A Malnourished Heart.

Dozing off to sleep, worn green leather spread across my chest, is pages flopped between my fingers, chapters and books falling apart, cradled in my arms. Spiritual milk.

I've spent several nights lately this way, falling asleep with my spiritual milk upon my breast, its contents like lifeblood that I suck. Feeling its words and truth and authors and empathy and stories refresh me, as it has refreshed the hearts of saints for centuries. Its words I pull in and ponder.

"Like newborn babies, crave spiritual milk,

so that by it you may grow up in your salvation,

now that you have tasted that the Lord is good."

I Peter 2:2-3

Last week, a friend commented on an acupuncture experience, talking about the distinction the doctor made of her heart to her limbs, and the lack of blood flow in-between. Her heart was starved of the blood flow it needed, ceasing energy to the limbs to stay heated and energized. The doctor explained it to her in words: "your heart is malnourished."

Her reflection drew Truths and parallels that expounded on her spiritual life, and gave great depth of heart-thought to the movement of true Life in side her. I appreciated her terms of explanation, her "heart was malnourished" needing time and space and words and Life to inwardly grow and flourish too.

I laid against my pillow, pages sprawled across the blankets. Spiritual milk. Life to a malnourished heart.