This is another Paul post. You might be thoroughly sick to death of them. I am working out some issues here, and maybe this is not the right place.
So I made it through 1 Corinthians and am onto II Corinthians and now realize I have always lumped the 2 together in my mind. But in the second chapter of second Corinthians something intriguing happens: Paul says it was agonizing having to write the letter that was I Corinthians. (Any Bible scholars out there probably knew this already). I have pictured him holier-than-thou about it, not heartbroken and reluctant.
Fascinated, I skimmed through the rest of II Corinthians, and noted that it has a bit of a different tone. Or tries to. Toward the end of this letter, it becomes apparent that Paul has a difficult relationship with the Corinthians. He brings up his first letter to them again, and admits that he has seen that its affect on them has caused repentance. And then there's this weird stuff about them thinking Paul scammed them and he's defending himself.
This is a better place than I've been in for awhile with Paul's writings. I seriously, for years, have pretty much concentrated any Bible reading on non-Paul writings of the New Testament. Maybe exploring this from a different angle has been the key.
Not that this is a new concept. It is, in fact, standard advice in reading scripture. Or studying anything. In different points of my life I have had different ideas about God and faith. Doubt and exploration has been something I thought was unacceptable. Now I think doubt in some form accompanies authentic faith, and that people with all the answers haven't thought of all the questions. It means you're thinking, exploring, and trying. Struggle is an indication of the presence of life.
The Corinthians had a complicated relationship with Paul too. They are kind of the pariahs of the New Testament, but do they look that different than a lot of us American church goers? Somehow, it made me feel better than other Christians (even if they were "bad" ones), didn't think Paul was the bees knees either.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Where Does That Buck Stop?
International Justice Mission was our spotlight organization in April, and Holly Burkhalter was featured as an inspiring women on this blog, so when Kristy forwarded this article I just had to pass it on.
It's always about money, isn't it? Whoever has the most money wins the game.
Is anyone else sickened by the fact that the bad guys have an almost unlimited supply of funds? That people continue to exploit others for profit? That people continue to purchase the lives of others to satisfy their own appetites? Human capacity for good is too many times obscured by our susceptibility to self-indulgence, self-interest, self-anything.
Slavery is heavily protected by those with a vested interest. It can afford to wait until the good guys hit a snag. Or, in this case, when our government decides we don't have money to spend on fighting it.
Deciding whether government should be bigger or smaller is a debate for another blog at another time. I do think that if I personally identify with Christ, I have a responsibility to look to the needs of others. If I embrace any feminist ideology, by doing so I embrace the human rights of others. I don't always know how to translate that to helping fix some of the big messes of the world, like human trafficking.
I do know it is easier for me to point my finger and say "You guys, you should not slash funding!" than it is to say "I don't need to paint my bedroom. I don't need a new picket fence (while that fits the metaphor beautifully, in real life our picket fence has become an eyesore)." And dig into my own pocket to give some money to a good cause. It's easy for me to write the senator about not mucking up my personal drinking water supply, but takes a lot more to ask on behalf of people halfway around the world. Sometimes the overwhelming nature of a problem causes us to back off and not do anything. Or the way it does not affect us on a personal, daily basis allows us to cast it from consciousness.
But does that let us off the hook? Ignorance may be bliss, but does it absolve us from any and all responsibility?
It's always about money, isn't it? Whoever has the most money wins the game.
Is anyone else sickened by the fact that the bad guys have an almost unlimited supply of funds? That people continue to exploit others for profit? That people continue to purchase the lives of others to satisfy their own appetites? Human capacity for good is too many times obscured by our susceptibility to self-indulgence, self-interest, self-anything.
Slavery is heavily protected by those with a vested interest. It can afford to wait until the good guys hit a snag. Or, in this case, when our government decides we don't have money to spend on fighting it.
Deciding whether government should be bigger or smaller is a debate for another blog at another time. I do think that if I personally identify with Christ, I have a responsibility to look to the needs of others. If I embrace any feminist ideology, by doing so I embrace the human rights of others. I don't always know how to translate that to helping fix some of the big messes of the world, like human trafficking.
