I finally got back in the gym this week, after a few months of scheduling issues and what felt like a whole lot of excuses. It was my first public yoga class after starting instructor training too, so I was particularly interested to see how I felt about it. I didn’t even make it onto my mat before the tears came, so I just gave in. I just lay there and wept.
I wept for the Lord’s goodness and favor. I wept for my death arrested. I wept for the women in my city forced selling their bodies that night, even on Human Trafficking Awareness Day. I wept for my kids, that they might one day experience the Love washing over me in that moment. I wept for my country, for my President preparing to address us for his last State of the Union. I wept for the mamas in boats on the Mediterranean Sea, clinging to babies and praying to get to freedom. I wept for the mamas of color right here in my state, clinging to babies and praying to get to freedom. I wept for the revival I’d seen in my marriage over the last year, revival that spurred me to be in that yoga class that night. I wept for the women of the Influence Network, that they might fully realize the power of the gospel in their lives. I wept for His faithfulness.
And if that’s what I have to look forward to every time I take off my shoes and step onto my yoga mat, Jesus and I are going to have quite the adventure.