For many many years I searched for him. When he wants attention he sticks his finger up my nose or in my ear and then in my mouth and it is times like these why God allowed me to be teased mercilessly by junior high boys on the bus in middle school: it was to prepare me for my fabulous life with my lovely and bizarre husband. I pet his beard until it is fluffy and pokey and he flattens it back down and gives me a look of fake contempt. I listen to his heart beat against my ear and think about how this is the man that God promised me so many years ago when I would cry out for an earthly husband. That this man with whom I share a house and a bed and a life was formed for me from the foundations of the earth. He is the one that God promised me many years ago. One whom I spent thousands of dollars in self-help books and seminars and tapes and therapy for so I could be ready for him when he arrived. But i wasn't quite ready when he arrived and he had to be very patient as I tried very hard to push him away and convince him he could never love a girl like me.
He is my Samuel with Daniel like qualities, a Daniel because he is a handsome, wise and learned man who has a heart for justice and an aptitude for learning. One who is willing to stand up to the authorities and provide counsel and proclaim injustice. He is a Samuel because every year I would bring my sacrifices to the altar and weep like Hannah to give me a husband and eventually a child that I promised I would dedicate both to the Lord in a life of service and sacrifice.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Party at the Odd Duck Pond
I went to a conference about building Christian Community this weekend in Haight Ashbury that rocked my freakin world. I was rather unexcited about going to earlier in the week. I thought I was going to be forced to be social when all of my relational energy had been sucked dry by the 6th graders in my life. My friend John was afraid it was going to be a bit cultish and weird and that everyone was going to try to convince him to live in a big commune. I told him we were having pot pies and Kool-Aid for lunch and he almost walked out the door. That made me feel a little better. The weekend was filled with new friends and fascinating humans. One of the most interesting people I met was Rick the Zen Buddhist priest. He was part of the Jesus movement during the 70's and got burned out and became Jewish and then switched over to Buddhism. He said that in the past year God has had other ideas, and that he has had a growing hunger to learn to love like Jesus loves. He knows his scripture too. I found him very humble and thoughtful. He asked us who was the king of 100 rivers as he sat on the ground looking up at us. He said the sea, because it lies below them. Likewise if we are to be the greatest we must humble ourselves to become lower than those we serve. When I talked he really listened. He was completely present with me and cared about what I had to say and to be honest it freaked me out.
A lot of the people surrounding me in this huge mansion on the corner of Fell and Lyon are members of an intentional community called Seven. There are people in the community that are artists and writers and musicians. Devoted to creating beauty in a sometimes very ugly world. There are people that use their degrees and education to create and promote social justice. They free modern day slaves and get amnesty for immigrants that have been displaced by tribal massacres. They are all about serving and loving and living like Jesus. A lovely British woman just washed my feet. I t felt strangely normal and wonderful. She implored me to sit next to her because she said she hadn't shaved her legs in a while and didn't want a guy to be her partner. She obviously doesn't know much about west Sonoma county. Or my roommates for example. Hairy legs are not foreign concept to me.
I am surrounded by like minded people that are all in pursuit of creating intentional community in the way of Jesus. This is very important because I feel safe and at home here. No one will think I am weird, which is a rather uncommon occurence in my life. I am starting to realize that maybe it's not that I am weird, it's just that I am swimming in the pond with a different species of ducks. Today I am with other odd ducks. It is nice to be with people who are like me.
Everyone is very trendy and educated and use big words like orthopraxy. Sarah is planning to set up a sting in SFO to stop trafficking of humans in a modern day slave trade. She calls herself an abolitionist. There is a also a girl called Trendy Amy. She shares my name and certain aspects of my personality including my sometimes manic extroversion. For a vacation she wants to go to the poverty centers of the world and work with the people there and help them make their lives better. Not to tell them how much smarter and better the American way is, but to serve them within their culture and traditions. To honor the beauty that lies within the way their people live and move and have their being.
Listening to Mark talk about the need to have healthy people in your community really dialed up a lot of my stuff. They talked about how sometimes in stages of healing we have to go through processes of deconstruction followed by reconstruction. The tearing down of the old and the building up of the new. The pure, the right, what we were meant to be and how we were meant to live and interact with other children of God. I started to wonder if my deconstruction is a drain on my community. I had to go upstairs and think for a while and God had to yell in my ear. The lies that I thought were gone for good have been sneaking back and whispering to me lately. God told me I am in a stage of rebuilding right now. The deconstruction has past. He said that I have infinite value and intrinsic worth that any community would be blessed by. I am loved. I am strong. I am a gift. My story is one of the power of reconciliation and healing. I must have no shame about my past. That I am the daughter of a king.
Mark says that leadership requires a healthy sense of your own value, and the courage to do the next thing that follows the way of Jesus. They say that you can only give to others what you already have. This dude James decided not to eat out for 40 days. Another girl didn't buy clothes for a year. Sarah didn't wear makeup or jewelry for 2 months to help her realize that her beauty and worth does not come from outward adornment but through her worth in Christ Jesus. I really want to do that too. She said it brings freedom. I am afraid but I am committed. I know it will be hard for me and I don't know why. I guess I have always been the pretty girl and if I am not pretty than what am I? Where does true beauty come from? I know where but I am not willing to acknowledge it at this time. I wonder who will still think I am pretty when I am not all painted. Will boys still hug me and tell me I am beautiful? Emily went to India to free prostitutes and help them live like normal women. She said in India only prostitutes wear makeup. She found it troubling that these women adorned themselves to be sold to men, and how she now sees that American women do the same. The currency is just different. And we resort to much more drastic, painful, and silicone measures to sell ourselves.
Traffic and ambulances drown out the shares and struggles of the leader and the people here. These are people like me. People whose prayers sometimes consist of just the F word and are devoted to being in the middle of the battlefields of the world. They teach cooking classes in the Tenderloin and eat with their hands out of habit from living in West Africa for so long. They are beautiful and raw and real and revolutionaries in emergent Christianity. They talk about the fact that there are 1000 steps to leadership, that leadership is wrought and born out of a beingness that transcends from within and flows out to those around you. It starts with washing feet and leaning in when someone is telling a story. Staying present with people. Living for others rather than self. Leading like Jesus. Adam says that leadership is something that is granted to you from the community. We talked earlier today about woundedness and deconstruction and reconstruction and who is healthy to have in your intentional community. I started to think about my woundedness and whether or not I was taking away from my community. What I have damaged and how important it is to protect my village. To be samurai. A class of warrior devoted to protecting what is most dear. James points out that everyone wants the cool sexy parts of leadership. Not the getting your heart ripped out by people you love part. Not the foot washing part. Because let's face it, feet gross me out. But I washed British Elaine's feet and it was awesome. I want to spend my life washing feet.
A lot of the people surrounding me in this huge mansion on the corner of Fell and Lyon are members of an intentional community called Seven. There are people in the community that are artists and writers and musicians. Devoted to creating beauty in a sometimes very ugly world. There are people that use their degrees and education to create and promote social justice. They free modern day slaves and get amnesty for immigrants that have been displaced by tribal massacres. They are all about serving and loving and living like Jesus. A lovely British woman just washed my feet. I t felt strangely normal and wonderful. She implored me to sit next to her because she said she hadn't shaved her legs in a while and didn't want a guy to be her partner. She obviously doesn't know much about west Sonoma county. Or my roommates for example. Hairy legs are not foreign concept to me.
I am surrounded by like minded people that are all in pursuit of creating intentional community in the way of Jesus. This is very important because I feel safe and at home here. No one will think I am weird, which is a rather uncommon occurence in my life. I am starting to realize that maybe it's not that I am weird, it's just that I am swimming in the pond with a different species of ducks. Today I am with other odd ducks. It is nice to be with people who are like me.
Everyone is very trendy and educated and use big words like orthopraxy. Sarah is planning to set up a sting in SFO to stop trafficking of humans in a modern day slave trade. She calls herself an abolitionist. There is a also a girl called Trendy Amy. She shares my name and certain aspects of my personality including my sometimes manic extroversion. For a vacation she wants to go to the poverty centers of the world and work with the people there and help them make their lives better. Not to tell them how much smarter and better the American way is, but to serve them within their culture and traditions. To honor the beauty that lies within the way their people live and move and have their being.
Listening to Mark talk about the need to have healthy people in your community really dialed up a lot of my stuff. They talked about how sometimes in stages of healing we have to go through processes of deconstruction followed by reconstruction. The tearing down of the old and the building up of the new. The pure, the right, what we were meant to be and how we were meant to live and interact with other children of God. I started to wonder if my deconstruction is a drain on my community. I had to go upstairs and think for a while and God had to yell in my ear. The lies that I thought were gone for good have been sneaking back and whispering to me lately. God told me I am in a stage of rebuilding right now. The deconstruction has past. He said that I have infinite value and intrinsic worth that any community would be blessed by. I am loved. I am strong. I am a gift. My story is one of the power of reconciliation and healing. I must have no shame about my past. That I am the daughter of a king.
Mark says that leadership requires a healthy sense of your own value, and the courage to do the next thing that follows the way of Jesus. They say that you can only give to others what you already have. This dude James decided not to eat out for 40 days. Another girl didn't buy clothes for a year. Sarah didn't wear makeup or jewelry for 2 months to help her realize that her beauty and worth does not come from outward adornment but through her worth in Christ Jesus. I really want to do that too. She said it brings freedom. I am afraid but I am committed. I know it will be hard for me and I don't know why. I guess I have always been the pretty girl and if I am not pretty than what am I? Where does true beauty come from? I know where but I am not willing to acknowledge it at this time. I wonder who will still think I am pretty when I am not all painted. Will boys still hug me and tell me I am beautiful? Emily went to India to free prostitutes and help them live like normal women. She said in India only prostitutes wear makeup. She found it troubling that these women adorned themselves to be sold to men, and how she now sees that American women do the same. The currency is just different. And we resort to much more drastic, painful, and silicone measures to sell ourselves.
Traffic and ambulances drown out the shares and struggles of the leader and the people here. These are people like me. People whose prayers sometimes consist of just the F word and are devoted to being in the middle of the battlefields of the world. They teach cooking classes in the Tenderloin and eat with their hands out of habit from living in West Africa for so long. They are beautiful and raw and real and revolutionaries in emergent Christianity. They talk about the fact that there are 1000 steps to leadership, that leadership is wrought and born out of a beingness that transcends from within and flows out to those around you. It starts with washing feet and leaning in when someone is telling a story. Staying present with people. Living for others rather than self. Leading like Jesus. Adam says that leadership is something that is granted to you from the community. We talked earlier today about woundedness and deconstruction and reconstruction and who is healthy to have in your intentional community. I started to think about my woundedness and whether or not I was taking away from my community. What I have damaged and how important it is to protect my village. To be samurai. A class of warrior devoted to protecting what is most dear. James points out that everyone wants the cool sexy parts of leadership. Not the getting your heart ripped out by people you love part. Not the foot washing part. Because let's face it, feet gross me out. But I washed British Elaine's feet and it was awesome. I want to spend my life washing feet.
Orchids and Leviathans
It is early in the weekend and I am done with all of my chores and projects. My molest-me shirts have all been ironed. My circus tent dresses have all been taken in. And the natives are restless. I am alone in our room with nothing but the babbling of Dutch Bill in the background and my thoughts. Donald Miller and memoirs of his Nazi death march to the bottom of the Grand Canyon sit next to me in the chair. Noah Calhoun sits on top of Donald, largely being ignored because I am just not that into him right now.
I have felt rather far from God as of late. Anxious and fearful and under attack. I have been trying to do things on my own again. This usually doesn't go for very long anymore though which is good. It shows growth. Growth I have been very grateful for. During Bible roulette this afternoon I was given 1 Corinthians 3:14 by the divine revelation of the Holy Spirit. It says if the work survives, that builder will receive a reward. It is talking about not building a house out of crappy material, so that when the fire (testing) comes it won't burn up in the flames. I think it has something to do with building our foundation on Christ and not the flimsy $1.99 plywood on the World's clearance rack. It goes onto say that even if you do build your house out of crappy material the builder will survive, but he will have to leap through the flames and probably not come out with his eyebrows and arm hair intact. I think this round of roulette applies to the testing I am going through right now. And whether or not I can really hold out for my own Agent Michael Scarn. As C.S. Lewis wrote, "Often we are content to make mudpies when we are being offered a vacation by the sea." Interesting how I have to remind myself that I do not want a Unitarian mudpie when I can have the church of Christ mansion in Malibu.