I do know it is easier for me to point my finger and say "You guys, you should not slash funding!" than it is to say "I don't need to paint my bedroom. I don't need a new picket fence (while that fits the metaphor beautifully, in real life our picket fence has become an eyesore)." And dig into my own pocket to give some money to a good cause. It's easy for me to write the senator about not mucking up my personal drinking water supply, but takes a lot more to ask on behalf of people halfway around the world. Sometimes the overwhelming nature of a problem causes us to back off and not do anything. Or the way it does not affect us on a personal, daily basis allows us to cast it from consciousness.
But does that let us off the hook? Ignorance may be bliss, but does it absolve us from any and all responsibility?
Monday, June 27, 2011
More Danger for Baby Girls
This is the kind of article that can stir up controversy. But it seems like the kind of thing a blog like this is meant to discuss. I found it interesting, anyway, and wondered if you would as well.
http://online.wsj.com/article_email/SB10001424052702303657404576361691165631366-lMyQjAxMTAxMDIwMDEyNDAyWj.html
How far should choice be allowed to go? Can government control solve all evils or does it create evil? Is our technology moving at such speeds that our morals and laws cannot keep up with? Why are we so hung up on gender?
http://online.wsj.com/article_email/SB10001424052702303657404576361691165631366-lMyQjAxMTAxMDIwMDEyNDAyWj.html
How far should choice be allowed to go? Can government control solve all evils or does it create evil? Is our technology moving at such speeds that our morals and laws cannot keep up with? Why are we so hung up on gender?
Friday, June 24, 2011
Do One Thing Every Day That Scares You
That is a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt.
It makes me think of my friend Cathy, who I think lives by this more than almost anyone I know personally.
Cathy is an inspiring woman. When you are around her, you immediately feel the power of her joyful, loving spirit. You feel her excitement and passion about whatever it is she's doing that she believes in. You feel her interest in and love for you and others around her. You experience what it is like to know someone who is "real." She is a great mom, wife, and high school teacher. She pours herself into everything she does. Tomorrow, she begins her travels to Uganda.
I have mentioned before that she has been convinced that she is supposed to mother all kinds of children. She lives this in so many ways Stateside, but her heart is also tugged in the direction of Africa. For a few weeks, she will be working with teachers, bringing them new supplies and ideas. She will be reading bedtime stories and tucking kids in who don't have their own mamas. She will be continuing to build relationships with some special kids she already knows.
It is really difficult to leave your precious family and the safety of your country, even if you are super excited about your adventure. It takes a lot of courage and faith. If you think of it and this is the kind of thing you do, please say a prayer for Cathy and her family during the next couple weeks. I also hope that her stepping out to do something scary-but-chance-of-a-lifetime inspires you too.
It makes me think of my friend Cathy, who I think lives by this more than almost anyone I know personally.
Cathy is an inspiring woman. When you are around her, you immediately feel the power of her joyful, loving spirit. You feel her excitement and passion about whatever it is she's doing that she believes in. You feel her interest in and love for you and others around her. You experience what it is like to know someone who is "real." She is a great mom, wife, and high school teacher. She pours herself into everything she does. Tomorrow, she begins her travels to Uganda.
I have mentioned before that she has been convinced that she is supposed to mother all kinds of children. She lives this in so many ways Stateside, but her heart is also tugged in the direction of Africa. For a few weeks, she will be working with teachers, bringing them new supplies and ideas. She will be reading bedtime stories and tucking kids in who don't have their own mamas. She will be continuing to build relationships with some special kids she already knows.
It is really difficult to leave your precious family and the safety of your country, even if you are super excited about your adventure. It takes a lot of courage and faith. If you think of it and this is the kind of thing you do, please say a prayer for Cathy and her family during the next couple weeks. I also hope that her stepping out to do something scary-but-chance-of-a-lifetime inspires you too.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Circadian Rhythms
It is 1 pm. I have not worked out, showered or done many household chores. Just the absolute bare necessities.
