My One Word for 2015 {with NEW song debut!}

So... a two-month blog silence!  Read on to find out why... (I wrote this post last week on our return journey to Central Asia, but I couldn't post earlier due to Internet issues.)  Remember to click the Soundcloud link at the bottom to listen to my NEW song!  

Queenstown & the Remarkables, New Zealand South Island

As I write this, I am sitting in a place called “Caffé Béne”, in the bustling heart of an Asian metropolis, sipping a barista-brewed latte - my last for a while - absentmindedly staring at the cafe’s weird East-meets-West decor, and thinking about rest.

Right now we’re in a few days of limbo between two months of “Kiwi-leave” in New Zealand and returning to our current “home” on the field in Central Asia.  Home-leave offers a welcome break from the pressures and tensions of life overseas, but while returning to a western country is restful in that I can function in my heart language and I don’t have to cook every meal from scratch, the short times back in our passport countries are usually packed with people to see, places to go, and opportunities to share what God has been doing.  

This time for us was no different.  We’ve rested as we’ve been ministered to in prayer by faithful saints; we’ve rested as we’ve drunk deeply of New Zealand’s natural beauty, and as we’ve enjoyed the delicious, relaxed hospitality of treasured friends.  But we’ve been busy, and it’s taken its toll.  We’re tired, our kids are tired, and our family is running a bit ragged.

I snuck out this afternoon while the kids are napping to write you a note in this little online space which I’ve devoted to exploring the art of this sojourning life.  Most of us are no strangers to feeling fatigued, so I’m especially excited to share with you my word for 2015! 

Lake Pukaki, New Zealand South Island

Last year, I felt God calling me to listen.  If you’re interested, you can read some of the things I learned here… and after 12 months of exploring and experimenting, I am fully aware my lessons in real, true listening have only just begun!  

This year, flowing on from listening, I’ve been invited by God to 

rest 

for a while.  

To rest from striving, from filling my life with effort and strain, to rest from the internet rat-race I’ve been unwittingly running.  

I’ve been invited to rest from my own agenda, from compulsively planning and preparing.  God is inviting me to go with the flow.  To surrender.  To submit to what each day brings.  To submit afresh to my husband.  To surrender afresh to my Lord.  

To rest in the care of my Good Shepherd, and let this little corner of the web lie quiet for a while, while I listen to His voice.  

This year, the word God is giving me for 2015 is rest.  

Milford Sound, New Zealand South Island

I am so happy about this word.  Whew!  What a relief!  

Towards the end of last year, I noticed myself struggling with the tension between wanting to develop and promote some sort of personal “brand” online and the actual reality of my tiny snippets of free time.  The worst part was, no matter how much time I spent tweaking, planning and writing, I never felt like I measured up to all the other amazing blogs and writers I love.  Frankly, I fell into the comparison trap, and it isn’t very restful!  I’ve also noticed that, instead of providing a satisfying outlet, blogging seems to feed a fever inside of me to reach for more ambitious projects than my stage in life will allow - things like writing a book (or two!) which would require me to sacrifice time my children need with me right now. 

I was sharing these tensions with a friend, and her quiet, wise response stopped me in my tracks.

“Maybe you could write your blog on the hearts of your children.”

You know?  Maybe I could.

I feel God inviting me to rest in the presence of my children.  I’ve been so busy managing them I’ve forgotten how to enjoy them.  Over these past couple months, as friends and loved ones reconnected with our family after a 2-year absence, seeing and hearing their comments and watching their joy in my kids jogged me into realizing I need to rediscover their preciousness all over again.  I need to tend their souls.  I need to observe their needs attentively and bring them to Jesus.  I need to rest my soul in prayer for them, carrying them to the heart of their Creator.  I need to seek wisdom as I try to do my part in shaping their character and their hearts.  

So, as this fresh new year unrolls practically speaking, among other things

I am taking a six-month blog break from January to July.  

Instead of writing for this space, I will be journalling about rest - and whatever else the Lord lays on my heart.  

I want to explore the beautiful theme of rest running through the Bible.  

I long to explore new - and old - rhythms of Sabbath rest, to learn how to rest well with my family… alone… in God’s creation… and in conversation.  

I’d love to increase my margins, create more whitespace in my life.  Earlier bedtimes, earlier rising times, more pausing, more looking around, more awareness.  

This year, I want to feed my soul creatively while feeding my family creatively (the end of last year saw us in a pretty monotonous menu rut!). 

I want to enjoy bringing my kids joy, and learning how to help each of them rest in the way he or she needs most.  

Every time I think the word “rest” to myself, I feel a delicious sense of ownership and anticipation.  Rest.  What a wonderful word.  I am looking forward to exploring it, doing it, experiencing and living it.  