I am doing Mary's make-up tonight for a party she's going to at Nicolette's. She is so beautiful. She doesn't know how beautiful she is yet. One day she will. One day.
As I have found being the pretty girl isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Sometimes it is used against you. It can attract things and people and lagoon dwellers that one could do without. It can be exploited. Taken apart. Used for evil instead of for good. Sometimes stolen. For many years I cursed the way God made me because of many of the things it brought. I did everything I could to hide His creation from the world.
A month ago I found a severed Calypso Orchid up at the ropes course. It is the most rare and beautiful flower here at camp. It only grows in certain soil because the pH has to be neutralized by a specific fungus.
I held the broken flower on my mitten as we drove down the mountain and wondered why anyone would dare destroy something so beautiful. And God started to speak to me about His creation and that flower and how even though it had been broken and crushed it was still beautiful and still His handiwork. He created it for His pleasure and as a gift to everyone that would see it, that people would glorify Him because of it. That it was His work and artistry and He would make beautiful what He pleases. At that moment I started to feel a little bit like Job. Like God was asking if I knew where He stored the hail or the lightning bolts or if I knew where the boundaries of the universe were or anything about the leviathan for that matter. I don't know the first thing about leviathans. And then I realized that beauty is one of those gifts that God gives to whom He pleases. That like the rain, it falls on both the good and the wicked. And that it is not for me to curse the beauty of the Creation, myself included.
I'm but a breath
I'm just a vapor
I am just a grain of sand in your clay
Lord help me understand the depths to who I am in You
You are God and all that I want.
-Vapor, Lystra's Silence
I have felt rather far from God as of late. Anxious and fearful and under attack. I have been trying to do things on my own again. This usually doesn't go for very long anymore though which is good. It shows growth. Growth I have been very grateful for. During Bible roulette this afternoon I was given 1 Corinthians 3:14 by the divine revelation of the Holy Spirit. It says if the work survives, that builder will receive a reward. It is talking about not building a house out of crappy material, so that when the fire (testing) comes it won't burn up in the flames. I think it has something to do with building our foundation on Christ and not the flimsy $1.99 plywood on the World's clearance rack. It goes onto say that even if you do build your house out of crappy material the builder will survive, but he will have to leap through the flames and probably not come out with his eyebrows and arm hair intact. I think this round of roulette applies to the testing I am going through right now. And whether or not I can really hold out for my own Agent Michael Scarn. As C.S. Lewis wrote, "Often we are content to make mudpies when we are being offered a vacation by the sea." Interesting how I have to remind myself that I do not want a Unitarian mudpie when I can have the church of Christ mansion in Malibu.
I am doing Mary's make-up tonight for a party she's going to at Nicolette's. She is so beautiful. She doesn't know how beautiful she is yet. One day she will. One day.
As I have found being the pretty girl isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Sometimes it is used against you. It can attract things and people and lagoon dwellers that one could do without. It can be exploited. Taken apart. Used for evil instead of for good. Sometimes stolen. For many years I cursed the way God made me because of many of the things it brought. I did everything I could to hide His creation from the world.
A month ago I found a severed Calypso Orchid up at the ropes course. It is the most rare and beautiful flower here at camp. It only grows in certain soil because the pH has to be neutralized by a specific fungus.
I held the broken flower on my mitten as we drove down the mountain and wondered why anyone would dare destroy something so beautiful. And God started to speak to me about His creation and that flower and how even though it had been broken and crushed it was still beautiful and still His handiwork. He created it for His pleasure and as a gift to everyone that would see it, that people would glorify Him because of it. That it was His work and artistry and He would make beautiful what He pleases. At that moment I started to feel a little bit like Job. Like God was asking if I knew where He stored the hail or the lightning bolts or if I knew where the boundaries of the universe were or anything about the leviathan for that matter. I don't know the first thing about leviathans. And then I realized that beauty is one of those gifts that God gives to whom He pleases. That like the rain, it falls on both the good and the wicked. And that it is not for me to curse the beauty of the Creation, myself included.
I'm but a breath
I'm just a vapor
I am just a grain of sand in your clay
Lord help me understand the depths to who I am in You
You are God and all that I want.
-Vapor, Lystra's Silence
Who shrunk the linen closet?
At the top of the stairs in my house growing up was a linen closet. A 2' x 3' space where, among other things, my Snow White blanket and My Little Pony sheets were kept. This closet was a very important place for me, it was my sanctuary from the emotional hurricane that enveloped my home. When things got especially bad and I had been banned from the neighbors house for whatever reason, usually because one of my art projects had made it's way onto the carpet or drapes, I hid in the closet. I could still hear the screams of my parents coming from downstairs, sometimes right outside the door of my cave. My mother threatening to pack her bags and leave and my dad telling her to keep it down because the Broncos were playing. And there I hid, sometimes for hours at a time, rubbing my hand on the corner of the satin binding of my Snow White blanket and wishing my sister would come home already from her stupid boyfriend's house. Then I could hide in her room and we could listen to Cyndi Lauper on her record player and pretend we couldn't hear the threats of murder and divorce coming from downstairs.
Instead of a linen closet at the Glen Iris Becky and I have a body closet in our room. It is scary and dark and has spiders and does not afford a comfortable place for me to avoid conflict and run away from my problems and the screaming that has on occasion been known to happen. We call it the body closet because we surmise that that is the only thing it is good for had we ever any need to hide any bodies. But I am 26 years old and a grown ass woman and shouldn't have any occasion to hide in linen closets anymore should I? I have this book on my shelf in my rather large self help section called Play to Win: Choosing Growth Over Fear in Work and in Life. I realized today as I was lying curled up on my bed clinging to Babar and eyeing the body closet that I have been choosing fear a lot lately in life. I especially choose fear when it comes to confrontation and conflict with people that I love the most. I have a tendency to stuff things down and let them affect the choices that I make. One of my mentors once told me that when we let our fears overtake us they begin to make our decisions for us to. Decisions like the person we will marry, the kind of neighborhood we live in, the school that our children will attend. The depth and honesty of the friendships we have. Jesus tells us to not fear anyone that can harm the body but cannot harm the soul. The soul is what is most important. And no one can steal my soul.
My friend Robbie once told me that when it comes to life we should set our eyes not on things temporary but on things eternal. Don't worry so much about the fact that the lady at the DMV was mean to you, think about the fact that the lady at the DMV could be one step away from losing her soul. Those are the only things that we should be worrying about. But that is not why I want to hide in the closet tonight. Perhaps I should rethink my illegitimate fears. And man-up and spend my energy on the real problems in the world. Like the fact the today a whole football stadium full of people starved to death. Or that little Bernadene's mom is pregnant and doing drugs. Or that tomorrow Priscilla may not have enough food to feed her house full of orphans. But then again, does God need my help fixing all the world's problems? I think He's big enough to take care of it all. So I will give all my worries to the one who gives me peace and sustains me, and not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will have cares of its own. I will be available to be God's hands and feet and mend anything that He will give me the strength to.
Instead of a linen closet at the Glen Iris Becky and I have a body closet in our room. It is scary and dark and has spiders and does not afford a comfortable place for me to avoid conflict and run away from my problems and the screaming that has on occasion been known to happen. We call it the body closet because we surmise that that is the only thing it is good for had we ever any need to hide any bodies. But I am 26 years old and a grown ass woman and shouldn't have any occasion to hide in linen closets anymore should I? I have this book on my shelf in my rather large self help section called Play to Win: Choosing Growth Over Fear in Work and in Life. I realized today as I was lying curled up on my bed clinging to Babar and eyeing the body closet that I have been choosing fear a lot lately in life. I especially choose fear when it comes to confrontation and conflict with people that I love the most. I have a tendency to stuff things down and let them affect the choices that I make. One of my mentors once told me that when we let our fears overtake us they begin to make our decisions for us to. Decisions like the person we will marry, the kind of neighborhood we live in, the school that our children will attend. The depth and honesty of the friendships we have. Jesus tells us to not fear anyone that can harm the body but cannot harm the soul. The soul is what is most important. And no one can steal my soul.
My friend Robbie once told me that when it comes to life we should set our eyes not on things temporary but on things eternal. Don't worry so much about the fact that the lady at the DMV was mean to you, think about the fact that the lady at the DMV could be one step away from losing her soul. Those are the only things that we should be worrying about. But that is not why I want to hide in the closet tonight. Perhaps I should rethink my illegitimate fears. And man-up and spend my energy on the real problems in the world. Like the fact the today a whole football stadium full of people starved to death. Or that little Bernadene's mom is pregnant and doing drugs. Or that tomorrow Priscilla may not have enough food to feed her house full of orphans. But then again, does God need my help fixing all the world's problems? I think He's big enough to take care of it all. So I will give all my worries to the one who gives me peace and sustains me, and not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will have cares of its own. I will be available to be God's hands and feet and mend anything that He will give me the strength to.
Zelda and Socrates walk into a bar...
Lately I feel as though I am walking through a dream. That place in between sleep and awake where you aren't sure if the events that you have been participating in are real or imagined. Whether the surreal events that have surrounded you for the past minutes or hours or weeks were something you created or something that is really happening, but you just don't want to acknowledge them. Maybe both?
It's a place where time isn't constant. Waking life has a very different sense of knowingness to it. Sometimes it's that wading through the murk of hardship and heartache that makes you feel like you are trying to play football underwater. Things just aren't going the way you had hoped. I do however feel a strange sense of peace and joy that comes and goes like a wave with some regularity. Like God is near me, holding my hand through this whole ordeal. Whispering in my ear that I am worth something more than everything that has happened in my past and that He has something better for me just around the corner. Sometimes I can feel Him sitting next to me. Holding me. Telling me that this isn't the life He has for me, that there is something much bigger and better I will be called to soon; fighting the powers of spiritual darkness for the kingdom deep in the jungles of 'Nam or something equally cool. Sometimes I feel like I have been stuck in the airport of life waiting for my plane of destiny to arrive due to bad weather and mechanical problems in Chicago. And I am getting sick of the fact that all there is for me to do there is read US Weekly and eat Panda Express from the food court while I wait for what seems like an eternity.
Anne Lamott says that when she first felt the Lord's presence when she was in her strungout alcoholic cocaine phase, she described God as a cat following her around her houseboat. She didn't want to let God in because we all know what happens when you feed a cat and let it in the house. I, however, would never blaspheme the Lord in such a way as to compare Him to a cat.
I cannot live with strife or anger in my environment. I need everyone and everything to be peaceful and happy. I cannot have chaos or disorder in my life. I think this is why I am such an organized neat freak. If everything isn't where it needs to go I feel a sense of instability. I prefer to be in the eye of the hurricane even if that means I have to poke it out myself. And I am also not the most patient person in the world. Even when I am the reason there is no peace (and lets face it I like to stir up the pot once in a while) I feel like I try my best to right the wrongs and make everything whole again as quickly as possible. Lately the peace I have tried to make has a very short shelf life. I want the shelf life of a Twinkie and I am getting the shelf life of brown bananas from the dining hall. I know this is probably because I am trying to make the peace myself rather than let God do it for me. I like to "help" God out sometimes. Like when I was little and would "help" my mom make cookies by dumping flour and a gallon of cooking oil all over the kitchen floor. Sometimes in the back of my mind I wait for God to freak out and tell me to go watch Sesame Street and get the H out of the kitchen.