Do you know what I have accomplished in the past 24 hours? I even skimped on sleep to achieve my feat. I read an entire novel. That I paid full price for at the bookstore 24 hours ago. I mean, I did a few things. But really, who spends 16 bucks on a book and blows through it in 24 hours? Me.
I suppose I should snap myself out of this by the fact that as of lunchtime today, my kids are home for the summer. With me. All day. I do love spending time with my kids in the summer. But, I do not get the guaranteed 2 hours when both of them are at school at the same time, to myself. That time does wonders for me. Like their naps did when they were little. Maybe I'll have to institute naps again. Not a bad idea. That way I won't hit the 24 hour reading binge. As often.
We're cutting to the chase now: this is less about my fiction addiction and more about my uncomfortable relationship with being a stay at home mom. I think it has been the right decision for our family. If there had been a different mother on duty.
I am schizophrenic about my stay at home mothering. I love my kids and think they are amazing people. I think they have had great opportunities and learned things because I have been with them a lot.
I also think I've messed them up a little.
Really, I am not good at being a stay at home mom. At all. I get tired of make-believe. I have trouble balancing playing with my children and cleaning up after the mess that happens when people, especially kids, are in a house all day. I am not good at making play dates for my kids and especially not making connections with other mommies. Just the idea of Mommy Social Functions can cause me to break into a cold, anxious sweat. My idea of a great day with the kids: we take a picnic and books and the dog and sit by a lake and read all day. Sometimes I have trouble with the idea that my husband works with brilliant, classy women (or hot undergrads) all day long and comes home to ... the novel reader who didn't shower. Good grief, that man must been knocked silly when he fell for me way back when to still appear ok with being married to me.
On the other hand, I'm glad that in the summer my kids can sleep in and lounge and ride their bikes around or play in their playhouse or whatever they want to. I'm glad they can be involved in their after school stuff. I'm glad I can be there for them when they're sick. This stuff couldn't happen if I worked. Daddy travels and works evenings a lot, and grandmas and aunts are a 9 hour drive away. But guess what? This fall it all changes, and I learn what working full time will feel like on my family for awhile.
The battlefield of whether we should work in or out of our homes is the one on which we suffer some of our worst wounds. We have to sacrifice, either way. Very few women can have it all. I personally don't know a single one. I know some who have amazing careers and do very important work in the world. They are very respected and accomplished. They also tell me that they wish they had more time with their kids, that they almost work for nothing with what they pay in child care costs. Taking a day off when they are sick is like performing a magic trick with all the complexity it throws into their schedules, and they wish sometimes they could let the baby sleep instead of waking them up at 5 am. I also know smart women who had good jobs that wonder if they should have interrupted their careers to make the choice to stay home with their kids. They wonder what would happen if their husbands left them and if they will be able to pick up where they left off. They wonder if they should have made financial sacrifices to be at home with the kids, and if they've lost a piece of themselves to this life they've chosen.
We all know it's more nuanced and complicated than what I've just described. You might have a firm decision one way or the other. But if you are a mom, you know you have made a sacrifice of some sort so well it's as if you hold it in your hand constantly and have memorized the feel of it completely. The "what if" is the ghost that turns up on your sleepless nights.
It can drive us mad, these things. Make us unsure of ourselves. We for some reason still think there is a perfect woman who has the perfect solution and is living the perfect life. But we are who we are. We do the best we can. We have days of triumph and days of defeat.
I suppose that's why I like the idea of us being in this together. There are days I need to feel the optimism of the high you are on, and there are days when I need to lend my strength to you. My heart swells with pride hearing from a friend that she got that grant she worked late many nights writing a proposal for. And my heart melts when I watch another friend building forts with couch cushions with her boys, as if there were nothing else in the world she would rather be doing. I have so many friends who are great moms, and none of them are mothering the same way. I couldn't choose which one I would want to be even if I were given the opportunity. Our lives follow cycles that may overlap or fall into rhythm with one another, or serve as the focal point of inspiration or the nudge from behind that keeps us moving.