I am anticipating discovering the rest of God.  

Do you feel a tug on your soul to join me?  If you do, will you pray for me, as I pray for you, that these next six months will be filled with refreshment of the soul and a rest we have never known? 

One verse God has laid on my heart for this year is from Exodus 33, during one of the most remarkable conversations in the Bible.  It takes place between God and Moses, right after the people of Israel have sinned greatly and God has punished them with plague and the sword.  Then, He pronounces the worst punishment of all: He is sending them on ahead, but He is not going with them lest He consume them on the way, for they are a “stiff-necked people”.  

(When I see that phrase, I feel the stiffness in my own neck - a trait my two-year-old daughter has certainly inherited!) 

Moses begs God to go with them, on the grounds that it’s His presence that sets the children of Israel apart from every other nation.  It’s the fact that God travels physically in their midst, leading and guiding them Himself, that marks them out as God’s chosen ones.  

Moses reminds God that He has said, “I know you by name, and you have also found favor in my sight.”  Then he pleads, “Now therefore, if I have found favor in your sight, please show me now your ways, that I may know you in order to find favor in your sight.  Consider too that this nation is your people.”

And God’s answer takes your breath away: 

“My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”  (Ex. 33:14)

There’s a lot more to this passage, and I’m planning to dive into it more and more deeply as this year unwinds, but for right now, I’m savoring those beautiful words tucked away in the middle of the conversation: “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”  

Rest from our enemies.  Rest from the desert.  Rest from being alone.  Rest from slavery, from wandering, from the monotony of manna.  Rest from bickering and quarreling and complaining.  

Rest.  In the presence of God.  

Mmmm.  Doesn’t that sound good?

So.  I’ll see you in July.  In the meantime, I’ll tuck myself away in our little Central Asian village, enjoy my children, love my husband, cook some yummy food, and explore rest.  

P.S. I recently wrote a new song around Exodus 33:14, called “Rest”… click here to listen on Soundcloud.  May you be refreshed!  

What’s your word for 2015?  What about it excites you?  What about it is challenging?  What do you hope God will do in you this year through this word?

wholly listening and holy listening {August thoughts on listening, Part 2}

{I'm focusing on the word "listen" as my One Word for 2014.  This is Part 2 of my August thoughts on listening... You can read Part 1 here, and the rest of my thoughts on listening here.}

So, as you already know, I’m a mother.  Every day.  And if you’ve been reading along in this series of posts, you’ll know I’m discovering afresh that a mother is also a mentor.  Every day.  

Each one of us, whether we realize it or not, is a mentor.  We each have people in our lives who are looking up to us, whether we’re aware of it or not. If you have an online presence, you are almost definitely a mentor to someone, or many someones.  If you are a parent, well, it's obvious who your little mentorees are. If you’re a part of a church family, no matter how young you are there are people younger than you who are following your example.  

So.  This is big stuff.

Yesterday at nap time I snuggled down to continue this book on Spiritual Mentoring I'm reading for a leadership course I’m doing through our organization, and I stumbled upon yet another eye-opening list.  Are you ready?  

This one's titled “The Three Essential Functions” of the mentor. They jumped off the page at me:

Holy Listening

Holy Seeing 

and Wholly Listening.

Not kidding.  I read those words, and I literally laughed out loud.  (Just in case I was still wondering why God had me pick “listen” as my word for 2014 - no further doubt!)  

Curious to know what the authors mean by those phrases?  

So was I.  They define holy listening as “giving attention, developing companionship, enjoying friendship, traveling the road together with the mentoree aware of the Holy Spirit in all places.”  In other words, listening to life “on the way”.  

Holy seeing is “observing the other with love, compassion, genuine care, concern and interest in the development of the mentoree.”

Wholly listening is “being fully and authentically present to the spiritual seeker and the Holy Spirit, daring the courage of a vulnerability that appropriately self-discloses to the mentor, a vulnerability in which all of me listens to all of you.”

Did you catch that whammy of a last line?  “Daring the courage of a vulnerability that appropriately self-discloses…a vulnerability in which all of me listens to all of you.”  

Wow.  Talk about a lesson in listening.

I don't know about you, but I'm not seeing much of the Messiah or Problem-Solver cropping up in these definitions, are you?  No active verbs like “wisdom-dispensing” or “problem-solving” or “rescuing” - all the things I like to think I’m good at and enjoy doing.  (After all, who doesn’t like feeling like a Super-Hero, even if it’s an illusion?)  