The thing is that I am a talker. The way I work things out is by talking them out, even if it means talking in circles. It makes me feel better to talk in circles which may seem ridiculous to most people. But there are many things other people do to cope that I think are rather ridiculous. Like playing Zelda for 18 hours straight or watching bowling on TV. The problem comes when I am so ashamed of my feelings and my anger and my illogical and irrational emotions that I don't want anyone to know anything that is going on in my brain and yet everyone knows because you suck at hiding things....everyone knows your hurt and your pain because it is written all over your face. It's times like these I wish I had hung out more with the Drama Club kids in highschool rather than peppering them with punk rock misunderstood artist disdain and limericks that rhymed with thespians. Zelda cannot offer advice when you don't have the strength anymore to bless those that curse you. And the source of your current problems stares you in the face in the morning while you brush your teeth and it becomes too much to take. When it hurts too much to talk about the painful situations that follow you even into your bedroom and watch over you as you sleep at night. I haved lived through so much. I have made peace with death itself, and yet I cannot find the strength to look past the seemingly petty offenses taking place in my world. Things threatening to destroy forever that which is dearest to me.
The story goes that Plato and Socrates were having a conversation about the cycle of life. Socrates said that all things go through a stage of growth, followed by a stage of stability, and finally decay. But Plato said that stability is a myth. He said that living things can only grow or decay. We are either growing or decaying. Donald Miller writes that "everybody has to change or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. I want to keep my soul fertile for changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently." Amen brother.
It's a place where time isn't constant. Waking life has a very different sense of knowingness to it. Sometimes it's that wading through the murk of hardship and heartache that makes you feel like you are trying to play football underwater. Things just aren't going the way you had hoped. I do however feel a strange sense of peace and joy that comes and goes like a wave with some regularity. Like God is near me, holding my hand through this whole ordeal. Whispering in my ear that I am worth something more than everything that has happened in my past and that He has something better for me just around the corner. Sometimes I can feel Him sitting next to me. Holding me. Telling me that this isn't the life He has for me, that there is something much bigger and better I will be called to soon; fighting the powers of spiritual darkness for the kingdom deep in the jungles of 'Nam or something equally cool. Sometimes I feel like I have been stuck in the airport of life waiting for my plane of destiny to arrive due to bad weather and mechanical problems in Chicago. And I am getting sick of the fact that all there is for me to do there is read US Weekly and eat Panda Express from the food court while I wait for what seems like an eternity.
Anne Lamott says that when she first felt the Lord's presence when she was in her strungout alcoholic cocaine phase, she described God as a cat following her around her houseboat. She didn't want to let God in because we all know what happens when you feed a cat and let it in the house. I, however, would never blaspheme the Lord in such a way as to compare Him to a cat.
I cannot live with strife or anger in my environment. I need everyone and everything to be peaceful and happy. I cannot have chaos or disorder in my life. I think this is why I am such an organized neat freak. If everything isn't where it needs to go I feel a sense of instability. I prefer to be in the eye of the hurricane even if that means I have to poke it out myself. And I am also not the most patient person in the world. Even when I am the reason there is no peace (and lets face it I like to stir up the pot once in a while) I feel like I try my best to right the wrongs and make everything whole again as quickly as possible. Lately the peace I have tried to make has a very short shelf life. I want the shelf life of a Twinkie and I am getting the shelf life of brown bananas from the dining hall. I know this is probably because I am trying to make the peace myself rather than let God do it for me. I like to "help" God out sometimes. Like when I was little and would "help" my mom make cookies by dumping flour and a gallon of cooking oil all over the kitchen floor. Sometimes in the back of my mind I wait for God to freak out and tell me to go watch Sesame Street and get the H out of the kitchen.
The thing is that I am a talker. The way I work things out is by talking them out, even if it means talking in circles. It makes me feel better to talk in circles which may seem ridiculous to most people. But there are many things other people do to cope that I think are rather ridiculous. Like playing Zelda for 18 hours straight or watching bowling on TV. The problem comes when I am so ashamed of my feelings and my anger and my illogical and irrational emotions that I don't want anyone to know anything that is going on in my brain and yet everyone knows because you suck at hiding things....everyone knows your hurt and your pain because it is written all over your face. It's times like these I wish I had hung out more with the Drama Club kids in highschool rather than peppering them with punk rock misunderstood artist disdain and limericks that rhymed with thespians. Zelda cannot offer advice when you don't have the strength anymore to bless those that curse you. And the source of your current problems stares you in the face in the morning while you brush your teeth and it becomes too much to take. When it hurts too much to talk about the painful situations that follow you even into your bedroom and watch over you as you sleep at night. I haved lived through so much. I have made peace with death itself, and yet I cannot find the strength to look past the seemingly petty offenses taking place in my world. Things threatening to destroy forever that which is dearest to me.
The story goes that Plato and Socrates were having a conversation about the cycle of life. Socrates said that all things go through a stage of growth, followed by a stage of stability, and finally decay. But Plato said that stability is a myth. He said that living things can only grow or decay. We are either growing or decaying. Donald Miller writes that "everybody has to change or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. I want to keep my soul fertile for changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently." Amen brother.
Pet Donkeys
The first time I met Yanji he was walking his donkeys down the road. I have never seen anyone walk a donkey and I have seen few people love something more than that man loves these two animals. (This is of course other than Skye Humphries who loves swing so much that he dances so hard he throws up).
Yanji is a simple man. Kind of one of those toked out blue collar hippies that is really into permaculture and lives in the middle of a vineyard and dreams of one day living in a solar powered yurt. He spends his days dreaming of the wonders of mycoremediation (which is actually kind of fascinating) and devotes himself to the love of two mules that apparently he inherited from a friend and fell in love with. He couldnt bear to let them go. I learned a lot about donkeys that day. First of all they don't really bray or hee-haw like you see on TV. Its more like a grunt or a bark. Apparently donkeys have very heavy heads and they love it when you hold their heads up for them. It isnt good to have just one donkey either. They rest their heads on each others back in a kind of yin-yang circle of donkey love and affection. The completely wholesome kind of course (dont go see Clerks 2).
Another interesting factoid is that donkeys, much like myself, dont respond well to being yelled at or told what to do. Yanji can only whisper to them and suggest where to go and hope that his boys will eventually decide to join Team Yanji and everyone gets where they need to be.Yanji also pointed out some rather striking similarities between people and donkeys. Murphy and Murray are really very sweet and affectionate except when food is around. Then its like their flesh wakes up and they become these ravenous greedy beasts who knock each other over to get their fair share. In his blue collar hippie vernacular Yanji discourses the likenesses of humans when the corporate carrot of more, better, and different is dangled in front of any of us:
"It's crazy, man. They are all sweet and loving and shit until you pull out the granola and then they don't care anymore, man. It's just like people who work for like, Microsoft or something man."
Deep. Very deep. I guess in the end we are all just a bunch of jackasses.
(I'm sorry I had to.)
Yanji is a simple man. Kind of one of those toked out blue collar hippies that is really into permaculture and lives in the middle of a vineyard and dreams of one day living in a solar powered yurt. He spends his days dreaming of the wonders of mycoremediation (which is actually kind of fascinating) and devotes himself to the love of two mules that apparently he inherited from a friend and fell in love with. He couldnt bear to let them go. I learned a lot about donkeys that day. First of all they don't really bray or hee-haw like you see on TV. Its more like a grunt or a bark. Apparently donkeys have very heavy heads and they love it when you hold their heads up for them. It isnt good to have just one donkey either. They rest their heads on each others back in a kind of yin-yang circle of donkey love and affection. The completely wholesome kind of course (dont go see Clerks 2).
Another interesting factoid is that donkeys, much like myself, dont respond well to being yelled at or told what to do. Yanji can only whisper to them and suggest where to go and hope that his boys will eventually decide to join Team Yanji and everyone gets where they need to be.Yanji also pointed out some rather striking similarities between people and donkeys. Murphy and Murray are really very sweet and affectionate except when food is around. Then its like their flesh wakes up and they become these ravenous greedy beasts who knock each other over to get their fair share. In his blue collar hippie vernacular Yanji discourses the likenesses of humans when the corporate carrot of more, better, and different is dangled in front of any of us:
"It's crazy, man. They are all sweet and loving and shit until you pull out the granola and then they don't care anymore, man. It's just like people who work for like, Microsoft or something man."
Deep. Very deep. I guess in the end we are all just a bunch of jackasses.
(I'm sorry I had to.)
Belly Dancing Grannies
This guy that I work with has a stepmother that is a professional belly dancer. The best part about this is that she is in her late sixties. I've been thinking lately about how I can't wait to be a crazy old lady. Perhaps I will join a burlesque troupe. I don't necessarily want to be senile as I want to be cognoscente of the inappropriate things I am saying to the 19 year old bag boy at Whole Foods. Although I suppose being senile wouldn't be that bad, all the senile people I know seem to be having a lot of fun. Other people feel sorry for you but you don't really know or care why. All you know is that running around the grocery store with your pants around your ankles and showing up to Sunday brunch with blue eyebrows because you can't tell the difference in your eye pencils anymore seems to be a fantastic idea.
My Granny Grace showed me this as she slipped more and more into the sea of dementia that finally engulfed her. The fiery Texan red head who loved to watch professional wrestling and "her stories" now sat in her recliner rocking a baby doll that my mom had brought her. She looked down at the empty eyes of a child's toy and told it that she knew it wasn't real but that she would hold it and rock it and love it just the same. I once heard it said that as we progress nearer to the end of this life we begin to regress back to our youth once again. I think it is God's way of giving us a second chance to be a kid again just in case we missed the first time.
My Granny Grace showed me this as she slipped more and more into the sea of dementia that finally engulfed her. The fiery Texan red head who loved to watch professional wrestling and "her stories" now sat in her recliner rocking a baby doll that my mom had brought her. She looked down at the empty eyes of a child's toy and told it that she knew it wasn't real but that she would hold it and rock it and love it just the same. I once heard it said that as we progress nearer to the end of this life we begin to regress back to our youth once again. I think it is God's way of giving us a second chance to be a kid again just in case we missed the first time.
Hosting Aliens
My friend Leah's cartilage is disintegrating in her hips. She is 3 months preggers and apparently this is what happens when you get pregnant so that your bones can move aside so the baby can come out. You become like Mama Gumby which is completely and totally terrifying concept to me. Leah is one of my best friends and watching her go through all this is somewhat surreal and unsettling to me, but I am kind of glad I can closely observe and know what I am getting into before I get knocked up one day myself. Perhaps the birth process feels so weird and foreign because our modern day culture has been so far removed from the birthing process, or perhaps because one of my best friends has an alien in her body that is taking over and making her boobs bigger and her cartilage disintegrate.
I began thinking the other day about how weird and inevitable and yet fascinating the whole motherhood thing is. You lose your body, your life, your schedule, at times your sanity, and host a foreign object in your body for 9 months that ends up in a lot of pain and throwing up and heartburn for some of it. A woman becomes a true servant it seems at this time. The ultimate sacrifice of mind, body, and soul in order to bring forth life. A vessel for which to carry another human being through the portal into this world. As I grow older and have now found my first gray hair this afternoon at the gym I am beginning to realize how inevitable this whole baby thing is.
I began thinking the other day about how weird and inevitable and yet fascinating the whole motherhood thing is. You lose your body, your life, your schedule, at times your sanity, and host a foreign object in your body for 9 months that ends up in a lot of pain and throwing up and heartburn for some of it. A woman becomes a true servant it seems at this time. The ultimate sacrifice of mind, body, and soul in order to bring forth life. A vessel for which to carry another human being through the portal into this world. As I grow older and have now found my first gray hair this afternoon at the gym I am beginning to realize how inevitable this whole baby thing is.
Amy Warrior Princess
A few years ago in November I did a leadership development seminar in San Diego. Halfway through the week we were taken to the desert and told that our task was to hike to the top of a mountain in silence. We were to find five items on our journey that represented things in our life that we wanted to be rid of and throw them off the top as a symbol of release and surrender.
