We live in a compartmentalized society. It is considered wise to keep our lives and our thoughts in seperate containers. Seperate church and state. Family and work don't mix. The physical and the spiritual are not supposed to impact one another. I have bought into this thinking in many little ways.
One of the big ways I have bought into it is in my body image. I have believed that what I think about my body does not matter to God. God is concerned with the heart, not the body. Right? Well...my body is the temple of God. Doesn't that matter to Him? I don't think He cares if I have a perfect figure or clear skin. But, does He care if I honor my body? Does it matter to Him if I loathe my reflection?
Yes, I think it does matter to Him. You know what else? I think that most women focus on what they dislike about their appearance. I have talked to many friends about this lately. Every one of them could tell me what they disliked about their body. Many of their complaints centered around weight and the desire to airbrush one location. My five year old came home and asked if she could get highlites in her hair. She's five. She said that a girl in her kindergarten class got them and she wanted them too. I said no. My four year old told me that she wanted to wear makeup to school all the time because it makes her prettier. I said no.
Here's what I know intellectually and am wrestling with emotionally: the images I see on television and in magazines are not real. I am created in the image of God and I believe that embodies the physical too. Why can't I live like I believe it?
Do you think about this stuff too?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Reading Like a Writer
I am an avid reader. Reading is like water to me; it is required to stay alive. When I am reading, I travel wherever the book takes me. I have been known to read while eating, bathing and, I’m embarrassed to admit, driving. I just love it!
I am also an aspiring writer. It is a lifelong dream that got new wind blown in it about a year ago. So, I set a goal to read one book a month that will help me become a better writer. I’ve a read some really good books by really great authors. They share their secrets of the trade with people like me who only dream of doing this for a true living.
In that mindset, I picked up Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose. The title sounded perfect for someone like me. Even the author’s name seemed prosaic! I was ready to love it.
Ms. Prose took me by surprise. Rather than applauding readers like me who devour books in hours not days, she chastised my reading habits! Ms. Prose preached that writers should read like anorexic’s eat. Each word should be carefully separated and chewed on until all the flavor has been sucked out. Then those fully chewed words should be connected together in a flavorless string to seek the meaning behind them. I got hungry just reading it!
Perhaps I am alone in this deal but I read for the escape of it. I read to learn of a life or place or story that I do not have access to in my own world. I read to connect to someone else’s narrative and experience. I do not read to pick them apart calorie by calorie! I read like a recent dieter at Thanksgiving dinner. I read to soothe emotions and fill up empty places. I gorge myself until I can hold no more. Then, I explode in a torrent of words myself…usually on the page!
To be fair to Ms. Prose, I haven’t quite finished her book. I’ll keep plugging through but I have to tell you, it’s not a Chinese buffet! In fact, I think it is a Lean Cuisine frozen stir fry…sodium free.
I am also an aspiring writer. It is a lifelong dream that got new wind blown in it about a year ago. So, I set a goal to read one book a month that will help me become a better writer. I’ve a read some really good books by really great authors. They share their secrets of the trade with people like me who only dream of doing this for a true living.
In that mindset, I picked up Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose. The title sounded perfect for someone like me. Even the author’s name seemed prosaic! I was ready to love it.
Ms. Prose took me by surprise. Rather than applauding readers like me who devour books in hours not days, she chastised my reading habits! Ms. Prose preached that writers should read like anorexic’s eat. Each word should be carefully separated and chewed on until all the flavor has been sucked out. Then those fully chewed words should be connected together in a flavorless string to seek the meaning behind them. I got hungry just reading it!
Perhaps I am alone in this deal but I read for the escape of it. I read to learn of a life or place or story that I do not have access to in my own world. I read to connect to someone else’s narrative and experience. I do not read to pick them apart calorie by calorie! I read like a recent dieter at Thanksgiving dinner. I read to soothe emotions and fill up empty places. I gorge myself until I can hold no more. Then, I explode in a torrent of words myself…usually on the page!
