of healthcare workers, a therapist, and a faithful group of soul sisters who diligently prayed for me. (The irony here is that China will not approve you to adopt a child from their country if you take antidepressants...but you are likely to need them once the whole process is over.)

I was at the end of my rope. I'd been running on adrenaline every since we'd left California (almost a year ago, now). Adrenaline helped to sustain me through the move, the trip to China and back, and most vitally, the long and strenuous process of adjusting in the aftermath of those big events. It's kind of ridiculous how far and long adrenaline will carry you. The human body is a remarkable thing. It's also incredibly humbling when your adrenals have had enough and they are no longer a sufficient source of fuel to carry you. There are no more endorphins left. Caffeine makes you sick. All you can do is REST. All you can do is wave your white flag and surrender to your terrifying weakness and limitations. This year has taught me that REST can be very hard.

This is how I ended up in the pool. The pool is a great place for rehab and rest. There's a water-arthritis class that is taught each morning when I show up to do laps. The older ladies who participate jive to jazz music as they move their bodies slowly and gracefully through the water. They can't take the pounding of gravity either, and they faithfully commune in the pool several times a week. I've started becoming a regular at the indoor pool at the YMCA and I'm starting to meet people and learn a few things about swimming. Some of the women I've met also started swimming because they couldn't do anything else. There's a lady I share a lap lane with who recently had back surgery and needs hip surgery, so swimming is really the only exercise option for her. She used to be a runner. Another lady named Laura is in incredible shape--she teaches some swim classes during the week--she also walks with a limp.

I used to swim every summer on the swim team between ages 5-10. I wasn't a huge fan of it. I competed in swim meets but I never felt that swimming was my strong suit. Still, that experience taught me the basic strokes and technique, however I've been learning a lot just in the past few weeks.

For one, God didn't design our bodies to move through water. We don't have fins and super sleek scales like fish. We need to come up for air. Our extremities are made for walking--for moving through air--not primarily through water. So, I'm learning that swimming is all about form and efficiency. You can waste a lot of energy and wear yourself out if you don't have good technique down. Most of it is just learning how to move in the water, getting a feel for it. It's all about smooth movements, precision, long strokes, and taking it easy.

This past year has taught me to slow down, mainly because I've had to. Your body will let you know what it needs, and mine started screaming out for help last November. I have started listening to it, and for now, it is happiest when it's fully submerged in water. What once started out as a dreaded and temporary alternative to running has now become my most cherished part of the week. When I swim laps, I don't listen to music. I am alone with my thoughts and it is quiet. The water doesn't conduct sound very well. Being alone too much with my thoughts has historically been a bad thing for me, but somehow my mind is soothed by the rhythm of the water and prayer comes more naturally.

Swimming is teaching me that exercise, and life, does not have to be an intense or radical event that leaves you sore and exhausted in order for it to be meaningful and beneficial. There are seasons that require intensity and action and edge--but just as much, we need seasons when we learn about grace and rest--when we learn to refine our movements into smooth and fluid patterns and repetitions, one stroke at a time.