About ten minutes into the trek two of the guys in the group started running up the hill, and rather than be left behind looking like a loser I started my sprint up a 4,000 foot mountain in the blazing sun. What should have been a personal growth exercise that was intended to help me let go of the past, present, and future had now turned into a Corporate Gladiator contest. I had something to prove and I wanted to prove it. (Thankfully I did get some insight out of the exercise - I realized I would rather almost kill myself than look like I can't keep up with the boys.) The best part was who I was up against: it was the little swing dancer that could from a very high altitude versus an Olympic skier, a football coach, and my favorite, 80's Body Builder Mike.
Body Builder Mike definitely "did not front" as we say in the upstairs annex. Probably in his early fifties, he was wearing those awesome printed pants like the Rex Kwan Do guy in Napoleon Dynamite, a muscle shirt with the sleeves cut off, and had one of the most fantastic mullets I have ever seen in my life. He slowly started to gain on me and I basically thought he was there to pass me up and take my dignity. I thought he was there to prove that I wasn't the fastest and best in the group. But he was a kind gentle man who saw the panic in my eyes as I raced to prove that I was good enough and he asked if we could finish together. He walked beside me and told me it was an honor to do so. Then he told me something I will never forget - that I was a warrior princess.
I laughed and thought of Xena and hairy dwarves at first but then I remembered a prayer I had prayed a while back. One of those seemingly harmless prayers that seem like a good idea at the time but after thinking it through I realize that there is a whole lot more to the bargain than what I thought about. A while back I prayed for God to make me more like David. I was thinking more along the lines of a woman after His own heart, but then one time in the middle of my own personal spiritual Normandy I remembered who David really was. First and foremost he was a warrior-a warrior who spent most of his time being hunted down, fearing for his life, and hiding in caves. Stupid prayer. If anyone ever wonders where I am don't forget to check under the bridge.A wise man once told me that the root of all stress is expectation, when we expect things to look different than the way they turn out. The slings and arrows of misfortune have a tendency to pierce the heart at times and bring with it the pain of self-doubt and rob us of our strength. You love someone who doesn't love you back. You try to accomplish something new and it fails. Businesses bankrupt. Bodies grow old and sick. People we are close to move on and leave us behind. All these things contribute to a deeper wound that we feel some days will never heal. David knew these things all too well. He dealt with more than enough tragedy in his life. But God is faithful, and as David wrote, the Lord heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.
David was one of the most joyful and passionate men in the Bible. He loved God so much that he took off his clothes and danced naked in the streets in worship. (Much to the dismay of his wife of course, hell hath no fury like a woman embarrassed in front of the neighbors). According to Pastor Mark from Elevate, David's secret, "whether hiding in a cave, or dancing in the streets, David let God take care of Him. He understood that children shouldn't tell their parents how to run their lives; parents teach their children how to live. And we are the children of God." Despite the fact that he spent most of his life fearing for it and still occasionally sinning enough to make a Soprano blush, David chose to trust God in all circumstances and lived a long and rich life. He loved God with every step he took and every psalm he wrote, and God blessed him for it. David chose love for his Maker over fear of those that can destroy the body but not the soul. Rather than ask for an easier life he asked to become a stronger person. I also believe David was firmly rooted in his identity in God. He knew he was made in the image of a powerful warrior God, Yahweh Nissi, a loving and terrifying deity who is not safe, but who is good and who is love. When I forget all these things and find myself hiding in caves when no one is after me I simply have to ask myself "who am I?" I am the daughter of a king. I am blessed with every spiritual blessing. I am chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world. I am a queen with an endowment and the beloved of the Most High. I am a warrior princess. I have the fingerprints of God covering my mind and my soul. And so do you. Go forth today and slay the spirits of doubt and fear, and may God provide balm for your wounds, victory in your battles, and streets for you to dance in. And wives for you to embarrass.
About ten minutes into the trek two of the guys in the group started running up the hill, and rather than be left behind looking like a loser I started my sprint up a 4,000 foot mountain in the blazing sun. What should have been a personal growth exercise that was intended to help me let go of the past, present, and future had now turned into a Corporate Gladiator contest. I had something to prove and I wanted to prove it. (Thankfully I did get some insight out of the exercise - I realized I would rather almost kill myself than look like I can't keep up with the boys.) The best part was who I was up against: it was the little swing dancer that could from a very high altitude versus an Olympic skier, a football coach, and my favorite, 80's Body Builder Mike.
Body Builder Mike definitely "did not front" as we say in the upstairs annex. Probably in his early fifties, he was wearing those awesome printed pants like the Rex Kwan Do guy in Napoleon Dynamite, a muscle shirt with the sleeves cut off, and had one of the most fantastic mullets I have ever seen in my life. He slowly started to gain on me and I basically thought he was there to pass me up and take my dignity. I thought he was there to prove that I wasn't the fastest and best in the group. But he was a kind gentle man who saw the panic in my eyes as I raced to prove that I was good enough and he asked if we could finish together. He walked beside me and told me it was an honor to do so. Then he told me something I will never forget - that I was a warrior princess.
I laughed and thought of Xena and hairy dwarves at first but then I remembered a prayer I had prayed a while back. One of those seemingly harmless prayers that seem like a good idea at the time but after thinking it through I realize that there is a whole lot more to the bargain than what I thought about. A while back I prayed for God to make me more like David. I was thinking more along the lines of a woman after His own heart, but then one time in the middle of my own personal spiritual Normandy I remembered who David really was. First and foremost he was a warrior-a warrior who spent most of his time being hunted down, fearing for his life, and hiding in caves. Stupid prayer. If anyone ever wonders where I am don't forget to check under the bridge.A wise man once told me that the root of all stress is expectation, when we expect things to look different than the way they turn out. The slings and arrows of misfortune have a tendency to pierce the heart at times and bring with it the pain of self-doubt and rob us of our strength. You love someone who doesn't love you back. You try to accomplish something new and it fails. Businesses bankrupt. Bodies grow old and sick. People we are close to move on and leave us behind. All these things contribute to a deeper wound that we feel some days will never heal. David knew these things all too well. He dealt with more than enough tragedy in his life. But God is faithful, and as David wrote, the Lord heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.
David was one of the most joyful and passionate men in the Bible. He loved God so much that he took off his clothes and danced naked in the streets in worship. (Much to the dismay of his wife of course, hell hath no fury like a woman embarrassed in front of the neighbors). According to Pastor Mark from Elevate, David's secret, "whether hiding in a cave, or dancing in the streets, David let God take care of Him. He understood that children shouldn't tell their parents how to run their lives; parents teach their children how to live. And we are the children of God." Despite the fact that he spent most of his life fearing for it and still occasionally sinning enough to make a Soprano blush, David chose to trust God in all circumstances and lived a long and rich life. He loved God with every step he took and every psalm he wrote, and God blessed him for it. David chose love for his Maker over fear of those that can destroy the body but not the soul. Rather than ask for an easier life he asked to become a stronger person. I also believe David was firmly rooted in his identity in God. He knew he was made in the image of a powerful warrior God, Yahweh Nissi, a loving and terrifying deity who is not safe, but who is good and who is love. When I forget all these things and find myself hiding in caves when no one is after me I simply have to ask myself "who am I?" I am the daughter of a king. I am blessed with every spiritual blessing. I am chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world. I am a queen with an endowment and the beloved of the Most High. I am a warrior princess. I have the fingerprints of God covering my mind and my soul. And so do you. Go forth today and slay the spirits of doubt and fear, and may God provide balm for your wounds, victory in your battles, and streets for you to dance in. And wives for you to embarrass.
For the Love of Spandex
I am a dancer. I have always been a dancer. When I was little my whole goal in life was to either be a Rockette or Madonna. There are many embarrassing pictures of me as a child in spandex monstrosities from various ice shows and dance recitals. Some of the costumes we used to have to wear should have been reported to the proper authorities as cruelty to children. One of my fondest memories of my Grandpa Hagedorn was always of my interpretative dance in the living room while he played his accordion. I used to pretend that the sparkly ceilings in their house was a part of my set design in Radio City Music Hall.
I am really frustrated with my dancing right now. I know that as with all things in life there are ups and downs and plateaus and learning curves. I know that when I start to suck a little bit it means that I am challenging myself and growing as a dancer. And I have thankfully gotten to the point where I don't need success and acceptance to validate the fact that I am good enough. Last night I was very tired and didn't do very well and it made me regress a little and my self-worth somewhat plummet.
Lately the frustration is that I don't have the time or money to go to lessons or camps or competitions. I am not progressing as fast as I could be. I am not yet a rockstar. When I lived in Denver I danced about 20 hours a week with some of the best dancers in the world. I now live in the middle of lindy-hop-nowhere, the closest venue there is I have to stalk leads to dance with because the guy to girl ratio is a little skewed and we don't have enough lesbians to balance it out. I also tend to get overwhelmed and start to catastrophize sometimes. There is just so much to learn and so much to master. I still need to memorize Dean Collin's Shim Sham, the Tranky Doo, Wabash Blues and master the Big Apple enough so I can teach it. Most of you don't know what any of that means and that's okay.
So basically I am also too tall and weigh too much. This has always been my story in my world of dance and figure skating. It's not that I think I am fat by any stretch of the imagination; it's just that things that weigh less are easier to toss around. And perhaps it's also that the dance world seems to be filled with tiny little girls who weigh 80 lbs, and when you throw me into the mix, the song one of these things is not like the others begins to play in everyone's head. I come from a long line of strapping German farm women that were not meant for Broadway or Disney on Ice. My buns of steel weigh a heck of a lot more than most people think. Cheryl my naturopath told me that I have such big shoulders and a load bearing frame so I can bear heavy burdens. This has come in handy more often than not. Unfortunately this has cut my career as a pairs skater very short being as though most American Gladiators wouldn't be caught dead in sequined spandex pants. Except for a little known Gladiator named "Flair" of course.
As always I like to look at the esoteric implications of all this. Perhaps maybe it's not that I need to be less but that I need people in my life that can be more. And maybe they really can lift me I just don't let them. I have a really hard time letting people help carry my burdens. I guess it's because I think I am too much and not enough all at the same time.
Okay Jesus here's what I need. I need a dance and teaching partner that lives near me who is strapping and beefcake and can toss me around. I would also like him to be a rockstar but without the attitude. Basically I want Peter Strom with Scott Russell's personality and he needs to live in Occidental and be hecka good at collegiate shag. If anyone could get that arranged that would be fantastic. I would also like a world class dance troupe that I could compete with that meets in my living room and doesn't have a 120 lb. weight limit. I would like to be the costume designer of course if at all possible. And I need lots of money so I can go to at least 1 camp/competition per month. That will be all.
I am really frustrated with my dancing right now. I know that as with all things in life there are ups and downs and plateaus and learning curves. I know that when I start to suck a little bit it means that I am challenging myself and growing as a dancer. And I have thankfully gotten to the point where I don't need success and acceptance to validate the fact that I am good enough. Last night I was very tired and didn't do very well and it made me regress a little and my self-worth somewhat plummet.
Lately the frustration is that I don't have the time or money to go to lessons or camps or competitions. I am not progressing as fast as I could be. I am not yet a rockstar. When I lived in Denver I danced about 20 hours a week with some of the best dancers in the world. I now live in the middle of lindy-hop-nowhere, the closest venue there is I have to stalk leads to dance with because the guy to girl ratio is a little skewed and we don't have enough lesbians to balance it out. I also tend to get overwhelmed and start to catastrophize sometimes. There is just so much to learn and so much to master. I still need to memorize Dean Collin's Shim Sham, the Tranky Doo, Wabash Blues and master the Big Apple enough so I can teach it. Most of you don't know what any of that means and that's okay.
So basically I am also too tall and weigh too much. This has always been my story in my world of dance and figure skating. It's not that I think I am fat by any stretch of the imagination; it's just that things that weigh less are easier to toss around. And perhaps it's also that the dance world seems to be filled with tiny little girls who weigh 80 lbs, and when you throw me into the mix, the song one of these things is not like the others begins to play in everyone's head. I come from a long line of strapping German farm women that were not meant for Broadway or Disney on Ice. My buns of steel weigh a heck of a lot more than most people think. Cheryl my naturopath told me that I have such big shoulders and a load bearing frame so I can bear heavy burdens. This has come in handy more often than not. Unfortunately this has cut my career as a pairs skater very short being as though most American Gladiators wouldn't be caught dead in sequined spandex pants. Except for a little known Gladiator named "Flair" of course.