The verbs in that list are gentle:  Observe.  Be present.  Be vulnerable.  Even “appropriate self-disclosure”, the most active verb in the list, requires being vulnerable, which brings us back to being, not doing. 

The authors say that when someone is able to listen wholly, with all of themselves attuning to all of the other person, holy listening occurs.  In other words, in that moment, we see God together.  We glimpse Him, together, in the stories, moments, themes and patterns of our friend’s life.  

Listening is a holy practice in which people wholly attend to one another, and in the process discover the whole presence of God in that very moment.  In connecting with God, we become more whole ourselves, and more in tune with our lives and the purposes God has for us.

In the film Waking Life by Richard Linklater, there is a scene in which two artists, filmmaker Caveh Zahedi and poet David Jewell, discuss the idea of a “holy moment”.  Zahedi is talking about the fact that we usually walk around as if some moments are holy and other moments are not holy, and the medium of film is able to frame ordinary moments in a way that lets us see the holiness of each and every moment.  

Zahedi says, “And it’s like "Holy, holy, holy" moment by moment.  But, like, who can live that way? Who can go, like, ‘Wow, holy’? Because if I were to look at you and just really let you be holy, I don't know, I would, like, stop talking.”

“Well, you'd be in the moment. I mean ….” says David Jewell.

“Yeah.”

“The moment is holy.”

“Yeah, but I'd be open,” says Zahedi.  “And then I'd look in your eyes, and I'd cry, and I'd like feel all this stuff and that's like not polite. I mean it would make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Well you could laugh too. I mean, why would you cry?”

“Well, 'cause ... I don't know. For me, I tend to cry.”

“Uh-huh. Well ..."

“Well, let's do it right now. Let's have a holy moment.”

“Okay.”

They pause in the middle of their conversation and look at each other for a long moment, allowing the moment to fill up with presence, each allowing the wholeness of himself to be fully present to the other person’s self.  And both of their eyes - ours too, watching - fill up with tears. 

Finally, as if the holiness has to be broken with words lest it become unbearable, Jewell remarks, “Everything is layers, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” agrees Zahedi.

“I mean, there's the holy moment and then there's the awareness of trying to have the holy moment, in the same way that the film is the actual moment really happening, but then the character pretending to be in a different reality. And it's all these layers. And, uh, I was in and out of the holy moment looking at you. Can't be in a holy ... You're unique that way, Caveh. That's one of the reasons I enjoy you. You can ... bring me into that.”

The “that” David Jewell is trying to describe is the awareness of holiness which emerges when two people wholly attend to one another.  God is always here.  It’s when we pay attention that we finally see Him.

When I am conversing with another human being, made in the image of God, are my shoes off?  Am I wholly listening, so that I can practice holy listening?

What about when my kids want to talk to me?  Do I fully enter into their reality, slowing down, bending my knees to reach eye-level, putting an arm around their small shoulders, turning to look at life with them from their perspective?  

Am I attending to the lives around me with every atom of myself?  

Rather than being exhausting, this kind of focused awareness is centering.  Freeing.  Living in the moment is restful, not frantic.  

Why?

Because God is in the moment, with you.  With us.  

God is here.  Now.  

Take a deep breath, and breathe Him in.  

Now, listen...  

how to ensure your words endure {June lessons in listening}

{My one word for 2014 is "listen"... Each month I'm posting the lessons I'm learning - find the rest of my posts on listening here!}

As a writer and an artist, I want to be heard.  I long for none of my words to fall to the ground.  

But as a human, I know that’s impossible.  The limitations of my sin nature, my personality, my background and my experiences ensure that at least some, possibly all, of my own words will eventually disappear. 

I’m still mulling over Mark Buchanan’s thoughtful and refreshing book The Rest of God.  He describes his life as an author, pastor, and speaker, and admits his own similar desire for his words to endure.  

“Either God, God alone, keeps our words from falling and scatters them wide,” observes Buchanan, “or else there is nothing in them worth keeping and scattering in the first place.  Our concern, our responsibility, is simply to hear and heed God…”

John’s gospel begins, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld His glory…full of grace and truth” (emphasis mine).

The only Person whose words are sure to endure is the Living Word Himself.  So, it follows that the only way for me to ensure what I say endures is to make my words the words of God.   

“Our speaking comes out of our listening,” Buchanan continues.  “What we say comes out of what we hear. We have to be people who listen, day and night, to God.  Our utterances ought to be as Jesus’s were: an echoing of the Father, an imitation of him….”

That’s a tall order.  When I read those words for the first time, my heart sank.  Given that I am not Jesus, that feels pretty much impossible!

