There was a time in my life when I believed the world depended on me: if I didn't answer the email immediately; if I didn't finish one more project; if I didn't squeeze one more task into an already overflowing day, surely, civilization would come to a screeching halt.
Strangely enough, every time I finally sat down to catch my breath, the sun still rose the next morning. The birds continued singing. My dogs still expected breakfast. And the world, rather rudely, kept spinning without asking my permission. Imagine that.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that caring for ourselves was optional. We became experts at caring for everyone else first. We wore our exhaustion like a badge of honor, convinced that being busy meant we were important. But being constantly busy isn't the same as being fully alive.
This year, I've been working with a Spiritual Health Coach to make changes in my life. Not because someone told me I should, but because I realized something had to change if I wanted to be around for all the beautiful moments still waiting for me.
I'll be honest, I expected the changes to involve dramatic revelations or some secret formula I'd somehow missed all these years. Instead, I've been learning something surprisingly simple.
Walk.
Buy groceries.
Listen to your body.
Slow down.
That's it? That's it.
Turns out, healing doesn't always arrive with fireworks. Sometimes it shows up wearing comfortable walking shoes.
One of the biggest surprises has been my relationship with grocery shopping.
For years, grocery shopping felt like one more chore to squeeze into an already busy week. If I got hungry while I was out, it seemed much easier to swing through a drive-thru than to shop for ingredients and prepare a meal. Convenience usually won the argument.
Now, something has shifted.
Instead of rushing through the aisles, I find myself slowing down. I notice the colors of the fresh produce. I pause long enough to think about what will truly nourish me this week instead of what will simply quiet my hunger for the next twenty minutes.
It's become less about buying food and more about practicing kindness toward the person I'll be tomorrow.
I never imagined a grocery cart could become a spiritual teacher. Yet here we are. The same has been true with walking. I'm not training for a marathon. If you know me well, you'll know that's a sentence no one has ever expected to hear me say. I'm simply walking. Some days it's twenty minutes. Some days it's longer. Some days my greatest athletic achievement is convincing myself to put on my shoes.
And you know what? That counts.
During those walks, something remarkable happens. My breathing settles. My shoulders remember they don't need to live up around my ears. My thoughts untangle themselves. Problems that seemed enormous while sitting at my desk suddenly become a little less intimidating beneath an open sky.
Nature has a way of reminding us that life unfolds one step at a time. Perhaps the greatest lesson, though, has been learning to listen to my body instead of arguing with it. For years my body would whisper. You're tired. Slow down. Drink some water. Stretch. Rest. Eat something nourishing. And I'd respond with, "We'll discuss this later. I'm busy."
Eventually, our bodies stop whispering. They begin speaking louder. Sometimes through exhaustion. Sometimes through anxiety. Sometimes through aches and pains. Not because they're trying to punish us, but because they're trying to protect us.
Our bodies have been faithfully carrying us through every joy, every grief, every celebration, every heartbreak. They deserve more than being treated like machines that only exist to complete another to-do list. I've come to believe that listening to our bodies isn't weakness. It's wisdom. And slowing down isn't laziness. It's trust. Trust that not everything depends on us. Trust that resting today helps us show up more fully tomorrow. Trust that we are worthy of care simply because we are human.
Jesus often stepped away from the crowds. The Buddha found awakening by sitting beneath a tree. Countless mystics sought wisdom in forests, deserts, mountains, and quiet places.
Apparently, even the spiritually wise understood the value of taking a walk.
Maybe we've complicated wellness because we're searching for extraordinary answers when ordinary practices have been quietly waiting for us all along.
Take the walk.
Cook the meal.
Drink the water.
Sit on the porch.
Watch the sunset.
Pet your dog a little longer.
Laugh with a friend.
None of these things will make tomorrow's headlines. But they just might change your life. And here's the wonderful news, while you're taking that walk, the emails will still be there. The laundry will continue its impressive ability to reproduce overnight. The dishes will patiently wait in the sink. The world will keep spinning. Take the walk anyway. Your soul has been waiting for you.
Until next time, keep the kettle warm, be gentle with yourself, and remember, you don't have to earn rest.
Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is simply care for the remarkable person you've been given to be.
See you on the porch.
Tea With RevT™
~ Rev. Terri