Maybe you should give up

I see you.

I see how your body is stiff with the accumulation of all the hours and practices and ways you've held on for so long.

I see the curve of your spine frozen in place, hunched over, holding you up, but only barely.

I look down at your arms, strained, veins bulging, all the way down to your hands that have become brittle and stuck, the strain of what you're carrying has cracked your skin and pools of blood have settled into the creases of your palms.

Your legs, white with spent strength are beginning to shake.

Your breath trapped in your lungs, a persistent inhale, the hope of liberation lost and forgotten.

Some burdens need to be carried, and some need to be released.

Holiness is not found at the end of your endurance when you've finally reached the place you think you need to carry this too.

Presence is here. It has been all along.

You don't need to push and strive and prove how strong you are. Bleeding hands don't always tell a story of strength.

Here, let me take this from you. It's okay. You can let it go. You will not be punished, and this will not make you weak. Continuing on this way will diminish your vibrant self all on its own.

I know you've been told to endure and carry on and stay the course, and that you've been made to believe that you'll be rewarded for standing the longest and carrying the most and not making a sound about it. "To whom much has been given, much is required" echoes in your brain - is that why you feel the need to repay this debt? To be worthy of a sacrifice?

Hear this: There is no debt for you to repay.

What has been done in love is a gift that requires no remuneration. The books are closed. They've been burned to the ground. There is nothing left for you to do but live. And not live up to a standard, in a way to make yourself worthy, to make Divinity proud, to ensure that you get a seat at the table of grace. I'm already here, and you are already worthy, and the only thing for you to do is live your way into trusting it.

I'll take this from you, this heaviness, this weight - it's no longer yours to carry. Don't worry about how it will land and who will carry it next. That's not your job. Loosen your fingers... that's it. Release your grip. Straighten that stiff back, and knead out the strain in your legs.

Breathe.

Breathe it all out.

Let that prisoned air go free.

And as you do, release whatever has caused you to hold on to this for as long as you have. Let it go.

This giving up is a step of faith, an act of love, a moment of grace.

Your hands will heal, so will your heart. This ache in your joints and spirit won't always be. Stay here a while and heal and breathe and heal and breathe. Be brave enough to let yourself be, to allow this giving up and setting down to set you free.

Can you feel it?

Allow it.

Accept it.

Let it love you well and set you on your feet again, in good time, my friend, in good time.

Mindful Prompt: To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go. - Mary Oliver.

Continued in the Lenten series "Maybe You Should Give Up", this week with a subscription in the App.

Written by Liz Milani.
Instagram: @thepracticeco