To be fair to Ms. Prose, I haven’t quite finished her book. I’ll keep plugging through but I have to tell you, it’s not a Chinese buffet! In fact, I think it is a Lean Cuisine frozen stir fry…sodium free.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
The Park
My kids love to play at the park. Just this week we went to a park close to our house. The equipment is normal playground kind of stuff. There are some monkey bars, a few swings, three slides, and some great lookout points. There is even a merry go round! What makes this park unique is it’s setting. On one side is a lake, home to ducks, swans, and geese. On another side is a waterpark and swimming pool. The other two sides are surrounded by streets and homes. To carve out the playground, there are blue Lincoln log barriers in the ground. They are bolted together to form the perimeter of two kidney beans smashed together. The Lincoln logs also hold in all the mulch that pads the ground for little feet to walk on.
At our visit to this park, I was so amused watching my kids and their reactions to the barriers. I told both my four year old and my one year old that outside the blue line was “No-no”. The areas surrounding this park could be dangerous and I wanted them to stay inside the lines. Being a toddler, my one year immediately put one foot up on top of the barrier and looked back at me to see if that was alright. I said, “No,” and he stepped back. Then he went to another section of the barrier and tried again. I repeated my no and he moved on. For twenty minutes he tried new places to see if the answer changed. Twenty minutes in the life a one year old is a long time! In that twenty minutes he missed playing to continually test the rules.
My four year old is a little different. She is, without a doubt, my strong willed child. But today she watched the antics of her little brother while she played on the slides. When he finally moved on to trying to eat the mulch, she was ready to make her move. She is pretty afraid of the geese that live on the lake because they are so loud. So, she didn’t want to go that way. She knew that the waterpark was closed so that didn’t really interest her either. Instead, she saw a basketball goal in a driveway across the street. She loves basketball. While I was busy pulling mulch out of the baby’s mouth, she worked her way across the playground equipment and got a huge thrust going down the slide that faces the basketball goal. That was enough to put her just beyond the barrier and she made a dash for the basketball goal. I caught her with one foot in the street.
If my five year old had been there, she would have never even tried out the barriers. She would have played on anything she could reach. Her only glance would have been in fear toward the swan, who charged her one time! She might have mentioned that she wanted to go the waterpark again this summer.
Each of them sees those blue Lincoln logs differently. One as a test. One as a dare and one as a wall. I’m sure there are some really deep parallels to draw here about how we should be content with the space God gives us or how we should view obstacles in our path.
I’m happy if one of those lessons speaks to you. I’m content to marvel at how different each of my three blessings are.
At our visit to this park, I was so amused watching my kids and their reactions to the barriers. I told both my four year old and my one year old that outside the blue line was “No-no”. The areas surrounding this park could be dangerous and I wanted them to stay inside the lines. Being a toddler, my one year immediately put one foot up on top of the barrier and looked back at me to see if that was alright. I said, “No,” and he stepped back. Then he went to another section of the barrier and tried again. I repeated my no and he moved on. For twenty minutes he tried new places to see if the answer changed. Twenty minutes in the life a one year old is a long time! In that twenty minutes he missed playing to continually test the rules.
My four year old is a little different. She is, without a doubt, my strong willed child. But today she watched the antics of her little brother while she played on the slides. When he finally moved on to trying to eat the mulch, she was ready to make her move. She is pretty afraid of the geese that live on the lake because they are so loud. So, she didn’t want to go that way. She knew that the waterpark was closed so that didn’t really interest her either. Instead, she saw a basketball goal in a driveway across the street. She loves basketball. While I was busy pulling mulch out of the baby’s mouth, she worked her way across the playground equipment and got a huge thrust going down the slide that faces the basketball goal. That was enough to put her just beyond the barrier and she made a dash for the basketball goal. I caught her with one foot in the street.
If my five year old had been there, she would have never even tried out the barriers. She would have played on anything she could reach. Her only glance would have been in fear toward the swan, who charged her one time! She might have mentioned that she wanted to go the waterpark again this summer.
Each of them sees those blue Lincoln logs differently. One as a test. One as a dare and one as a wall. I’m sure there are some really deep parallels to draw here about how we should be content with the space God gives us or how we should view obstacles in our path.