But the word “echo” stood out to me: I might not be Jesus, but I can surely echo Him.  I can repeat back - pass on - the words I hear from Him in my own heart, the words I read from Him in the Bible, the things He shows me through experience and circumstance.  And if hearing God happens best when I am still, then the practices of Sabbath and listening are essentially connected. 

God is always speaking.

The Psalmist says, “The heavens declare the glory of God… Day to day pours out speech… Their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.”

God is always speaking, but we’re not always listening.  

“There are so many voices,” says Buchanan.  “And there is such little time to listen, to truly listen: to winnow and test it all, to heed and reflect and respond...

“Sabbath is when we stop.  We slow down.  We play, we rest, we dream, we wonder.  We cease from that which is necessary and turn to that which gives life.  And in the hush that descends, we listen.”

The times when I can hear most clearly are times of stillness and quietness: in other words, when I’m cultivating a Sabbath heart. 

“God isn’t more likely to speak on your Sabbath than on any other day,” says Buchanan, “but you are more likely to listen.”

On the day the apostle John saw the Voice and the vision which became the book of Revelation, there are two key contextual details which Buchanan highlights: 

“One, he was in exile on Patmos.  He was, in other words, under an enforced silence and aloneness, a season of inactivity.  Two, it was Sunday, the Lord’s Day.  It was his Sabbath.  These conditions - the silence, the aloneness, the stillness, the Sabbath - might be beside the point.  Then again, they might just be the point.  It’s possible that they are mentioned because they form the necessary backdrop for true listening.”

~Mark Buchanan, The Rest of God, ch 12 "Listen: Stopping to Hear God"

It is only when we’ve first heard from God ourselves that we have something worth hearing to offer to our listeners.  

In one of Ann Voskamp’s recent posts, she urges her readers to take time every day.  She says, 

“Daily disciplines are doors to full freedom.

“Everyday take time. Everyday take time to feel the sun and the wind and the rain and feel that you are loved — and then let your life overflow with that love so that a thousand others feel that love. 

“Everyday take time to live loved — and live so others feel loved. 

“Everyday take time. Time is there for the taking. For the unwrapping.”

This daily unwrapping of the gift of time, the gift of Sabbath rest, frees us to truly listen, first to God and then to others.  

Ann continues, “Give someone the gift of listening… linger and look into their eyes and really listen and this is free and nobody can buy it and what is better than paying attention to someone with all of you fully present?”

Give yourself permission to receive God’s gift of Sabbath rest - not just the 24 hours once a week when you stop and play and revive your soul - but every day.  

photo credit: I. Winsley

Take time every day to rest, to still your soul and listen.  

In learning to be still enough to hear God, we will learn how to be still enough to listen, truly listen, to others.

photo credits: I. Winsley

a new kind of quietness {how to keep a quiet heart: Part 1}

I’ve latched onto Ann’s practice of naming years.  Two years ago was “The Year of Here.”  Last year, “The Year of Letting Go.” 

And then, towards the end of last year, the phrase “a handful of quietness” kept circling in my thoughts.  I liked the way it sounded, how it felt in my my mind.  With a newborn baby and two preschoolers, I was craving a handful of quietness!  

I can’t remember where I came across it, maybe in something I was reading while trying to get my head around moving back to Central Asia with three kids.  It took me a while to find the verse it came from (who reads Ecclesiastes, anyway?)...  When I finally found it, the whole verse jumped off the page at me:

6 Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after wind.  

Ecclesiastes 4:6

That’s what I want for this year, I thought to myself.  I don’t want to be full of toil, striving after things that will only blow away in the wind.  I need some peace and quiet around here!

Now, more than a quarter of the way into the year, the kids are resting, and I’m sitting at my kitchen desk in a pool of afternoon quiet.  My hands cupped around a mug of hot tea, I’m reflecting on what the title “The Year of Quietness” might mean for my 2013.  My heart sinks slightly.  I’m not very good at being quiet.  I’ve always struggled to hold my tongue, always talked too much, too long, too loudly.  (I come from a whole line of talkers, actually.)  My husband says sometimes I “drown him with words.”  Poor guy.  Guess which one of us is the internal processor.  

So.  Me, be quiet for a whole year?  Whose idea was this? with a pointed mental glance in Jesus’ direction.  What were You thinking, anyway?  Does this mean I have to spend a whole year saying nothing, asking nothing, pursuing nothing?  Just obediently holding my tongue, while inside I’m about to explode?  

I cringe at the thought.  Maybe a month-long fast from talking would be good for me, but  - a whole year?

Or... is there maybe another, deeper, truer way to view Quietness?  What about quietness of heart, quietness of soul?  Would that help my mouth speak less,  more quietly?  I remember, “Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks…” (Luke 6:45)

How do I keep a quiet heart, so I can keep a quiet mouth?