As always I like to look at the esoteric implications of all this. Perhaps maybe it's not that I need to be less but that I need people in my life that can be more. And maybe they really can lift me I just don't let them. I have a really hard time letting people help carry my burdens. I guess it's because I think I am too much and not enough all at the same time.
Okay Jesus here's what I need. I need a dance and teaching partner that lives near me who is strapping and beefcake and can toss me around. I would also like him to be a rockstar but without the attitude. Basically I want Peter Strom with Scott Russell's personality and he needs to live in Occidental and be hecka good at collegiate shag. If anyone could get that arranged that would be fantastic. I would also like a world class dance troupe that I could compete with that meets in my living room and doesn't have a 120 lb. weight limit. I would like to be the costume designer of course if at all possible. And I need lots of money so I can go to at least 1 camp/competition per month. That will be all.
On the Clintons (that’s what she said)
So Hillary Clinton friended me on Myspace the other day and I got great impervious joy out of clicking the deny button with authority. I can't stand Hillary Clinton. I don't know her, I have never met her, and I am sorry but I really don't like her. Anyone who supports the killing of babies AND would stay with a man who cheats on you repeatedly on national television in front of the entire free world is either stupid or really really stupid. But I think what I dislike the most about Hillary Clinton is that she is what I could have very easily become had God allowed me to continue on the Corporate Cutthroat Killer highway that I was careening down in my early twenties. This frightens me most of all. I do admit that she does have a reputation of getting stuff done which I do admire. She has accomplished a lot. She gets it done and doesn't take any prisoners. Apparently she does this by cutting off her emotions.
She was quoted in Newsweek as saying that "emotions are not very logical and I try to avoid them as much as I can." Ouch. Ouch because I have said that many many times. Ouch because if I become anything like Hillary I will kill myself. I can literally feel myself swallowing my feelings sometimes. They feel like a tiny hurricane going down my throat and into my stomach. I am afraid of what they will do there or what permanent damage they are causing to my body sometimes. I think that's where my ulcer came from. I also have problems crying very similar to Cameron Diaz in The Holiday. I want to cry, but the tears won't come out. Something is blocking them. And usually it's just when I'm alone in my room with Babar and Big Fish so it's not like I am not in an emotionally safe environment. I have heard that emotions buried alive never die. They just claw the frozen vegetables like Sprinkles.
I think that perhaps Hillary is also responsible for her husbands man-whorish behavior. Turns out Bill is apparently a bit of a supporter. A touchy-feely-flirty-charismatic kind of a guy. This doesn't go well with a maneater like Hil. Apparently he spends a lot of his time finagling seating charts at fundraisers so he can sit next to babes like Sharon Stone and in long lines of well-wishers hugging and kissing anyone who wants to love him while Hillary stands by the car looking at her watch lest someone try to pervade her personal space. Sounds like someone I know very well. Maybe she drove him into the arms of other women. Many many other women. I suddenly just remembered the time my friend Terrence told me that I put out a "vicious maneater vibe." Ouch. Maybe that's because I kind of have a reputation for eating players for breakfast. Just kidding. No not really.
I just put on my little power pantsuit and I become a Jan Levinson-Gould stone cold killer. I don't want to be a stone cold killer but seriously sometimes I feel like that is the only way I can survive in this world full of men in which I live. One of my defense mechanisms is that I look at relationships in business terms. I like to analyze the calculated risk and return on investment of this boy versus that boy. I refer to DTRs as contract negotiations. I feel like when I take the emotion out of things, my vision gets a little clearer.
I guess Corporate America taught me how to man up in more ways than one. I know how to communicate and negotiate and kick ass and take names and hang out with the boys. But freakin' a. Sometimes I just want to be a girl and be irrational and cry and freak out over nothing and scream when things scare me (wow, look at me the huge gender stereotypist). Unfortunately I tend to look at vulnerability as a sign of weakness within myself. I feel like when I am vulnerable I am just asking for it. I do a pretty crappy job guarding my heart sometimes too so I am sure that doesn't do a whole lot for my cause. I just keep getting my heart broken, and honestly it is barely holding on by a thread. Has anyone seen the duct tape?
Please God just don't give me a husband like Bill Clinton. I promise I'll be good.
She was quoted in Newsweek as saying that "emotions are not very logical and I try to avoid them as much as I can." Ouch. Ouch because I have said that many many times. Ouch because if I become anything like Hillary I will kill myself. I can literally feel myself swallowing my feelings sometimes. They feel like a tiny hurricane going down my throat and into my stomach. I am afraid of what they will do there or what permanent damage they are causing to my body sometimes. I think that's where my ulcer came from. I also have problems crying very similar to Cameron Diaz in The Holiday. I want to cry, but the tears won't come out. Something is blocking them. And usually it's just when I'm alone in my room with Babar and Big Fish so it's not like I am not in an emotionally safe environment. I have heard that emotions buried alive never die. They just claw the frozen vegetables like Sprinkles.
I think that perhaps Hillary is also responsible for her husbands man-whorish behavior. Turns out Bill is apparently a bit of a supporter. A touchy-feely-flirty-charismatic kind of a guy. This doesn't go well with a maneater like Hil. Apparently he spends a lot of his time finagling seating charts at fundraisers so he can sit next to babes like Sharon Stone and in long lines of well-wishers hugging and kissing anyone who wants to love him while Hillary stands by the car looking at her watch lest someone try to pervade her personal space. Sounds like someone I know very well. Maybe she drove him into the arms of other women. Many many other women. I suddenly just remembered the time my friend Terrence told me that I put out a "vicious maneater vibe." Ouch. Maybe that's because I kind of have a reputation for eating players for breakfast. Just kidding. No not really.
I just put on my little power pantsuit and I become a Jan Levinson-Gould stone cold killer. I don't want to be a stone cold killer but seriously sometimes I feel like that is the only way I can survive in this world full of men in which I live. One of my defense mechanisms is that I look at relationships in business terms. I like to analyze the calculated risk and return on investment of this boy versus that boy. I refer to DTRs as contract negotiations. I feel like when I take the emotion out of things, my vision gets a little clearer.
I guess Corporate America taught me how to man up in more ways than one. I know how to communicate and negotiate and kick ass and take names and hang out with the boys. But freakin' a. Sometimes I just want to be a girl and be irrational and cry and freak out over nothing and scream when things scare me (wow, look at me the huge gender stereotypist). Unfortunately I tend to look at vulnerability as a sign of weakness within myself. I feel like when I am vulnerable I am just asking for it. I do a pretty crappy job guarding my heart sometimes too so I am sure that doesn't do a whole lot for my cause. I just keep getting my heart broken, and honestly it is barely holding on by a thread. Has anyone seen the duct tape?
Please God just don't give me a husband like Bill Clinton. I promise I'll be good.
You can’t fart while hanging upside down, & other reflections on a very Hagedorn/Mazzocco Xmas
My dad has this inversion table that you hang upside down on and that's what he yelled at my mom one day from the other room. Through further research I am able to confirm that the above statement is true. I got probably the best present ever this year. My niece Hayley made me a picture frame with a poem inside it about believing in yourself and she sewed buttons on the handmade paper. The best part was that she wrote me the sweetest letter in 14 year old hand writing with txt abbreviations that told me that she misses me and is sad that I am so far away but that she is happy that I love it in Cali. She said that she wants to move there with me some day and that she looks up to me more than anyone and that she feels like I am the one that understands her the most even in her "disfuncktional times." I am completely biased but I truly believe that I have the three most beautiful nieces in the whole wide world. They are hilarious and a little quirky too which is an added bonus. They get that from Auntie.
I will be in the ATL for approximately 8 days this Christmas. I will put money on the fact that I will go to the mall 6 out of the 8 days while I am here, including the flea market which is the redneck mall extravaganza. Lurlene's Secret here I come. They sell trashy lingerie at the flea market right nextdoor to the Confederate Flag Outlet which gives me a measured amount of dark glee. It's the same warm feeling I get inside when I see a really ugly dog. I am swimming in a sea of consumerism I feel. I just got back from a place where most of the people don't have enough food to eat and all I can think of as I look around me in the mall is that I am not as pretty as all the girls I see on the advertisements, and that I need to stop eating and buy something sparkly to make myself more attractive to men that I don't want in the first place. This is the battle my nieces don't even know they are fighting. Yuck yuck. I have every confidence that they will win. They are fighters. It comes from the Wrestlemania that ensues over such things as borrowing clothes and sharing bathrooms when you have 3 sisters. Last night Ericka had Hayley in a hammerlock over a black cardigan. Needless to say we were late to church.
I compulsively check my myspace when I am here. I don't know if it's because I have been away for a month, which was kind of nice, or because I crave some kind of connection to my peers and friends back home. I have officially cut myself off to once a day. My nieces got a karaoke game for Christmas and I have learned many lyrics to some songs that I never really listened to. Hate Me by Blue October is all about my boyfriend Punk Rock Bill and I's relationship. Right now my brother-in-law is playing a warcraft computer game that has a woman that sounds like a Speak and Spell. Or as I like to call them, Speak Like the Devil. Very crazy. More reflections to come.
I will be in the ATL for approximately 8 days this Christmas. I will put money on the fact that I will go to the mall 6 out of the 8 days while I am here, including the flea market which is the redneck mall extravaganza. Lurlene's Secret here I come. They sell trashy lingerie at the flea market right nextdoor to the Confederate Flag Outlet which gives me a measured amount of dark glee. It's the same warm feeling I get inside when I see a really ugly dog. I am swimming in a sea of consumerism I feel. I just got back from a place where most of the people don't have enough food to eat and all I can think of as I look around me in the mall is that I am not as pretty as all the girls I see on the advertisements, and that I need to stop eating and buy something sparkly to make myself more attractive to men that I don't want in the first place. This is the battle my nieces don't even know they are fighting. Yuck yuck. I have every confidence that they will win. They are fighters. It comes from the Wrestlemania that ensues over such things as borrowing clothes and sharing bathrooms when you have 3 sisters. Last night Ericka had Hayley in a hammerlock over a black cardigan. Needless to say we were late to church.
I compulsively check my myspace when I am here. I don't know if it's because I have been away for a month, which was kind of nice, or because I crave some kind of connection to my peers and friends back home. I have officially cut myself off to once a day. My nieces got a karaoke game for Christmas and I have learned many lyrics to some songs that I never really listened to. Hate Me by Blue October is all about my boyfriend Punk Rock Bill and I's relationship. Right now my brother-in-law is playing a warcraft computer game that has a woman that sounds like a Speak and Spell. Or as I like to call them, Speak Like the Devil. Very crazy. More reflections to come.
Navigating a linear universe from the cockpit of my right brain.
I am going to take this opportunity to share with you all how my brain really works and a look into my internal dialogue. This is what my writing and my thoughts and my brain really look like. I have grown really good at translating them to people that are not my kind. The right brained kind. I really wish I could meet Donald Miller for the express purpose of having a conversation in which I don't have to convert things in my brain so that they make sense to other people. My thoughts are like swallows dive-bombing people. I get bored easily. I have a very active imagination and brain though so that helps. I need a lot of intellectual stimulation to keep me occupied. That's where the party in my head comes from. Julie named it that, for the times where you look at me and I am by myself with no one around but I am laughing about something. I am very entertaining if to no one else but to myself. Also my Wonderbra is cutting off my circulation. Small price to pay.
Look it's a chicken! Oh wait, I'm not at home.
I told someone out here that I was a democrat and thought I was going to get taken out back. Lord please prepare our sister Amy for the butt whoopin she is about to receive. Everyone here is really racist. Particularly certain members of my family. The members of my family that make me want to eat carbs.