Whoever Me the Mom is, she is forever morphing into something else. Sometimes I do ok. Other times ... a reset button should exist.
Oh wait, it does. It's called "fiction novels."
Do you know what I have accomplished in the past 24 hours? I even skimped on sleep to achieve my feat. I read an entire novel. That I paid full price for at the bookstore 24 hours ago. I mean, I did a few things. But really, who spends 16 bucks on a book and blows through it in 24 hours? Me.
I suppose I should snap myself out of this by the fact that as of lunchtime today, my kids are home for the summer. With me. All day. I do love spending time with my kids in the summer. But, I do not get the guaranteed 2 hours when both of them are at school at the same time, to myself. That time does wonders for me. Like their naps did when they were little. Maybe I'll have to institute naps again. Not a bad idea. That way I won't hit the 24 hour reading binge. As often.
We're cutting to the chase now: this is less about my fiction addiction and more about my uncomfortable relationship with being a stay at home mom. I think it has been the right decision for our family. If there had been a different mother on duty.
I am schizophrenic about my stay at home mothering. I love my kids and think they are amazing people. I think they have had great opportunities and learned things because I have been with them a lot.
I also think I've messed them up a little.
Really, I am not good at being a stay at home mom. At all. I get tired of make-believe. I have trouble balancing playing with my children and cleaning up after the mess that happens when people, especially kids, are in a house all day. I am not good at making play dates for my kids and especially not making connections with other mommies. Just the idea of Mommy Social Functions can cause me to break into a cold, anxious sweat. My idea of a great day with the kids: we take a picnic and books and the dog and sit by a lake and read all day. Sometimes I have trouble with the idea that my husband works with brilliant, classy women (or hot undergrads) all day long and comes home to ... the novel reader who didn't shower. Good grief, that man must been knocked silly when he fell for me way back when to still appear ok with being married to me.
On the other hand, I'm glad that in the summer my kids can sleep in and lounge and ride their bikes around or play in their playhouse or whatever they want to. I'm glad they can be involved in their after school stuff. I'm glad I can be there for them when they're sick. This stuff couldn't happen if I worked. Daddy travels and works evenings a lot, and grandmas and aunts are a 9 hour drive away. But guess what? This fall it all changes, and I learn what working full time will feel like on my family for awhile.
The battlefield of whether we should work in or out of our homes is the one on which we suffer some of our worst wounds. We have to sacrifice, either way. Very few women can have it all. I personally don't know a single one. I know some who have amazing careers and do very important work in the world. They are very respected and accomplished. They also tell me that they wish they had more time with their kids, that they almost work for nothing with what they pay in child care costs. Taking a day off when they are sick is like performing a magic trick with all the complexity it throws into their schedules, and they wish sometimes they could let the baby sleep instead of waking them up at 5 am. I also know smart women who had good jobs that wonder if they should have interrupted their careers to make the choice to stay home with their kids. They wonder what would happen if their husbands left them and if they will be able to pick up where they left off. They wonder if they should have made financial sacrifices to be at home with the kids, and if they've lost a piece of themselves to this life they've chosen.
We all know it's more nuanced and complicated than what I've just described. You might have a firm decision one way or the other. But if you are a mom, you know you have made a sacrifice of some sort so well it's as if you hold it in your hand constantly and have memorized the feel of it completely. The "what if" is the ghost that turns up on your sleepless nights.
It can drive us mad, these things. Make us unsure of ourselves. We for some reason still think there is a perfect woman who has the perfect solution and is living the perfect life. But we are who we are. We do the best we can. We have days of triumph and days of defeat.