I’ll never forget Dr. K’s handwritten comment in the margin of one of the papers I turned in for her senior seminar class.  One of my all-time favorite professors, Dr. K didn’t just teach.  She mentored us, counseled us, and held us accountable.  She urged us to probe deeper, exploring our true motivations for life, learning, and making music.  

In red ink, she jotted in the margin of my paper: “You sound so driven. What are you striving for?”  

Until I read those words, I had never thought of myself as “driven”.  But her insight went home.  I was driven, I realized.  I practically ran everywhere on campus.  What was driving me?  I started wondering.  Was it something outside of me, or was I driving myself?  Who or what was I trying to measure up to?

Back then, in the Wheaton Conservatory of Music, I think I was trying to measure up to all my stellar peers around me who I always felt were more talented, more disciplined, more successful.  By the end of college I did realize that my goals in the world of music were fundamentally different than most of theirs, and I gave myself permission to do different things as a musician other than perform classically.  

But now, almost 10 years later, Dr. K’s comment comes back to haunt me.  In many ways, I’m still driven.  Driven to keep my house neat as a pin, driven to research every single curriculum option available for homeschooling, driven to criticize, pick apart, micromanage.  

The writer of Ecclesiastes contrasts “a handful of quietness” with “two hands full of toil and striving after wind.”  I’ve come to realize that my drivenness, my “striving after wind”, originates from within myself.  I need to learn how to set myself free.

The other day I came across an article written by one of our ministry leaders.  Among other things I identified with, she admits to being task-oriented, perfectionistic, and loving list-making - even making lists of the lists she needs to make!  (I thought I was the only crazy person who did that?!)  In her article, she enumerates various ways she’s found to combat her drivenness.  This one leapt out at me:

“Learn how to lay things down— This year I am reflecting once a month on the passage in Matthew 11:28-30 that says, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and YOU WILL FIND REST FOR YOUR SOULS. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” 

“As a result of this reflection, I’ve learned to write a new kind of list: a list of the expectations I have for myself which have become burdens. I am learning how to lay them down at the invitation of God to lift my weariness. The practice has been freeing and life-giving for me.” 

- K.F., one of our ministry leaders

Lay things down at the invitation of God, to lift my weariness.  I need to learn how make a new kind of list.  A new kind of list, a new kind of quietness.  

I sip Earl Grey, journal open in front of me.  I jot down across the top of a new page: 

What expectations do I have for myself that have become burdens?

I cup my warm mug with both hands, think through my life, my habits.

All surfaces in my house cleaned off all the time.  {The lie: A tidy house is the source of my peace.}

Yummy meals every single night - no room for “duds”.  {The lie: I’m letting my family down if I cook something they’re not crazy about.}

Must reply to every email, and feel guilty if several days go by without checking.  {The lie: my friends will love me less if I don’t reply right away, AND my feelings of being loved are essential to my identity and self-worth.}

Must keep up with my Scripture memory program, must wash all the dishes before going to bed, must, must, must… 

I really do think I’ll feel better if I can check these things off, but they just come around again tomorrow, and I never actually feel ahead of the game.

The writer of Ecclesiastes calls these things what they really are: “wind”.  A gusty puff of air.  No substance, no lasting value.  Certainly not worth striving after.  Burdens, really.  Windy, airy burdens that will blow me off course, distract me from what really matters.

I have to lay these burdens down.  If I don’t, they’ll strangle me, and then I’ll strangle my family with unrealistic expectations (mostly for myself!) and the ugliness that leaps out of my mouth when my expectations aren’t met.  

But how do I lay these burdens down?  How do I open my hands, let go of my striving, and receive quietness and freedom?

A memory verse jumps to mind: 

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 

Romans 8:1

If you and I are in Christ Jesus, there is no. more. condemnation.

What holds us captive is our own condemnation of ourselves, our own false imagining of God and how He sees us, our own wrong assessment of what we have to do to measure up.  It’s all a lie!  Christ took all that condemnation upon His own self, so we don’t have to live under guilt anymore.    

So… I am free!  You are free.

In Christ, we are free to stop striving after vain goals and unrealistic expectations.  

Free to let go, free to focus on what really matters: being all here, in each moment.  Cultivating gratitude.  Stepping into grace.

We are free to lay down our self-imposed burdens, open our hands and receive…

...a new kind of quietness.

spiritual osteopathy

{Tomorrow being Thanks-Giving Day, but us being overseas, I'm feeling a bit disconnected... which reminds me that every day is a day for giving thanks... and today I'm thankful for my loose, free shoulders and spirit!}

“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.