How Does It Feel to Be Mortal?
Last week, I was not doing well emotionally. I’d slipped into old behavioral patterns that bred anger and bitterness, and when I finally recognized it, I also sank into shame. I beat myself up a lot; I cried a lot.
My friend gently reminded me to be nice to myself. I didn’t even know where to begin. I didn’t know how to be nice to myself. But at the very least, I tried to slow down. So during my day off, I settled down to cross-stitch and listen to Audrey Assad—who has never failed to soothe me with her calming hymns and songs. (Yes, I did feel like a grandma while I embroidered and listened to hymns. It was glorious.)
As I searched for her on Spotify, I discovered she had a new live album. I clicked on it without thinking too much, knowing I’d like whatever she’d written. But as I started cross-stitching, I was caught off-guard by how directly the first song spoke to me.
“How does it feel to be mortal?” She sang. “Take it slow, now, take it slow. How does it feel to be mortal?”
In the middle of my chaotic quest towards self-improvement and subsequent self-punishment for lack of self-improvement, I’d never thought to ask myself anything like that. I never could’ve guessed that that would be the question to give me pause.
“How does it feel to be mortal?” I reflected back to myself. “Soft flesh. Sharp bones. I’m made of damageable things.”
I was shocked as I meditated on this. My body and the stuff I’m made of was a testament to my fragility and helplessness. I couldn’t really justify my self-anger anymore. Why would I be so hard on something so breakable? Why would I expect anything more from flesh and bones?
I’ve continued to reflect since then, singing this song in my private worship times and responding to its central question with poetry. I’ve thought about how changeable our bodies are; I’ve thought about my mortality. My changeable humanness means that I’m capable of emotional growth, and I’ve drawn hope from this. My mortality means my time is limited, and I’m meant to savor the gift of every day and every step of progress.
My mortal-ness means I was created, and that all of this is intentional. God created me with soft flesh and sharp bones. God created me to operate within timeframes. He is not shocked or frustrated by my humanness, and He knows exactly how to work within and beyond my parameters. These truths have comforted me, and I hope they comfort you as well.
It’s amazing how songs can speak to us—how music and lyrics can invite us to pause and meditate. So this week, I encourage you to take time to reflect as well. Is there a song that’s been inviting you to meditate on yourself or your circumstances? Does “Mortal” spark something in you as well? Slow down, listen attentively, and let God speak to you.