I suppose that's why I like the idea of us being in this together. There are days I need to feel the optimism of the high you are on, and there are days when I need to lend my strength to you. My heart swells with pride hearing from a friend that she got that grant she worked late many nights writing a proposal for. And my heart melts when I watch another friend building forts with couch cushions with her boys, as if there were nothing else in the world she would rather be doing. I have so many friends who are great moms, and none of them are mothering the same way. I couldn't choose which one I would want to be even if I were given the opportunity. Our lives follow cycles that may overlap or fall into rhythm with one another, or serve as the focal point of inspiration or the nudge from behind that keeps us moving.
Whoever Me the Mom is, she is forever morphing into something else. Sometimes I do ok. Other times ... a reset button should exist.
Oh wait, it does. It's called "fiction novels."
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Answering a Pay Phone
Should I take off my sweater or leave it on? Should I try to use the restroom one last time, or wait a little? Will I try to tackle the housework that surely awaits me when I arrive home or will I take a nap after sleeping on couches for three nights? Will my flight really leave today or will I be stuck in airport purgatory once again?
These are the questions that are chasing each other around my tired head as realize I hear a phone ringing. A real phone. As in, not a cell phone. I look around and am slightly surprised to see a small bank of old phone booths beside the row of chairs I am sitting in. I glance around the gate area, but only a few of us have congregated thus far, and the other one or two travelers seem too involved in whatever is happening on their laptops or, in one case, sound asleep, to even notice.
The phone continues to ring. I wonder if I will be whisked away by TSA agents if I answer. I am not interested in jeopardizing my chance at a ride home, finally, after the hassles and cancellations of yesterday.
What force inside me propels me toward that phone? I don’t know. I pick up the receiver almost as if an imaginary hand guided it there and tentatively venture “Hello?”
“Hello?” a hollow, far-away voice responds. It surprises me that this is a familiar voice, though I can’t figure out whose it belongs to. “I am calling for Maya Weber.” The voice is one of an older woman. And the name of the person asked for is mine.
“Um, I’m Maya.” My eyes scan for an airline agent, other ear pricked for an announcement. If the airline wants to contact me, why in the world would they be calling a pay phone? I didn’t even know those things were still in operation anymore.
“Maya, do you have a minute? I would like to talk to you.” I still can’t place the voice but decide that it has to be someone I know.
“Who is this?”
There is silence for a moment. Then a sigh. “Maya, you will not believe me if I tell you. Can you just listen to what I have to say?”
I am feeling alarmed now. “NO. No, I will hang up this phone right now if you do not tell me who you are and why you are calling.” I try to say this firmly, but quietly. I am not interested in drawing attention to myself.
Another sigh. “You might hang up anyway if I tell you. I might as well. Are you sitting?”
“Yes.” My stomach lurches.
“Will you promise not to hang up right away?”
“Maybe.”
A sigh again.
“Maya Weber.”
"Yes?"
"No - that's who I am."
“So your name is Maya Weber too and you are just tracking down everyone with your name and chatting with them?” I’m feeling irritated now. But the woman on the other end of the line might have dementia - I should be nice to her.
“No, I am not another Maya Weber. I am YOU.”
“What?” Dementia for sure. Then I remember that this is a pay phone in an airport - how could this woman know who I am, why I would be sitting here....
“Maya, I am the older you. Later in your life.”
This is ridiculous and frightening and I should probably hang up and report this phone call. Though I am not sure how exactly I can explain that I answered a pay phone and someone claiming to be me was on the other line. And I really just want to go home.
“Where are you calling from?”
“Oh, I am in a hospital. I went out of my room and down to the entrance and saw these phones. I asked God if I could call you before I left.”
I rub my eyes, feeling the vague edges of a headache beginning to sharpen. “Left for where? What are you talking about?”
“Well, I believe I just died and I am about to go somewhere. But I am not sure what’s going to happen next.”
Craziness. This is absolute craziness. “Why do you think you’re dead?”
Why am I entertaining this?!
“I am not in pain. And I was able to get up without help. And I saw myself lying on the bed. And all the monitors were ringing off like crazy. Lots of medical staff ran in and I just walked out. So...” there was a pause. “I came to the conclusion that I must have died. I saw the phones and I just had an overwhelming urge to speak to you before whatever is going to happen, happens.”