I’m happy if one of those lessons speaks to you. I’m content to marvel at how different each of my three blessings are.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Lessons from Santa
My most cherished memories from Christmas’ of my childhood involve Santa. My parents worked hard to make the magic come alive for my brother and I. Later, when my sisters arrived, it was a family effort to create the magic for them.
In recent years, the dream of Santa has come under attack. Many Christians don’t want their kids to confuse Santa with God and somehow leave God when they outgrow Santa. I don’t want to debate with you; I like to debate but it seems like a futile argument to me.
At my house, we believe in Santa. We write letters to Santa. We know that Santa watches for good boys and girls. We put out cookies and milk. We put carrots on the deck for the reindeer. We move the fireplace screen to leave room for Santa to get in. We actively believe in Santa.
This year I really had to evaluate why believing in Santa was important. There are members of our family who do not teach their children to believe in Santa and can be pretty mocking of our doing so. Our oldest has become very particular and detailed oriented. We had to be so very careful to keep her belief alive.
She asked Santa to bring her cowgirl boots, a cowgirl hat and a turquoise cowgirl vest. Now I am a pretty resourceful shopper and love to bargain hunt. I looked all over and found the cutest boots and hat to actually fit her little clover shaped head. But no matter where I shopped, there was no finding a turquoise cowgirl vest. I found pink leather and brown cowhide. But no turquoise. Oh and did I mention that she came up with this request on December 19th? I had 6 days…
Believing in Santa is partly about trusting your dreams to someone else to see if they can come true. My daughter communicated a dream to me and it was my responsibility to make it a reality. In doing so, I reinforced her ability to have faith. So, two days before Christmas I made a vest out of turquoise bandanas and pink beads. I don’t enjoy sewing nor am I good at it. But, I finished it on the afternoon of Christmas Eve.
On Christmas morning, I emerged from my room to begin breakfast and found both of my daughters tearing into Santa’s gift in the dark. I yelled! I screamed! I was so mad at them that I sent them to their room. In examining the carnage after they left, I found that they had opened everything that Santa had brought to them, their brother, my husband and even me. I wasn’t mad because they had woken up early. I was mad because I had missed that moment. I had missed seeing their faith reinforced. I had missed the sheer joy of finding your dreams fulfilled.
This year Santa taught me to believe in the power of forgiveness. After a just punishment, we all had to forgive each other and move on to cherish Christmas together. It was hard for me because I was still grieving the loss of that moment. It was hard for the girls because they were really mad at me for wrecking their fun. But, having faith in someone means forgiving them when they don’t meet your expectations.
We believe in Santa and all the lessons that belief brings with it…
In recent years, the dream of Santa has come under attack. Many Christians don’t want their kids to confuse Santa with God and somehow leave God when they outgrow Santa. I don’t want to debate with you; I like to debate but it seems like a futile argument to me.
At my house, we believe in Santa. We write letters to Santa. We know that Santa watches for good boys and girls. We put out cookies and milk. We put carrots on the deck for the reindeer. We move the fireplace screen to leave room for Santa to get in. We actively believe in Santa.
This year I really had to evaluate why believing in Santa was important. There are members of our family who do not teach their children to believe in Santa and can be pretty mocking of our doing so. Our oldest has become very particular and detailed oriented. We had to be so very careful to keep her belief alive.
She asked Santa to bring her cowgirl boots, a cowgirl hat and a turquoise cowgirl vest. Now I am a pretty resourceful shopper and love to bargain hunt. I looked all over and found the cutest boots and hat to actually fit her little clover shaped head. But no matter where I shopped, there was no finding a turquoise cowgirl vest. I found pink leather and brown cowhide. But no turquoise. Oh and did I mention that she came up with this request on December 19th? I had 6 days…
Believing in Santa is partly about trusting your dreams to someone else to see if they can come true. My daughter communicated a dream to me and it was my responsibility to make it a reality. In doing so, I reinforced her ability to have faith. So, two days before Christmas I made a vest out of turquoise bandanas and pink beads. I don’t enjoy sewing nor am I good at it. But, I finished it on the afternoon of Christmas Eve.
