Take it Easy

5 Remedies for Broken Hearts Fight Smart

Take it Easy

We are remodeling the house. My life is in boxes cluttering up the living room, and the upheaval makes me frazzled.

This weekend, I had 10 million trillion things to do. I wanted to run away and hide. To top it off, I looked at my calendar, and I’d set aside Sunday weeks ago to drive down to see my family.

I honestly felt guilty as I climbed into the car for the 40 minute drive south because I was leaving my man behind alone to do the heavy lifting and clear out the over-stuffed bedroom. But then I pictured my sweet soon to be 95-year-old Abuelo sitting in a chair looking smaller and smaller every time I visit.

I pressed the accelerator down and moved away from my personal agenda.

In Miami, I did a nothing that was an everything. I sat quietly and said little. I cradled a wrinkly hand in mine and remembered how it once was strong and big and brave and secure.

I listened as Mami lamented how she’d gotten up too quickly at the salon and ruined her manicure. I watched Papi hose the patio cement down until he was soaked through and sweaty.

I gave the gift of my presence, and I experienced God’s pleasure in the offering.

As I gathered up my belongings to head back home, my dad leaned in to give me the traditional Cuban kiss on the cheek and smiled.

“Cojelo suave,” he said. Take it easy, kid.

Suave is not my style. My style is harried and hurried. I want to stuff more into my day, and I stretch out the week by staying up way too late. I am the proverbial 5-year-old in pig tails refusing to rest when her eyes are obviously heavy with sleep.

I drove home with my dad’s words on my heart. Cojelo suave

My spirit hears the tender voice of my Savior inviting me to lay down my load, sit down at His feet, and take it easy for a spell.

What would happen if I did?

I see how Mary did. She sat at Jesus’s feet as her sister ran circles around the Savior. Mary slowed down and savored the moment. She accepted His invitation to drink in and find life.

In the midst of frenzy and fury, I can press in to Him and find peace.

My awesome Puerto Rican co-worker lived this truth out during her darkest season. I’d check in on her every few days and ask, “How you doing, girl?” Her Spanglish faith-filled response always made me smile.

“Tranquilita at the cross,” she’d say. Is there a safer place to be than in salvation’s shadow? As I surrender to Him and slow down, He renews my spirit and restores my tranquility.

Come and live, my friends. Sometimes choosing to do nothing is everything.