I was in this deep now, I might as well keep going. “Why now? Why at age 37, on this day and this time?”
“I don't know.” It’s dawning on me that this person does indeed have my voice, my inflections, my way of saying things. “Don't you think there are just things we aren't supposed to know? I believe that. So please don't ask me what will happen in life. I can’t change what will happen, but I wonder if I could....help you get through with more peace.”
I don’t know what to say. What does one say to something like this?
“If something will be really bad I want to know.”
“I can’t tell you. But it’s not what happens that's important.” She - or I - sigh again. Do I really sigh this much? “I want to tell you that you worry too much about things that don’t matter. You are too hard on yourself. That’s what you need to know. Let go. Be easier on yourself.”
My mind is whirling. What is she - am I - talking about?
“You will do just fine. Everything will be fine. And it will be even without you causing yourself a lot of unnecessary stress. You are strong. Beautiful. Capable. Young. Take time to enjoy life. Things change, Maya.”
Inexplicably, I want to cry. Then it occurs to me to ask about my children. “The kids -”
“They’re wonderful. Don’t ask. I told you. Just love them. Enjoy them.”
“My husband-”
“Him too. I think I have to go now...”
“Wait!”
“I am glad we could talk. Enjoy your life while you can, Maya.”
And then a click.
Slowly I hang up the phone, and look around the gate area. The people on laptops seem as if they haven’t looked up the entire time. The sleeper is still sleeping. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and no one seems to have noticed that I was talking on the pay phone to my future dead self.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Forgiving Paul
Some of you might be staying far away from these posts for fear that the lightening headed my way might have the ability to travel via the web.
In two different conversations with good friends, one via written correspondence, we have talked about the way we try to hard to meet up to our own unrealistic expectations that we construct partly from comparison with others. This chapter of I Corinthians is powerful, and makes me want to linger here for awhile. It makes me realize that if I really understood what love was - how to love and how God loves - the significance of achievement and whatever else we strive for would fall away. Paul introduces chapter 13's theme as better than all else. For this, perhaps I can work with him. I invite you to let the following words sink into your spirit and help focus your day. This translation is less poetic and melodious, but lends a fresh and modern perspective.
If I could speak in any language in heaven or on earth but didn't love others, I would only be making meaningless noise like a loud gong or clanging symbol. If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I knew all the mysteries of the future and knew everything about everything, but didn't love others, what good would it be? And if I had the gift of faith so that I could speak to a mountain and make it move, without love, it would be no good to anybody. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it, but if I didn't love others, I would be of no value whatsoever.
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged. It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Love will last forever, but prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will all disappear. Now we know only a little, and even the gift of prophecy reveals little! But when the end comes, these special gifts will all disappear.
It's like this: When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child does. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly, as in a poor mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me now.
There are three things that will endure--faith, hope and love--and the greatest of these is love.
In two different conversations with good friends, one via written correspondence, we have talked about the way we try to hard to meet up to our own unrealistic expectations that we construct partly from comparison with others. This chapter of I Corinthians is powerful, and makes me want to linger here for awhile. It makes me realize that if I really understood what love was - how to love and how God loves - the significance of achievement and whatever else we strive for would fall away. Paul introduces chapter 13's theme as better than all else. For this, perhaps I can work with him. I invite you to let the following words sink into your spirit and help focus your day. This translation is less poetic and melodious, but lends a fresh and modern perspective.
If I could speak in any language in heaven or on earth but didn't love others, I would only be making meaningless noise like a loud gong or clanging symbol. If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I knew all the mysteries of the future and knew everything about everything, but didn't love others, what good would it be? And if I had the gift of faith so that I could speak to a mountain and make it move, without love, it would be no good to anybody. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it, but if I didn't love others, I would be of no value whatsoever.
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged. It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Love will last forever, but prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will all disappear. Now we know only a little, and even the gift of prophecy reveals little! But when the end comes, these special gifts will all disappear.
