60 to 60: Breathing, Faith

When Marin was about 5, I began to write our story. It was such an over-the-top tale of resilience and love that I felt compelled to share it. My hope was to bring light to at least one woman undergoing the often-dark roller-coaster ride of infertility. I finished writing when she was around 10 years old. The book is called Breathing Faith: A Journey through Infertility and a High-Risk Pregnancy.

I shopped the book around for a little while (before I fell back exhausted and went the self-publishing route). I actually got two editors on the phone. After offering some solid, positive feedback, the first editor proclaimed, "You need a woman to champion this book." I'm pretty sure he meant me.

The second editor had some questions about the book title.

That’s an interesting choice, she said. Breathing... Faith.

Oh? How so?

Is it religious?

Not at all.

Pause.

But you’re, um, breathing…faith?

Yes.

She clears her throat.

Well, how exactly does a person breathe faith?

Well, my question is, how can a person NOT breathe faith and survive in this crazy-ass world?

Instead of taking in, absorbing digesting all the stuff, "all the things" and my god, there’s plenty of it to sink into, wallow in, complain about…instead of all that, what if we make a conscious choice to take intentional breaths of yes, goodness. Love. Hope. Faith. What if, indeed.

Look, it’s really our choice, how we go about our days. It’s a decision, whether or not we see all the crap and terrible-ness solely. Or, do we also look around, and bring in deep delicious new breaths, to ourselves and to others?

If we don’t do this aligning, who will? Here at almost sixty, I DO still think we can breathe in faith, and hope. We can inhale prayers of healing, grace, acceptance. We pay attention and breathe in good humor, optimism and presence while we release stale air and thoughts, perhaps even people, places and things that we’ve outgrown, exhale the bullshit, the hurts, the anger. It's fluid, this breath. And, it's not forever.