I have to cover up my Hollister flair with tiny buttons that my friend Jeff from dancing made me. I like Jeff because he is very creative and talented and his last name is Ho and his girlfriend's name is Heidi. This brings much joy to my heart. Anyway back to overpriced teenybopper stores. Hollister cracks me the hell up because it's all surf culture Abercrombie wannabe stuff but they have live streaming video of Huntington Beach (which is really far south) and Hollister California is hecka inland. There are no beaches anywhere near there. I tell this to all the disillusioned youth in the store and ask them if they really want to support a company that lies to them by continuing to purchase their $80 hoochie jean skirts. The answer is usually blank stares. I can rationalize shopping there because I know the truth.
I have been rather grouchy lately, this happens when I have spent 2 consecutive months constantly with people with no Amy time. But I find joy in the small things, like the fact that tonight I blowdryed my hair with a leopard print Hilary Duff hairdryer. Also watching my brother-in-law trying to, and I quote, "feng shui" the living room brings even more joy to my heart. I don't even try to help I just watch and smile. He actually does a pretty good job.
Greater love is none other than this, that I would fry the flesh of swine for my gorgeous nieces to eat on a Saturday morning. And with a smile on my face nonetheless. I have burnt the bacon. Let's try this again with the help of my domestic comrade George Foreman. I don't think there would be a chance in hell that I could ever get married if it wasn't for the invention of the George Foreman grill. My family would starve. We are watching Planet Earth right now. My youngest niece Hayley makes me fastforward through the hunting scenes. She squeals with fright as she chomps on her bacon and watches the baby warthog get taken out.
THe k-5 puggles served communion today in church. It was adorable. Preacher says we need to build stones on the other side of the Jordan so that the children will remember and ask about God. He asked if the child who served me had followed me around all week would they have seen Jesus. I hope so. I have decided to delete all the songs on my Barbie ipod that are about rescuing your addict boyfriend. We are past that now. It is a new day. It has been a new day for many years but it is time to not think about the dark ages anymore.
My mom and dad have this tiny Jack Russell terrier that hides in my dad's armpit when it thunders outside. My dad said my mom needs her for protection when he is out of town. Roxy is about as worthless as my friend Julie's doberman who runs and hides behind her legs anytime someone rings the doorbell.
Sometimes I feel like I am the divorced kid whenever I come to Georgia. My sister is the fun parent. My mom is the bitter parent who snoops through my stuff and reads my emails and talks trash about the other parent. My sister apologized for getting married while I was so young and abandoning me, and not protecting me from our mother. She said it best, that we don't have a mother, we have a daughter named Liz. It is what it is. I am paranoid that she will find out my secrets. She had a good cry about it. I think I managed to squeeze one out.
We were in the mall the other day and I heard one of Jewel's remixes from the pop album she got so much flack about it. I am a die hard Jewel fan. She is my kindred spirit. I am very anti putting people in a creative box. Who am I to squelch and limit her creative expression? Same with Gwen Stefani. I think it's like the artistic equivalent of putting a Big Bird harness on one of the poor little kids running around the mall. Let the puggles run free! I think there are some people in South Africa that would have liked to put one of those on me. I am a free spirit. I don't like rules or being confined.
We spent New Year's at my sister's preacher's house shooting off about $500 worth of illegal fireworks in the front yard. It was a blasty blast. Then we went in and watched the British Santa almost kill himself on a giant jump. I was sitting next to another preacher who was my age and very trendy. We were making fun of the 40-something Sportscasters wearing Mossimo metallic splatter painted t-shirts with a striped velvet popped collar blazer on top. I really wish I lived here so I could go to his church. We played Catchphrase and everyone but me was in their late 30s and early 40s when apparently you start to go blind. Imagine having to get your 11 year old child to help mommy read the clue "jock itch" so that the game can continue.
I made a comment about a soccer mom wallet I got for Christmas and the preacher's wife asked my sister who this skinny young thing was and who invited her to the party to make fun of their wallets. I was almost as afraid at that moment as when my family found out that I am a Democrat. And just like that I will end with no wrap up or conclusion.
*If you have not seen Larry the Cable Guy's Politically Correct Christmas it is a must-Youtube.
Look it's a chicken! Oh wait, I'm not at home.
I told someone out here that I was a democrat and thought I was going to get taken out back. Lord please prepare our sister Amy for the butt whoopin she is about to receive. Everyone here is really racist. Particularly certain members of my family. The members of my family that make me want to eat carbs.
I have to cover up my Hollister flair with tiny buttons that my friend Jeff from dancing made me. I like Jeff because he is very creative and talented and his last name is Ho and his girlfriend's name is Heidi. This brings much joy to my heart. Anyway back to overpriced teenybopper stores. Hollister cracks me the hell up because it's all surf culture Abercrombie wannabe stuff but they have live streaming video of Huntington Beach (which is really far south) and Hollister California is hecka inland. There are no beaches anywhere near there. I tell this to all the disillusioned youth in the store and ask them if they really want to support a company that lies to them by continuing to purchase their $80 hoochie jean skirts. The answer is usually blank stares. I can rationalize shopping there because I know the truth.
I have been rather grouchy lately, this happens when I have spent 2 consecutive months constantly with people with no Amy time. But I find joy in the small things, like the fact that tonight I blowdryed my hair with a leopard print Hilary Duff hairdryer. Also watching my brother-in-law trying to, and I quote, "feng shui" the living room brings even more joy to my heart. I don't even try to help I just watch and smile. He actually does a pretty good job.
Greater love is none other than this, that I would fry the flesh of swine for my gorgeous nieces to eat on a Saturday morning. And with a smile on my face nonetheless. I have burnt the bacon. Let's try this again with the help of my domestic comrade George Foreman. I don't think there would be a chance in hell that I could ever get married if it wasn't for the invention of the George Foreman grill. My family would starve. We are watching Planet Earth right now. My youngest niece Hayley makes me fastforward through the hunting scenes. She squeals with fright as she chomps on her bacon and watches the baby warthog get taken out.
THe k-5 puggles served communion today in church. It was adorable. Preacher says we need to build stones on the other side of the Jordan so that the children will remember and ask about God. He asked if the child who served me had followed me around all week would they have seen Jesus. I hope so. I have decided to delete all the songs on my Barbie ipod that are about rescuing your addict boyfriend. We are past that now. It is a new day. It has been a new day for many years but it is time to not think about the dark ages anymore.
My mom and dad have this tiny Jack Russell terrier that hides in my dad's armpit when it thunders outside. My dad said my mom needs her for protection when he is out of town. Roxy is about as worthless as my friend Julie's doberman who runs and hides behind her legs anytime someone rings the doorbell.
Sometimes I feel like I am the divorced kid whenever I come to Georgia. My sister is the fun parent. My mom is the bitter parent who snoops through my stuff and reads my emails and talks trash about the other parent. My sister apologized for getting married while I was so young and abandoning me, and not protecting me from our mother. She said it best, that we don't have a mother, we have a daughter named Liz. It is what it is. I am paranoid that she will find out my secrets. She had a good cry about it. I think I managed to squeeze one out.
We were in the mall the other day and I heard one of Jewel's remixes from the pop album she got so much flack about it. I am a die hard Jewel fan. She is my kindred spirit. I am very anti putting people in a creative box. Who am I to squelch and limit her creative expression? Same with Gwen Stefani. I think it's like the artistic equivalent of putting a Big Bird harness on one of the poor little kids running around the mall. Let the puggles run free! I think there are some people in South Africa that would have liked to put one of those on me. I am a free spirit. I don't like rules or being confined.
We spent New Year's at my sister's preacher's house shooting off about $500 worth of illegal fireworks in the front yard. It was a blasty blast. Then we went in and watched the British Santa almost kill himself on a giant jump. I was sitting next to another preacher who was my age and very trendy. We were making fun of the 40-something Sportscasters wearing Mossimo metallic splatter painted t-shirts with a striped velvet popped collar blazer on top. I really wish I lived here so I could go to his church. We played Catchphrase and everyone but me was in their late 30s and early 40s when apparently you start to go blind. Imagine having to get your 11 year old child to help mommy read the clue "jock itch" so that the game can continue.
I made a comment about a soccer mom wallet I got for Christmas and the preacher's wife asked my sister who this skinny young thing was and who invited her to the party to make fun of their wallets. I was almost as afraid at that moment as when my family found out that I am a Democrat. And just like that I will end with no wrap up or conclusion.
*If you have not seen Larry the Cable Guy's Politically Correct Christmas it is a must-Youtube.
Mommies, Theology and Refrigerator Magnets
I found faith on the floor of the laundry room today. Literally. We have these word magnets on our fridge that are rather theological in nature. They came with my mandatory Jesus face t-shirt and Jesus fish that I got when I became a Christian. Faith is kind of dirty. Faith has been stepped on. Faith has probably gotten beer spilt on it too. Faith is bent and the edges are peeling off. But Faith still sticks on the fridge. It still holds on and completes the haikus and random sentences that come to my brain as I stand in front of the fridge trying to wake up in the morning.
Faith has been a recurring theme in my life. After much prodding and pushing, God has me right where He wants me. Nice and wrecked. I am happy to say that I have officially come to the end of myself. My decrepid, parasite-lovin body, my dancing that has been dormant for 2 years, my poverty, my lack of ability to create said fantastic relationship which frankly I am rather sick of thinking and talking about and will promise from here on out to never mention again....I am sorry my faithful readers have to keep reading about this recurring theme in my life but hey, you brought this upon yourselves. You're the ones that clicked on my clever title. I know it's hard to resist my shameless self-marketing ploys. :) But I digress.
I was reading my Bible this morning which I haven't done in quite a while. I was getting to the point where I was doing it more out of compliance rather than commitment so I knew I had to take a break. Compliance is based out of fear whereas commitment is based out of love. I have realized lately I still live in an unhealthy fear of God. A fear where if I don't perform or be perfect things just won't work out quite right. That or I will be smited. I don't want to live that way anymore. I was reading Lk 1:1-12. I must have read it 15 times.
Luke 11-4
"So many others have tried their hand at putting together a story of the wonderful harvest of Scripture and history that took place among us, using reports handed down by the original eyewitnesses who served this Word with their very lives. Since I have investigated all the reports in close detail, starting from the story's beginning, I decided to write it all out for you, most honorable Theophilus, so you can know beyond the shadow of a doubt the reliability of what you were taught.
A Childless Couple Conceives
5During the rule of Herod, King of Judea, there was a priest assigned service in the regiment of Abijah. His name was Zachariah. His wife was descended from the daughters of Aaron. Her name was Elizabeth. 6Together they lived honorably before God, careful in keeping to the ways of the commandments and enjoying a clear conscience before God. 7But they were childless because Elizabeth could never conceive, and now they were quite old. 8It so happened that as Zachariah was carrying out his priestly duties before God, working the shift assigned to his regiment, it came his one turn in life to enter the sanctuary of God and burn incense. 9The congregation was gathered and praying outside the Temple at the hour of the incense offering. 11Unannounced, an angel of God appeared just to the right of the altar of incense. 12And Zachariah was paralyzed with fear."
I kept reading verse 6 over and over. I'm afraid it's because I'm not Jesusy enough that I don't have kids. But they didn't have kids either. And they were blameless in the sight of the Lord. And they didn't even know Jesus yet. Maybe an angel of the Lord will visit me soon. And maybe, if my theories of late are correct, having kids is going to look very different for me. For the past 4 years God has really been putting it on my heart that I need to go work in an AIDS orphanage. I never thought this was plausible or possible for that matter, and then a month ago I find myself standing in one face to face with the children I am to love and serve and sleeping next to the daughter of the woman who runs the place for a whole week and having her tell me she wants me to come live with them.
I don't know if I can or will ever have kids of my own. But I do know I will be a mother. I am just realizing now that my children may have been born to others and be infected with a terrible disease and live thousands of miles away. And they are waiting for me to come and wash their faces and sing them to sleep. The past few days I find myself mourning for children I have never met. Children that have not died but will soon. Children that may die in my arms, whose hands I will hold as they give up their spirits to the one who made them. And I will smile through my tears as the angels rejoice that a citizen of heaven has returned home. And that this child who has suffered so much in this life may have joy in the next.
