That old God in the sky

A few months ago I was having some back problems and my chiropractor was out of town, so I went to HER chiropractor, who suggested some physical therapy might be in order to "build up my core muscles." So prior to this vacation I had been spending daily time doing exercises and was basically re-learning how to walk. And it was all going really well.

But of course, on vacation, there isn't the room or the time or the equipment to do those exercises, and so I've been backsliding a bit. Which means that, on a day like yesterday, when we visited five different museums (don't worry, they're all tiny) and I did a lot of walking, I wasn't thinking about it too much and I reverted to the old familiar walk; I wasn't consciously using the right muscles.

This morning, therefore, I'm aching a bit, so meditation has been more about trying to get comfortable than about centering and mindfulness and getting in touch with the Divine within -- and, in fact, I find myself reverting to old habits, asking the Old Version of God -- the one in the sky who listens and fixes things -- for some assistance.

It's all too easy to fall into that particular habit -- of asking the Man in the Sky to fly in on his white tractor and fix everything. And though I know now that that's not quite how it works, I persist in lapsing into the old ways of praying just as I lapse into the old way of walking.

Fortunately God and faith and spirit and Love are there for us even when we're not quite on track and have forgotten which row to hoe. And as the breeze springs up again from my hotel air conditioner, I realize with gratitude that Spirit is always there, even when we forget where to stand, or how to kneel, or Who lives on inside us.