It's like this: When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child does. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly, as in a poor mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me now.
There are three things that will endure--faith, hope and love--and the greatest of these is love.
Friday, June 17, 2011
I Feel Pretty
Whose room is this anyway? There are dress-up clothes strewn all over the bed. My dress up clothes. Of course, they pale in comparison to my kindergartners fluffy bejeweled gowns. Or most other people's dress-up clothes. I'm a stay-at-home mom/student/volunteer refugee worker. My everyday wardrobe is not even remotely fancy.
But I get to go out with grown-ups tonight, to my favorite little Italian restaurant in town. When discussing what to wear, one of my friends said she was just going to wear a nice pair of black pants and a shirt. (Which is technically dressing up in my book, especially if you throw in heels).
I survey the choices on my bed. I really wanted to wear that black pencil skirt with a cute summer blouse. But alas, that skirt only fits me when I am in top half-marathon condition. I can wear that skirt when my weekend runs pass the 10 mile mark. Not quite there yet. So it pulls just a bit too much across the butt. There's my black denim skirt. Aw, denim is so not dressy enough and that slit goes up a little higher than I'm comfortable with. I'll spend half the night tugging at it. There's the adorable Madmen-esque black and white striped skirt. So cute. But I'd need to run out and buy a summer shirt to match. Hmmm. Do I have time for an impromptu shopping trip? The kindergarten program is today.
And then there's the fabulous little black dress. It's a no-fuss sheath that tries not to be dressy. But it just can't help it. Even with flats. The neckline is lower than I usually wear. But it is the rare dress - you know - you have had one at some point in your life - when you put it on you say, "Wow! This dress is perfect for me!" Pretty good for a free hand-me-down.
That is not an every day kind of feeling for most women. I think. At least for me. It's fun to once in awhile feel like singing "I Feel Pretty." So maybe I will try to get that deodorant stain off of the hemline (how and when did that get there?) and wear it anyway. With a scarf and ballet flats and a not dressy purse. Or at least flats. A girl has to cash in and celebrate her girlyness every once in awhile.
Or maybe I'll take the excuse to go shopping and wear the black and white skirt. Either way, I'm going all girly tonight.
But I get to go out with grown-ups tonight, to my favorite little Italian restaurant in town. When discussing what to wear, one of my friends said she was just going to wear a nice pair of black pants and a shirt. (Which is technically dressing up in my book, especially if you throw in heels).
I survey the choices on my bed. I really wanted to wear that black pencil skirt with a cute summer blouse. But alas, that skirt only fits me when I am in top half-marathon condition. I can wear that skirt when my weekend runs pass the 10 mile mark. Not quite there yet. So it pulls just a bit too much across the butt. There's my black denim skirt. Aw, denim is so not dressy enough and that slit goes up a little higher than I'm comfortable with. I'll spend half the night tugging at it. There's the adorable Madmen-esque black and white striped skirt. So cute. But I'd need to run out and buy a summer shirt to match. Hmmm. Do I have time for an impromptu shopping trip? The kindergarten program is today.
And then there's the fabulous little black dress. It's a no-fuss sheath that tries not to be dressy. But it just can't help it. Even with flats. The neckline is lower than I usually wear. But it is the rare dress - you know - you have had one at some point in your life - when you put it on you say, "Wow! This dress is perfect for me!" Pretty good for a free hand-me-down.
That is not an every day kind of feeling for most women. I think. At least for me. It's fun to once in awhile feel like singing "I Feel Pretty." So maybe I will try to get that deodorant stain off of the hemline (how and when did that get there?) and wear it anyway. With a scarf and ballet flats and a not dressy purse. Or at least flats. A girl has to cash in and celebrate her girlyness every once in awhile.
Or maybe I'll take the excuse to go shopping and wear the black and white skirt. Either way, I'm going all girly tonight.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Over the Moon
Remember the Nancy Gruver quote about pursuing our dreams? That article of hers that held that quote was a game-changer for me. It also prompted me to buy my middle schooler a subscription to Gruver's magazine, New Moon.
