Choosing Nourishment
The harder way, the better way
Nourished.
The word floated into my head on my morning walk, while the chill in the air and the sun on my skin danced in glorious juxtaposition. I lingered on it while Pablo paused to sniff around. I thought about how delicious that word [nourished, I whispered again] is. I thought about gingerbread cookies and butternut soup with crusty artisan bread.
I wondered, suddenly, what would make feel nourished in that moment. In that brief pause, I was tempted to look at my phone. To check my email or to write that text message I’d forgotten to send. As my hand reached for it in my pocket, though, I paused. The thought of doing those things didn’t nourish me.
Okay, I thought, I’ll turn on my audiobook. But again, as I fiddled with the headphones, I felt something drawing me away from the noise, shaking its head with a gentle smile and saying, No, no—that’s not what you need, either.
In truth, I knew where this was leading because I knew what I was needing. I knew that what would be most nourishing this morning would be to walk in silence, to talk with God as it came, to let my mind wander along the bubbling brooks and crunchy leaves and stark blue jays in the branches, and to remember that there is more to this world than I can produce, control, or stay on top of.
And still, I resisted. I wanted to be nourished but I didn’t want to put in the hard work of allowing myself to be. It would be so much easier to fill my mind with noise than to be present in the slow, tedious act of walking the same daily route. Even though I knew that nourishment was the better option, I wrestled with it because I didn’t want to put in that kind of effort.
It got me thinking—could choosing the thing that nourishes us over the thing that is easy for us be an act of rebellion against our very own natures? And, if it is, is it worth waging the war?
It got me thinking—could choosing the thing that nourishes us over the thing that is easy for us be an act of rebellion against our very own natures? And, if it is, is it worth waging the war?
We’re fighting against biology, here; we’re wired to conserve energy and choose the path of least resistance. Think about it. Have you ever:
Binge-watched a show that you know will make you feel icky rather than read a book that you know will inspire you?
Picked up Wendy’s on your way home rather than making a homemade meal?
Hit the snooze button rather than getting up early to wake up?
Drunk another glass of wine when you know your body would be happier with tea?
Yep. We like to choose what is easier, what’s seemingly more pleasant, what’s immediate and instant. But those things, I’m finding, are rarely the ones that nourish us. That make us grow. That bring a sense of wholeness and peace from within us. That give our bodies energy and our minds creative license.
Being nourished is the harder way, but it’s also the better way. It’s the way to get to where we want to be and how we want to be.
Today, I had to wrestle with my instincts to allow myself to be nourished by silence. But when I did? I breathed chimney smoke into my nostrils and smiled at the nostalgia. I noticed a small patch of snow shaded from the sun, hanging on long after the rest has disappeared. I felt a deep settling that started in my throat and made its way all the way down to my belly, and to my soul.
Being nourished is the harder way, but it’s also the better way. It’s the way to get to where we want to be and how we want to be. This weekend, let’s be brave enough to ask, “What would nourish me right now?” and then experiment with choosing it, even if our very natures cry against us, “No, that’s too hard!”
Speaking of nourishment, that’s going to be my theme for the upcoming Christmas season. Choosing that which nourishes over that which is easy, expected, or even natural. Does that sound good to you, too? Check out Simple Christmas: An Advent Guide. It’s meant to be a little rebellion against culture’s insistence that we must ‘do’ Christmas in any way that does not nourish.