On Christmas morning, I emerged from my room to begin breakfast and found both of my daughters tearing into Santa’s gift in the dark. I yelled! I screamed! I was so mad at them that I sent them to their room. In examining the carnage after they left, I found that they had opened everything that Santa had brought to them, their brother, my husband and even me. I wasn’t mad because they had woken up early. I was mad because I had missed that moment. I had missed seeing their faith reinforced. I had missed the sheer joy of finding your dreams fulfilled.
This year Santa taught me to believe in the power of forgiveness. After a just punishment, we all had to forgive each other and move on to cherish Christmas together. It was hard for me because I was still grieving the loss of that moment. It was hard for the girls because they were really mad at me for wrecking their fun. But, having faith in someone means forgiving them when they don’t meet your expectations.
We believe in Santa and all the lessons that belief brings with it…
Monday, December 17, 2007
Noel
I remember the day that each of my children was born. Our oldest was born in the morning after a long, sleepless night. I remember how afraid I was both of giving birth and for her health. She came with a lot of drama as her cord was prolapsed and her heart rate kept dropping. When she was finally laid on my chest, I cried from sheer relief that she was safe.
Our second was also born in the morning. However, there had been no night of long, fearful labor. She came quickly and with much surprise! We fully expected a boy and when she arrived the doctor announced, “She’s here!” My husband and I both turned to look for the newly arrived nurse and the doctor said, “Your daughter, she’s here!” When she was laid on my chest, I cried tears of surprised joy.
Our youngest was born in the afternoon, just one more way to declare his uniqueness! He screamed his way into this world and hasn’t been too quiet since. His delivery felt routine and normal. When he was laid on my chest, I cried tears of peace.
This time of year always gets me thinking about a night, in a stable, so many years ago. A young girl gave birth to her first without the aid of her mother or sisters. Her husband must have felt very shy to be helping her in this way as he had never known her, to use the biblical term.
I always wonder how much she knew as held that baby boy. Did she love him as a child or as a God? Did she see any of her own physical traits in him? Did she truly welcome smelly shepherds as she lay exhausted and cold? How did she define her tears that night? Fear? Relief? Love? Joy?
The wonders of incarnation never cease to amaze me. I attempt to wrap my mind around God as an infant. God needing a diaper change. God hungry. God sleepy. I know infants. I’ve had a few! Really…God as a baby? He wasn’t really God at that moment was he? How could God have been a fetus? An infant? A toddler? A teenager? Flesh on divinity is wondrous and preposterous at the same time!
This time of year wraps me in arms of love; arms that had flesh on them and arms that understand the need for physical comfort. Christmas brings into fresh perspective that there is a love so strong that it would be born in a barn.
Luke 2: 4-7 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Our second was also born in the morning. However, there had been no night of long, fearful labor. She came quickly and with much surprise! We fully expected a boy and when she arrived the doctor announced, “She’s here!” My husband and I both turned to look for the newly arrived nurse and the doctor said, “Your daughter, she’s here!” When she was laid on my chest, I cried tears of surprised joy.
Our youngest was born in the afternoon, just one more way to declare his uniqueness! He screamed his way into this world and hasn’t been too quiet since. His delivery felt routine and normal. When he was laid on my chest, I cried tears of peace.
This time of year always gets me thinking about a night, in a stable, so many years ago. A young girl gave birth to her first without the aid of her mother or sisters. Her husband must have felt very shy to be helping her in this way as he had never known her, to use the biblical term.
I always wonder how much she knew as held that baby boy. Did she love him as a child or as a God? Did she see any of her own physical traits in him? Did she truly welcome smelly shepherds as she lay exhausted and cold? How did she define her tears that night? Fear? Relief? Love? Joy?
The wonders of incarnation never cease to amaze me. I attempt to wrap my mind around God as an infant. God needing a diaper change. God hungry. God sleepy. I know infants. I’ve had a few! Really…God as a baby? He wasn’t really God at that moment was he? How could God have been a fetus? An infant? A toddler? A teenager? Flesh on divinity is wondrous and preposterous at the same time!
This time of year wraps me in arms of love; arms that had flesh on them and arms that understand the need for physical comfort. Christmas brings into fresh perspective that there is a love so strong that it would be born in a barn.
Luke 2: 4-7 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Eat, Pray, Love
I love to read! I will read a lot of different genres but my favorite is fiction. I love a great story about a character that I relate to in their search for something.