Is this my future? Is this my fate? Must I go alone? I'm afraid. I am really afraid but I am available and willing God. I am willing to be obedient to the call that has been placed on my life. What else can I do? I have peace now. And I have faith. And they are both where they belong back on the refrigerator.
Faith has been a recurring theme in my life. After much prodding and pushing, God has me right where He wants me. Nice and wrecked. I am happy to say that I have officially come to the end of myself. My decrepid, parasite-lovin body, my dancing that has been dormant for 2 years, my poverty, my lack of ability to create said fantastic relationship which frankly I am rather sick of thinking and talking about and will promise from here on out to never mention again....I am sorry my faithful readers have to keep reading about this recurring theme in my life but hey, you brought this upon yourselves. You're the ones that clicked on my clever title. I know it's hard to resist my shameless self-marketing ploys. :) But I digress.
I was reading my Bible this morning which I haven't done in quite a while. I was getting to the point where I was doing it more out of compliance rather than commitment so I knew I had to take a break. Compliance is based out of fear whereas commitment is based out of love. I have realized lately I still live in an unhealthy fear of God. A fear where if I don't perform or be perfect things just won't work out quite right. That or I will be smited. I don't want to live that way anymore. I was reading Lk 1:1-12. I must have read it 15 times.
Luke 11-4
"So many others have tried their hand at putting together a story of the wonderful harvest of Scripture and history that took place among us, using reports handed down by the original eyewitnesses who served this Word with their very lives. Since I have investigated all the reports in close detail, starting from the story's beginning, I decided to write it all out for you, most honorable Theophilus, so you can know beyond the shadow of a doubt the reliability of what you were taught.
A Childless Couple Conceives
5During the rule of Herod, King of Judea, there was a priest assigned service in the regiment of Abijah. His name was Zachariah. His wife was descended from the daughters of Aaron. Her name was Elizabeth. 6Together they lived honorably before God, careful in keeping to the ways of the commandments and enjoying a clear conscience before God. 7But they were childless because Elizabeth could never conceive, and now they were quite old. 8It so happened that as Zachariah was carrying out his priestly duties before God, working the shift assigned to his regiment, it came his one turn in life to enter the sanctuary of God and burn incense. 9The congregation was gathered and praying outside the Temple at the hour of the incense offering. 11Unannounced, an angel of God appeared just to the right of the altar of incense. 12And Zachariah was paralyzed with fear."
I kept reading verse 6 over and over. I'm afraid it's because I'm not Jesusy enough that I don't have kids. But they didn't have kids either. And they were blameless in the sight of the Lord. And they didn't even know Jesus yet. Maybe an angel of the Lord will visit me soon. And maybe, if my theories of late are correct, having kids is going to look very different for me. For the past 4 years God has really been putting it on my heart that I need to go work in an AIDS orphanage. I never thought this was plausible or possible for that matter, and then a month ago I find myself standing in one face to face with the children I am to love and serve and sleeping next to the daughter of the woman who runs the place for a whole week and having her tell me she wants me to come live with them.
I don't know if I can or will ever have kids of my own. But I do know I will be a mother. I am just realizing now that my children may have been born to others and be infected with a terrible disease and live thousands of miles away. And they are waiting for me to come and wash their faces and sing them to sleep. The past few days I find myself mourning for children I have never met. Children that have not died but will soon. Children that may die in my arms, whose hands I will hold as they give up their spirits to the one who made them. And I will smile through my tears as the angels rejoice that a citizen of heaven has returned home. And that this child who has suffered so much in this life may have joy in the next.
Is this my future? Is this my fate? Must I go alone? I'm afraid. I am really afraid but I am available and willing God. I am willing to be obedient to the call that has been placed on my life. What else can I do? I have peace now. And I have faith. And they are both where they belong back on the refrigerator.
The Product of a Cover Girl Environment
My friend Sarah didn't wear makeup or jewelry for 2 months to help her realize that her beauty and worth does not come from outward adornment but through her worth in Christ Jesus. I really wanted to do that too. Actually I really don't want to do it but God told me I have to. She said it brings freedom though, and I want freedom. I am afraid but I am committed. I know it will be hard for me and I don't know why. I guess I have always been the pretty girl and if I am not pretty than what am I? Where does true beauty come from? I know where but I am not willing to acknowledge it at this time. I wonder who will still think I am pretty when I am not all painted. Will boys still hug me and tell me I am beautiful? Will the little girls at camp still look up to me and tell me I am pretty? And why do I care about any of these things? The following is part of my journey in written word.
Day 7
I have found myself bargaining with God, promising to feed the poor and devote the rest of my life to widows and orphans for a little bit of concealer and some eyebrow-slicker-downer. I am embarassed about how difficult this last week has been for me. How much I base my self worth on my appearance. How I know better than to worry about these things, and yet I do. How hard I am on myself and how that is one of the first things that a lot of people notice when they start getting to know me. Sarah said doing this would bring me freedom. Right now I think I am just starting to acknowledge the fact that a prison cell exists in the first place. The name of the prison is vanity and insecurity.
Day 15
I am feeling less and less beautiful as the days go by. I think this must be part of a refining process. Every morning at work I go into the little girls' room and stand in front of the mirror during their cabin cleanup to make sure they are doing a good job. I stand under bad flourescent lighting that makes me look much older than I am. You can see the dark circles under my eyes that I usually hide with lots of concealer. They come from being very tired. From crying late at night from my still very broken heart. From worry about the future. From allergies I inherited from my mother. My skin is broken out and I feel like all people see are the imperfections. That is all that I can see. My cheeks feel naked without the sparkly danglies that usually adorn them. But it is nice to not have to wake up 15 minutes earlier. I don't feel like I have to look perfect or put together. I have been on time to work a lot more lately. Getting dressed is easier. I usually stick with the first outfit I put on. But I don't know if this comes from resignation and apathy or a slow acceptance of the lessons God is teaching me through all of this. I thought this would be getting easier by now but I still have plenty of thoughts that I probably shouldn't have when I look in the mirror. I never thought I was that girl. I don't like being that girl.
Day 20
Things are getting better, I don't worry as much about people thinking I am an ugly duckling. I know they probably don't but I have a hard time believing the postive things people say to me. That sounds really bad to say it out loud but this article I am writing needs to be real and honest. Brutally honest. Sometimes just brutal. I feel like I am not really learning that much about my inner beauty or developing more self-confidence or any of the other things that I thought would have come by this time. I am over half way done on my 40 day battle of epic proportions. I don't think as much about blowing the whole thing but it definitely comes to mind more often than I would like to admit. I feel like it doesn't fit sometimes, I am dressed up but my face is not dressed up. It feels a little raw and misplaced. Being in the South last week was interesting. Atlanta is a lot like LA when it comes to image and fake tans and fake boobs and lots of make-up and designer expensive clothes. The big difference though is not everyone is as health conscious so they are all very overweight and most of them smoke. I know I don't belong in the ATL so it didn't really bother me that much. I don't feel like I have to be as pretty as my sister anymore. My nieces think they are fat and worry about going to the grocery store without eyeliner on because God forbid there might be a cute food bagger. It hurts my heart and I wonder if they got any of that from me.
Day 7
I have found myself bargaining with God, promising to feed the poor and devote the rest of my life to widows and orphans for a little bit of concealer and some eyebrow-slicker-downer. I am embarassed about how difficult this last week has been for me. How much I base my self worth on my appearance. How I know better than to worry about these things, and yet I do. How hard I am on myself and how that is one of the first things that a lot of people notice when they start getting to know me. Sarah said doing this would bring me freedom. Right now I think I am just starting to acknowledge the fact that a prison cell exists in the first place. The name of the prison is vanity and insecurity.
Day 15
I am feeling less and less beautiful as the days go by. I think this must be part of a refining process. Every morning at work I go into the little girls' room and stand in front of the mirror during their cabin cleanup to make sure they are doing a good job. I stand under bad flourescent lighting that makes me look much older than I am. You can see the dark circles under my eyes that I usually hide with lots of concealer. They come from being very tired. From crying late at night from my still very broken heart. From worry about the future. From allergies I inherited from my mother. My skin is broken out and I feel like all people see are the imperfections. That is all that I can see. My cheeks feel naked without the sparkly danglies that usually adorn them. But it is nice to not have to wake up 15 minutes earlier. I don't feel like I have to look perfect or put together. I have been on time to work a lot more lately. Getting dressed is easier. I usually stick with the first outfit I put on. But I don't know if this comes from resignation and apathy or a slow acceptance of the lessons God is teaching me through all of this. I thought this would be getting easier by now but I still have plenty of thoughts that I probably shouldn't have when I look in the mirror. I never thought I was that girl. I don't like being that girl.
Day 20
Things are getting better, I don't worry as much about people thinking I am an ugly duckling. I know they probably don't but I have a hard time believing the postive things people say to me. That sounds really bad to say it out loud but this article I am writing needs to be real and honest. Brutally honest. Sometimes just brutal. I feel like I am not really learning that much about my inner beauty or developing more self-confidence or any of the other things that I thought would have come by this time. I am over half way done on my 40 day battle of epic proportions. I don't think as much about blowing the whole thing but it definitely comes to mind more often than I would like to admit. I feel like it doesn't fit sometimes, I am dressed up but my face is not dressed up. It feels a little raw and misplaced. Being in the South last week was interesting. Atlanta is a lot like LA when it comes to image and fake tans and fake boobs and lots of make-up and designer expensive clothes. The big difference though is not everyone is as health conscious so they are all very overweight and most of them smoke. I know I don't belong in the ATL so it didn't really bother me that much. I don't feel like I have to be as pretty as my sister anymore. My nieces think they are fat and worry about going to the grocery store without eyeliner on because God forbid there might be a cute food bagger. It hurts my heart and I wonder if they got any of that from me.
It is what it is.
This is one of my favorite sayings. Mantras even. It is hard to formulate a denotative definition that other people can grasp other than just repeating the phrase over and over.
It is what it is.
Amy, what the hell does that mean?
I don't know. It just is what it is.
Things are what they are. It is my way of saying that there are things in this world that I cannot change and that I understand that they are still there and that they will be there when I wake up tomorrow whether I want them there or not. It is a mantra of acceptance. An attitude of surrender and complete non-resistance to the reality of my life. To the reality of the pain of relationships and heartbreak and disappointments and betrayals. The reality of sunsets and oceans and loved ones who love you even when you don't want them to because you don't think you're worth it. The reality that the rain falls on the good as well as the wicked and that vengeance is the Lord's. The reality that I am a prodigal daughter that has trouble seeing the mud and slop has all been washed off.
I have told myself it is what it is many many times over the past few months, the past year. Sometimes I think it is a throwback to my Buddhist days. One of the tenets of Buddhism is that all life is suffering, and that the sooner we accept this the sooner we can move on to enlightenment and advance toward nirvana. These ideologies gave me answers to why things were happening the way they were in my life. If all life was suffering and it was what it was then the universe was aligned and things were going as they should be, whether I liked what the cosmos was handing me or not. It was the order of the universe that my life was really really f-ed up. Question answered.
Even though I am no longer Buddhist I still think my idiom applies under my new life in Christ. Only this time I use it to refer to the sovereignty of God and the events that occur in my life. That God is ultimately in control and there's not a damn thing I can do about it but surrender. It is what it is. Things are nothing more or less than what they seem. It is almost like taking fact meaning out of the equation. It is what it is.
Anyway.
I just got finished reading this book called Traveling Light. It is a study of Psalm 23, all about releasing the burdens we were never intended to bear. Max Lucado opens the book with a picture painted with words about a man trudging down a long and lonely road with a trunk full of disappointment, suitcases overstuffed with regret. Briefcases of guilt and duffle bags of shame. Each step crippling his frame and hunching his back. He is stumbling along next to Jesus, tears streaking the Savior's face as he offers to carry the load that he died to carry. And still the man trudges along weighed down under his own Samsonite prison.
