“Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . hold your breath . . . please resume normal breathing.”
I had an MRI recently, and those were the instructions I heard as I lay in the machine. I’ve had lots of scans so it should be routine for me, but it’s been a while and the words were muffled on the headphones they gave me – like a bad speaker at a fast-food drive-thru – so it took a couple of cycles to get into rhythm.
As it was, it was really just “normal breathing” except that it was on cue. And except for the breath holding, which is not something we do very often because it’s unnatural. Anyone who’s ever held their breath while swimming under water or trying to suppress hiccups or trying to win a school playground contest for the breath-holding record knows it becomes uncomfortable and you start to squirm until you give in to your body’s demand for oxygen.
In the MRI machine, it’s while holding your breath that they capture the images, but they ask you to hold your breath after you exhale, because it’s easier to lay still when your lungs are empty than it is when you’re all puffed up like a balloon.
There are moments in life when we’re holding our breath with our head and heart full of fear, uncertainty, despair or something similar that weighs us down and immobilizes us. Sometimes it takes an outside voice to remind us to “resume normal breathing,” or more accurately, resume living, doing, being. That voice might come from a family member, a friend or a counselor. Or if we’re being still and listening, we may hear it from God through the Holy Spirit.
I’ve never heard the actual voice of God, but I’ve felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. Unlike the rush of wind described in the Biblical story of Pentecost, I’ve sensed the presence of the Spirit as an overwhelming calm or peace at a time when I might otherwise be agitated or nervous about something. Most often, I’ve had a sudden recall of a snippet of scripture or hymn text that speaks of peace or resolve, such as “Be Still My Soul” or “Abide With Me.”
In a very practical way, proactively calling upon that spirit of peace has gotten me through all those scans. The techs always ask if I’m claustrophobic, which I know is a very real and serious problem for many people. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I’ve needed help with patience and calm during long scans and even longer radiation treatment sessions.
Calming prayer and music have always been the key for me, along with remembering to resume normal breathing.