So, I was shocked to LOVE Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert! Nonfiction is often exhausting to me but this book was not a burden to read. It is the spiritual memoir of a woman needing to find answers for her messed up life and broken heart. She pursues answers to the hard questions in the three "I"s: Italy, India and Indonesia.
"Eat" is in Italy where Elizabeth travels to eat great food and learn Italian, a lifelong fantasy. She pursues the gift of pleasure, trying to capture all that we Americans have missed in our effienciency of life.
"Love" is in Bali, Indonesia where Liz pursues balance in her life. Balance of pleasure and discipline. Balance of joy and pain.
But my favorite section is "Pray". Liz is in India, living in an Ashram. She makes some astounding statements regarding faith. Here are three of my favorite quotes.
Saint Augustine said, "Our whole business therefore in this life is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen."
How's your vision these days?
"If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be...a prudent insurance policy." page 175
I wonder if I've been pursuing insurance or faith for all of my life?
"This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don't have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn't have the specific ritual you are craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do it yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet (an inside joke). If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need a God." page 187
I can't even respond to this one for all that it evokes in me. But I know that I need that grace to reach out to me...all the time.
I hope that you will read this book, not because I liked it or because Oprah said to. Read it because it will challenge you to find a bigger God and a more personal voyage of faith. Let me know when you finish...I want to talk!
So, I was shocked to LOVE Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert! Nonfiction is often exhausting to me but this book was not a burden to read. It is the spiritual memoir of a woman needing to find answers for her messed up life and broken heart. She pursues answers to the hard questions in the three "I"s: Italy, India and Indonesia.
"Eat" is in Italy where Elizabeth travels to eat great food and learn Italian, a lifelong fantasy. She pursues the gift of pleasure, trying to capture all that we Americans have missed in our effienciency of life.
"Love" is in Bali, Indonesia where Liz pursues balance in her life. Balance of pleasure and discipline. Balance of joy and pain.
But my favorite section is "Pray". Liz is in India, living in an Ashram. She makes some astounding statements regarding faith. Here are three of my favorite quotes.
Saint Augustine said, "Our whole business therefore in this life is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen."
How's your vision these days?
"If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be...a prudent insurance policy." page 175
I wonder if I've been pursuing insurance or faith for all of my life?
"This is what rituals are for. We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don't have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safekeeping. And I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn't have the specific ritual you are craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your own devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional systems with all the do it yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet (an inside joke). If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And that is why we need a God." page 187
I can't even respond to this one for all that it evokes in me. But I know that I need that grace to reach out to me...all the time.
I hope that you will read this book, not because I liked it or because Oprah said to. Read it because it will challenge you to find a bigger God and a more personal voyage of faith. Let me know when you finish...I want to talk!
Monday, December 3, 2007
Peace
I love Christmastime! I love a home lit by Christmas trees and outdoor lights. I love the smells of cinnamon apples and baking cookies. I love getting cards and pictures from friends. I love spending time thinking about what gift will bring joy to people that I love.
Yesterday at church we began a series on messianic psalms, the first of which dealt with peace. I don't always associate Christmastime with peacefulness; usually I think of busyness! But, the point was that Jesus came as a peace offering to man. God made his peace with peaople. If the church is to be the hands and feet of Christ, then the church should be the peacemaker of the world. Hmm...
What does that truth say to a church whose history is full of nasty fights and splits? What does that say to us who are so likely to focus inward rather than outward? What does that say? I feel the call to be peace. I want church to be part of that effort. What does that look like? How does it work? Any ideas?
Yesterday at church we began a series on messianic psalms, the first of which dealt with peace. I don't always associate Christmastime with peacefulness; usually I think of busyness! But, the point was that Jesus came as a peace offering to man. God made his peace with peaople. If the church is to be the hands and feet of Christ, then the church should be the peacemaker of the world. Hmm...
What does that truth say to a church whose history is full of nasty fights and splits? What does that say to us who are so likely to focus inward rather than outward? What does that say? I feel the call to be peace. I want church to be part of that effort. What does that look like? How does it work? Any ideas?
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