Throughout the whole book I prayed that God would take my baggage. Reminding God as I got to each chapter to not forget about me and my baggage and how I didn't want it anymore. I prayed that he would take it and shred it like they do at the airport if they see a suitcase sitting somewhere for too long, but he said not yet. I have asked him to be gentle with me and my healing and apparently shredding my duffle bags of shame and briefcases of guilt don't seem like a good idea to him. I will trust that. Maybe my hand is still tied to the duffle bag. So in the mean time he is just carrying them for me. One day at a time he carries my baggage. Sometimes I pick them back up but then he reminds me that he wants to carry them for me. He insists. And I reluctantly comply. Am I worthy to have someone else carry my bags ? I have trouble believing it but we are working on that too, among many other things. He told me last night I will be called "The Holy Daughter"and "The Amy Redeemed by the Lord."And I will be known as "The Desirable One"and "The woman No Longer Forsaken."
Isaiah 62:12
The white zone is for loading and unloading only.
It is what it is.
Amy, what the hell does that mean?
I don't know. It just is what it is.
Things are what they are. It is my way of saying that there are things in this world that I cannot change and that I understand that they are still there and that they will be there when I wake up tomorrow whether I want them there or not. It is a mantra of acceptance. An attitude of surrender and complete non-resistance to the reality of my life. To the reality of the pain of relationships and heartbreak and disappointments and betrayals. The reality of sunsets and oceans and loved ones who love you even when you don't want them to because you don't think you're worth it. The reality that the rain falls on the good as well as the wicked and that vengeance is the Lord's. The reality that I am a prodigal daughter that has trouble seeing the mud and slop has all been washed off.
I have told myself it is what it is many many times over the past few months, the past year. Sometimes I think it is a throwback to my Buddhist days. One of the tenets of Buddhism is that all life is suffering, and that the sooner we accept this the sooner we can move on to enlightenment and advance toward nirvana. These ideologies gave me answers to why things were happening the way they were in my life. If all life was suffering and it was what it was then the universe was aligned and things were going as they should be, whether I liked what the cosmos was handing me or not. It was the order of the universe that my life was really really f-ed up. Question answered.
Even though I am no longer Buddhist I still think my idiom applies under my new life in Christ. Only this time I use it to refer to the sovereignty of God and the events that occur in my life. That God is ultimately in control and there's not a damn thing I can do about it but surrender. It is what it is. Things are nothing more or less than what they seem. It is almost like taking fact meaning out of the equation. It is what it is.
Anyway.
I just got finished reading this book called Traveling Light. It is a study of Psalm 23, all about releasing the burdens we were never intended to bear. Max Lucado opens the book with a picture painted with words about a man trudging down a long and lonely road with a trunk full of disappointment, suitcases overstuffed with regret. Briefcases of guilt and duffle bags of shame. Each step crippling his frame and hunching his back. He is stumbling along next to Jesus, tears streaking the Savior's face as he offers to carry the load that he died to carry. And still the man trudges along weighed down under his own Samsonite prison.
Throughout the whole book I prayed that God would take my baggage. Reminding God as I got to each chapter to not forget about me and my baggage and how I didn't want it anymore. I prayed that he would take it and shred it like they do at the airport if they see a suitcase sitting somewhere for too long, but he said not yet. I have asked him to be gentle with me and my healing and apparently shredding my duffle bags of shame and briefcases of guilt don't seem like a good idea to him. I will trust that. Maybe my hand is still tied to the duffle bag. So in the mean time he is just carrying them for me. One day at a time he carries my baggage. Sometimes I pick them back up but then he reminds me that he wants to carry them for me. He insists. And I reluctantly comply. Am I worthy to have someone else carry my bags ? I have trouble believing it but we are working on that too, among many other things. He told me last night I will be called "The Holy Daughter"and "The Amy Redeemed by the Lord."And I will be known as "The Desirable One"and "The woman No Longer Forsaken."
Isaiah 62:12
The white zone is for loading and unloading only.
Notes on an Upside Down Kingdom
A couple of months ago I stood in the presence of one of the great revolutionaries in neomonastic thought. Shane Claiborne is a very humble man, a brilliant thinker, and one of the most loving and compassionate souls I have ever seen. He radiates the joy of the Lord. These are notes from the Jesus for President lecture I heard him give at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco.
Prophets accompany all of the kings to be the voices in the wilderness. The Lord's fire rages through the lips of the prophets, they serve to circumvent monopolies of power and oppression that the human condition of greed, lust and covetousness can sometimes create. The prophets are the one little voice in the wilderness that shatter injustice. Prophets do weird things to call attention to their message, i.e. roasting bread over poo and marrying the skankiest prostitute in the town. Prophets call down what we think is slight. To them it is a disaster. They see each individual child that suffers, not just the aimless mob that cries out at the gates of the castle for an end to starvation and oppression. Shane Claiborne is a prophet. He prophesies for us to scrub the filthy rotten system off of us and become a new creation. He prophesies for our country to become a new creation, a creation that honors the current lie on our currency that says that in God we trust.
He told the story of a group of Jews in the first century-ish who refused to use money with the image of Caesar on it. In defiance they laid in the courtyard and exposed their necks. They would rather have their throats slit than abandon their God to an idolatrous coin. When Jesus talks about giving to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's was this what he meant? But once we have given all we have to God there isn't much left for Caesar. The very identity of Jesus was politically subversive in this way. Jesus' life was filled with teachings and miracles that were full of political subversion. Turning the other cheek: Let them see love and grace in your eyes and it will be harder for them to hurt you. Woo your enemies with your love. If they ask for your coat then give them your tunic also? It all exposes the greed of the repo man. What Jesus teaches is what a lot of people call the 3rd way. This is the concept that evil can be opposed without being mirrored. Turning the other cheek forces them to treat you as an equal. Giving your coat and tunic also renders you naked thus exposing greed and oppression as you walk down the streets showing your birthday suit of nonviolent resistance to all you see. Jesus was all about nonviolent resistance. Jesus disarmed Peter. We should bleed with grace. We are asked to die for the cross but never instructed to kill for it. God's glory is seen through the cross, His throne. We are what we eat and we are to take on the patterns of Jesus' life. Communion is a reminder of this. We are to pray for Jesus! For His radical kingdom to come and his unconventional will to be done. And is it right for us to bash Bush if Jesus didn't hate Caesar?
Emergent Christianity seems like a lot of work to me. It takes a lot of energy to be a counter-cultural rebel in a consumer Christianity society. The event I am at right now is in stark contrast to the Women of Faith conference I was at a year ago. A place to which I will never go back. Woman of Faith is like a cross between a 3 ring circus, a Billy Graham crusade, and the Vagina Monologues. But the place I am in tonight is different. These people are like me. They have the same opinions and ideals as I do which is important in a world where I feel like an odd duck more often than not. I don't feel so alone when I come to places like these. These people read the Bible. They look like people that usually hate Christians. But they are Christians. They believe in renewing identities and making hearts beat with love.
Something tells me that I should be filled with a righteous anger at the state of the world or the environment of the Christian culture in which I live. But should I be jaded and cynical and resentful and a Debbie Downer because I feel the need to tell everyone everything that is wrong with our society? Should I get in awesome theological discussions with trendy people with higher education that read Christian philosophy and sit and talk about how stupid everyone is while there are people living under bridges hurt and concussed and hungry 2 blocks way from the fair trade coffee shop we sit and discuss how much the world sucks? We sit and criticize instead of doing something about it. I sit and criticize and stew about the injustices of not being invited to places I don't really want to go to anyway while as I finish this sentence there are children dying of dirty drinking water. The energy is off in this intentional community in the city. It is negative somehow...elitist maybe? Trendy intellectualism? There is no joy in their faces. Just jaded cynicism and resentment towards the system.
Shane asks if we drink from the cup with the blood of the whore (the empire of Babylon, a symbol of America) or the blood of the lamb. Are our arms big enough to carry both the cross and the sword? Perhaps we can only carry one. Because the Lord has abolished the sword. The early church said that for Christ we can die but never kill. The church shall not prostitute itself for the purpose of the state. The cross should not be draped with an American flag. We must choose between the lamb and the whore.
Prophets accompany all of the kings to be the voices in the wilderness. The Lord's fire rages through the lips of the prophets, they serve to circumvent monopolies of power and oppression that the human condition of greed, lust and covetousness can sometimes create. The prophets are the one little voice in the wilderness that shatter injustice. Prophets do weird things to call attention to their message, i.e. roasting bread over poo and marrying the skankiest prostitute in the town. Prophets call down what we think is slight. To them it is a disaster. They see each individual child that suffers, not just the aimless mob that cries out at the gates of the castle for an end to starvation and oppression. Shane Claiborne is a prophet. He prophesies for us to scrub the filthy rotten system off of us and become a new creation. He prophesies for our country to become a new creation, a creation that honors the current lie on our currency that says that in God we trust.
He told the story of a group of Jews in the first century-ish who refused to use money with the image of Caesar on it. In defiance they laid in the courtyard and exposed their necks. They would rather have their throats slit than abandon their God to an idolatrous coin. When Jesus talks about giving to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's was this what he meant? But once we have given all we have to God there isn't much left for Caesar. The very identity of Jesus was politically subversive in this way. Jesus' life was filled with teachings and miracles that were full of political subversion. Turning the other cheek: Let them see love and grace in your eyes and it will be harder for them to hurt you. Woo your enemies with your love. If they ask for your coat then give them your tunic also? It all exposes the greed of the repo man. What Jesus teaches is what a lot of people call the 3rd way. This is the concept that evil can be opposed without being mirrored. Turning the other cheek forces them to treat you as an equal. Giving your coat and tunic also renders you naked thus exposing greed and oppression as you walk down the streets showing your birthday suit of nonviolent resistance to all you see. Jesus was all about nonviolent resistance. Jesus disarmed Peter. We should bleed with grace. We are asked to die for the cross but never instructed to kill for it. God's glory is seen through the cross, His throne. We are what we eat and we are to take on the patterns of Jesus' life. Communion is a reminder of this. We are to pray for Jesus! For His radical kingdom to come and his unconventional will to be done. And is it right for us to bash Bush if Jesus didn't hate Caesar?
Emergent Christianity seems like a lot of work to me. It takes a lot of energy to be a counter-cultural rebel in a consumer Christianity society. The event I am at right now is in stark contrast to the Women of Faith conference I was at a year ago. A place to which I will never go back. Woman of Faith is like a cross between a 3 ring circus, a Billy Graham crusade, and the Vagina Monologues. But the place I am in tonight is different. These people are like me. They have the same opinions and ideals as I do which is important in a world where I feel like an odd duck more often than not. I don't feel so alone when I come to places like these. These people read the Bible. They look like people that usually hate Christians. But they are Christians. They believe in renewing identities and making hearts beat with love.
Something tells me that I should be filled with a righteous anger at the state of the world or the environment of the Christian culture in which I live. But should I be jaded and cynical and resentful and a Debbie Downer because I feel the need to tell everyone everything that is wrong with our society? Should I get in awesome theological discussions with trendy people with higher education that read Christian philosophy and sit and talk about how stupid everyone is while there are people living under bridges hurt and concussed and hungry 2 blocks way from the fair trade coffee shop we sit and discuss how much the world sucks? We sit and criticize instead of doing something about it. I sit and criticize and stew about the injustices of not being invited to places I don't really want to go to anyway while as I finish this sentence there are children dying of dirty drinking water. The energy is off in this intentional community in the city. It is negative somehow...elitist maybe? Trendy intellectualism? There is no joy in their faces. Just jaded cynicism and resentment towards the system.
Shane asks if we drink from the cup with the blood of the whore (the empire of Babylon, a symbol of America) or the blood of the lamb. Are our arms big enough to carry both the cross and the sword? Perhaps we can only carry one. Because the Lord has abolished the sword. The early church said that for Christ we can die but never kill. The church shall not prostitute itself for the purpose of the state. The cross should not be draped with an American flag. We must choose between the lamb and the whore.
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