Be Still My Soul: A Restorative Practice to Circumvent Anxiety, Part II

I've never thought of myself as an anxious person. Sure, there are certain things that make my tummy rumble and my palms sweat. It’s usually the anticipation of whatever I’m facing—like public speaking or flying on an airplane. Yet ever since the election, after witnessing one jaw-dropping, heartless act after another, I’ve felt anxiety coursing through my body like never before. You, too? 

I began this three-part series on Psalm 131, a Pilgrim’s Song, because I discovered in it an antidote for how to circumvent anxiety. It’s both this Psalm’s simplicity and its similes that capture my imagination and provide a roadmap for where to go and what to do when I am overcome. As I’ve been meditating on this three-verse Psalm, I’m even noticing a shift in my body! I’ll tell you more about that toward the end of this essay. 

In Part I, we reflected on the first line of the Psalm, “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high;” I suggested that David, the writer of the Psalm, who had walked the uphill road to Jerusalem many times, was encouraging us to stay grounded in our bodies, instead of looking ahead, wondering and worrying about how far or how long we have to go. 

Now let’s consider together the second part of this verse: 

“I do not occupy myself with things too great 

and too marvelous for me.” Psalm 131:1

In this second half of the verse, David’s song of ascent suggests that, once grounded in our bodies, we are then able to locate ourselves in our body; in our human, finite limitations. 

2. Embrace your own limits.

David, who was a king, seemed to be reminding himself that “though a king, I am not God.” How often do we need to remind ourselves of the same? We try to figure out that which is beyond us. We try to fix what we perceive to be wrong. We bite our nails and wring our hands because we feel helpless to resolve the looming problems that are “out there,” off the map—where there be dragons! 

Martin Laird, in his eloquent book, Into the Silent Land, provides an image for what to do when we succumb to this kind of hand-wringing preoccupation. He writes, 

“When we recognize that we are Mount Zion, God’s holy dwelling place, and no longer suffer from the illusion that we are the weather, then we are free to let life be as it is at any given moment. We are no longer the victims of our afflictive thoughts, but their vigilant witness, silent and free, no longing requiring pain to be gone if it happens to be present.” 

Read these two sentences a few times, slowly. Please. What Laird is helping us imagine is that when we ground in our bodies, we also become grounded in the loving Presence of God who dwells within us. (Picture Mount Zion) Then, when we notice anxiety, we recognize it as the “weather” and can let go of trying to control it—simply bearing witness to it. (I.e., “Oh, look, it’s snowing!”) We “let life be as it is” because God is God, and we are not (God).  

To be clear, this isn’t suggesting apathy or complacency. It isn’t saying that we stop caring about or trying to do something about the cruelty and injustice that prevail. Instead, grounding our bodies and embracing our limits actually helps catalyze the enormous power and agency we have to do what is ours to do! By drawing a boundary around our human life (another word for limits) and locating ourselves in our real life, we can then do the next right thing! 

This describes what has been happening for me. As I mentioned earlier, I’ve noticed a shift in my body. I feel lighter—less weighed down. The anxiety in my body began to shift when I ruminated on the “grounding” part of this Psalm and practiced breath prayer. In addition, I also have spent extended time hiking and nature bathing. Science confirms that moving our bodies, surrounded by the beauty of the natural world, helps calm ourselves and our nervous systems. Try it! 

The next thing that happened (unintentionally) was that I began to engage with what I could do with my life right now. I hadn’t realized how hard it was not to have things to look forward to because of the despair I felt. That started to shift when I began to do some playful planning. You see, this next year is a big year for David and me. We’re calling it our “Year of Jubilee.” We both turn 70! David on December 2, and me on April 5. So together we are planning several celebrations with different groups of “our people” who make up the rich tapestry of our lives.  

Once I began planning and considering “the next right thing,” I felt more energy and less anxiety. While the news still disturbs me and I still actively oppose what’s happening, which includes taking action by calling my senators and representatives and joining the resistance, I can still claim jurisdiction over my own life. I can plan a Year of Jubilee! I can dream about how to celebrate my wonderful life partner of (almost) 47 years! And I can continue to pray and trust that God will be God and is at work doing many good and loving and hidden things that I can’t currently see!

The Spiritual Practice of Calendaring

One of the best ways we can embrace our own limits is by developing a healthy relationship with time. We have limited time. We can’t do it all! So, David and I have been leaning into the spiritual practice of calendaring. We use our calendar as a way to honor our limits and plan for our needs: for rest, for play, for hiking, and for celebrating our Year of Jubilee. 

We treat our calendar like it’s the law! It’s a traffic light, and green means “Go!” and red means “Stop!” We allow our calendar to hold us accountable for what we’ve planned—“the next right thing” we’ve discerned to do. In this way, we become stewards of our lives by being good stewards of our time. We highly recommend it. 

So, why not get out your calendar and start practicing! What is your “next right thing to do?” As you ground yourself in your body and embrace your own limits, what do you need? Now put it in your calendar and obey your calendar. It's the boss! 

Warmly, Beth Booram

PS If you’re needing some quiet moments to settle your heart before Christmas, there are still a few spots available for an Advent Retreat at Fall Creek Abbey! (December 15-19, 2025)