Finding my soul’s worth on Better Eat Your Wheaties.

Energy was coiled in my belly, in the muscles of my legs and arms and gut, ready to spring as soon as I let it fly. I made the move so big this time— not wild but robust and driven. As I pressed with all my might into my feet, my right hand jettisoned past the crimp, but only just, hovered, and then my fingers grabbed it. The pressure of my fingertips on the hold was exactly right, my left toe pivoted on its tiny divet while my right leg jack-knifed behind me with the leftover energy. Then I had to rein it in, coil that energy back into my core, put my foot back on the rock, move my other foot up, and reach with my left hand: sure and strong. 

Thus I danced along the holds of the boulder, my body knowing exactly where to go, knowing exactly how to move, how much force to exert and energy to burn moving between each stance, unrehearsed. There weren’t math equations being solved with my brain, but intuition and complete freedom, the click of being in the right place at the right time, my body doing exactly what it was meant to be doing. 

I did not hear the cheers from my audience— my husband and kids, my friends— only the singing in my head and my heart with the knowledge that I personally, in that moment, had been handed a gift. There was a roar of delight in my ears, laughter overflowing from my mouth, tears leaking from my eyes. Not just because I didn’t fall or because I succeeded, but because my whole body, my whole being, had become a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing—  a true act of worship.