What no one tells you about being blessed with an hourglass body shape, is that a small waist and larger spread of hips can be awfully hard on the back. When I was in my late 20’s, my love of high heels, the kind that unconsciously make your body sway and adjust to stay upright, caught up with me and landed me on the sofa, immobile. Abdominal surgery in 2012, with my lower abdominal muscles being cut through didn’t help me in my 30’s, either.

When I went for physical therapy, the therapist started drilling the importance of “pelvic tilt” into my head. Apparently, my bum wasn’t actually supposed to stick out, however attractive some more recent celebrities may be trying to make it look. It was supposed to be tucked in, as awkward as it felt. At Pilates: pelvic tilt. At the osteopath: pelvic tilt. I should be an expert at it now, with having to set aside most of my beloved heels, and even change my tooth brushing and sleeping habits to accommodate that slight tucking of my lower abdomen toward my spine. (I’m tilting as I type this, reminded that I am supposed to do it at all times. So awkward.)

A simple adjustment of posture saves me weeks of pain, but it is so, so hard to remember, for some reason. I have exercises to do, and when I actually do them, I’m amazed at how they really do “work.” And shoes? Now I willingly wear (some) of the orthopedic ones that aren’t quite visually appealing. I’ve also found ones that aren’t quite so ugly. They’ve saved me so much agony. I do really miss my red patent-leather slingbacks with the four-inch heel, but I don’t miss the payback of the swayback they gave me. See, when my hips and lower back got out of kilter, my shoulders and neck also followed suit. One small choice affected my whole body.

Similarly, in my early 20’s, I started to learn about the spiritual discipline of posture. I knew some things about religious posture, having experienced a broad spectrum of churches that did the sitting/kneeling combination of liturgy, raised hands in worship, or folded hands to pray. For years, I had bowed at a communion rail to receive Jesus’ body and blood, and to have my faith confirmed. I knew that a small adjustment in posture could be a genuine reflection of a heart that loved Jesus.

This new discipline I was learning was different though. It was a discipline of release and waiting. It was a posture of hands upturned and open, rather than closed-fisted. I didn’t even realize that I often held my hands closed. Or that, when I was stressed, I’d hold them tight. Instead, I was learning to intentionally unfold my fingers, and turn my palms upward. Open handed. 

I’m not entirely sure where I actually first learned this, but it has stuck. It’s been one of those things that, as a good discipline should, comes more naturally now (although I have to remind myself). I need to remember this posture that realigns me.

Honestly, opening my hands to Him is more about me telling Jesus, “I know I need to let go. I know I can’t do this. I’m holding on too tightly. I surrender.” It’s difficult and simple, and remarkably freeing.

This discipline – opening my hands – goes against my personality trait of extreme diligence, which, when I’m stressed, betrays me. It’s too easy to turn controlling, clinging and determined to make things happen. Choosing the physical opening of my hands to release what I’ve been carrying or clinging to, leaves my hands open to whatever God would put in them.  I need to do this in the morning when I wake, or at my desk, when I’m overwhelmed with responsibility, or in the car, when a few minutes of time alone gives me time to think. I need to do it at night so I can rest, knowing He will take the things I surrender and be faithful with them. In choosing a new posture of my hands – just like with my back – I can breathe better.

I wish I could say that I never forget, but I do. Often. When I look back at certain situations now, I wish I could time-travel – to choose to unfold my fingers, and release fear, anger, or disappointment. It might not have changed the situation, but it would have realigned my heart. I can’t go back, but here’s what I’m hoping: this discipline will serve me over the length of my life, to be healthier. To love Jesus and love my neighbour. To choose humility and surrender, and to receive hope and good things.  

One day, I realized that my back hadn’t “gone out” in a long time. I’m not sure when the physical change happened, but it did. The growth and change may be slow, but it’s there. Just like with my back, my spiritual realignment is happening. Slowly, but surely. The One who started the good work in me will be faithful to complete it. It’s listening to daily reminders to try again, even in the most mundane tasks. To try, and try and try again, and to learn in the process. Eugene Peterson called this discipleship “a long obedience in the same direction”, and it really is. A small tilt of the heart, really, day after day, becoming permanent change.

Let our hands be open, friends. It will be counter-cultural, in the best possible way.

A prayer for posture:  Lord, we forget that we are loved and given all we need. Please forgive us and remind us that You fill our days and our lives and our hands with good things. Give us eyes to see them. 

We grasp and hold tight to things that You have never intended for us to carry. Please give us the courage to release these things that cause us to bend and break, and release our fear of losing control, because You are the best manager of all things.

Lord, please help us turn our hands and hearts and faces to you. Shine on us, Lord, revealing to us the vast abundance of your grace and mercy and peace.

Fill our hands with the things that are best, the things that are of You. Help us to rely on Your goodness rather than our strength. You are so very good.

Teach us to trust you, Lord. Remind us of your kindness to us, and remind us to let go.

Lord, may we be healthy, open-handed and open-hearted people in a world overwhelmed by closed fists. May we reflect You as we practice a long obedience, walking it with You.

Amen.