“Come through!” she says in a cheerful voice, bent over her computer between clients. I put my bag down, slip off my shoes, take out my earrings, and lay down on her table, surrendered. Trusting.
Her hands are so gentle. She slides them underneath my back, in between my shoulder blades, right where the ache has grown and lodged over six weeks of nursing my brand-new daughter. Six weeks of cradling her ever-increasing plumpness, of bending my neck for hours every day, gazing down at my girl as she drinks, not wanting to miss a minute of her sweetness.
The osteopath shifts her fingers slightly, increases pressure in one spot, releases it in another. She moves my ribcage around, shakes me gently, wiggles me back and forth, looking for tense spots.
While she works, we chat about having three children, about her youngest being a bare three months old, about going back to work full time and still continuing to breastfeed. I marvel at her dedication, at her love for what she does and her love for who she leaves at home.
She moves to my head, grasps it in both hands, taking its weight. She changes the position of her fingers ever so gradually, shifting my head on my neck. I breathe deep.
The conversation, the touch, the easing of pain all combine to leave me feeling free.
Refreshed.
Refocused.
My back doesn’t hurt anymore. I leave smiling.
The next morning, we drive down the road to a group of women who meet every Thursday to pray.
“Come in!” The hostess greets us at the door with a warm hug, and we step into a room full of smiles. Each woman embraces us in turn, and my touch-loving soul drinks up their love. I sit down on the couch, feeling safe and loved. Surrendered. Trusting.
The hostess turns on worship music. The room is bathed in peace. Ruby sleeps peacefully in her carseat, and I sit with my hands open in front of me, and give myself up to the Holy Spirit’s presence.
As we worship, I can feel the Holy Spirit’s hands on my heart. Gentle hands. He finds the tense spots, releases pressure. Wiggles my heart around, jogs my memory gently to remind me of things I need to repent of. Thoughts float to the surface one by one.
I can feel Him realigning my soul.
By the end of four or five songs, my spirit feels like my neck and shoulders: loose, and free.
Spiritual osteopathy.
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