And now, shameless promotion time. This is the BEST magazine ever. Seriously, if you have a daughter ages 8 - 14 or whenever they think they've outgrown it, check it out! Middle schoolers are hard-to-please, first of all, and my daughter LOVES it. She especially loves the online world of New Moon. She has met girls from all over the world who have things in common with her such as "aspiring photographer," "violinist," "has a cute dog," and "favorite author is Sharon Creech." Secondly, it is wholesome and inspires creativity and connections and growth and thinking and everything that girls' magazines do not do. It promotes healthy self-image, and diversity. The articles have substance. It encourages the girls to share their own work - stories, poems, essays, photos, artwork, ideas, etc. The content is mostly made up of submissions by the girls. Girls writing to each other.
It's all adult supervised as well. Anytime my kiddo submits anything or makes a new connection, I get a heads-up e-mail from the moms monitoring the site. I have to give my permission for her to get into any chat room or post anything remotely personal - even for her to get to the pages. It has to be the safest place on the Web for young girls. It's got my 12 and a half year old creating and writing all on her own, not to mention having interesting conversations with me.
If there is a young girl in your life you're looking for a gift for, here's your great idea. Or if you want to be encouraged that the world has not gone to hell in a hand basket and that there are still girls out there growing up lovely and strong with a publication that supports them in this, check it out too. It's inspiring.
And now, shameless promotion time. This is the BEST magazine ever. Seriously, if you have a daughter ages 8 - 14 or whenever they think they've outgrown it, check it out! Middle schoolers are hard-to-please, first of all, and my daughter LOVES it. She especially loves the online world of New Moon. She has met girls from all over the world who have things in common with her such as "aspiring photographer," "violinist," "has a cute dog," and "favorite author is Sharon Creech." Secondly, it is wholesome and inspires creativity and connections and growth and thinking and everything that girls' magazines do not do. It promotes healthy self-image, and diversity. The articles have substance. It encourages the girls to share their own work - stories, poems, essays, photos, artwork, ideas, etc. The content is mostly made up of submissions by the girls. Girls writing to each other.
It's all adult supervised as well. Anytime my kiddo submits anything or makes a new connection, I get a heads-up e-mail from the moms monitoring the site. I have to give my permission for her to get into any chat room or post anything remotely personal - even for her to get to the pages. It has to be the safest place on the Web for young girls. It's got my 12 and a half year old creating and writing all on her own, not to mention having interesting conversations with me.
If there is a young girl in your life you're looking for a gift for, here's your great idea. Or if you want to be encouraged that the world has not gone to hell in a hand basket and that there are still girls out there growing up lovely and strong with a publication that supports them in this, check it out too. It's inspiring.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
When Hindsight Needs Glasses
Feminists get a lot of negative press. I heard some just this week on a broadcast. (I almost wrote about it, but in the end, decided that both sides were just being silly and the whole conversation was unfruitful). First, I have said before that I don't identify as a card-carrying feminist. Second, there is some of that bad press deserving to be fought. There is a grain of truth in most criticism, however.
Christians get negative press too. Not in the particular show I heard, but the media has been known to not be so nice to Christians either. I do tend to identify as a Christian, because "Christ follower" or other alternatives for saying "Yes, I do love Jesus and try to follow him" make me feel pretentious. A lot of the criticism against Christians is ill-motivated and unfair. But some is dead-on.
Once again, feminists and Christians find common ground in saying "It was better in the old days!" and "It's all going downhill! These young kids aren't made of the same stuff."
Movements don't move forward in that spirit. My pastor (beloved, beloved pastor whose last sermon in our church is this Sunday - another reason this topic is on my mind) is fond of saying that you are not a good leader if you are not grooming a successor. He then provides Biblical examples of necessary torch-passing. Elijah to Elisha. Moses to Joshua. Jesus to Peter.
Sarah Boonin in her article, "Stop Thinking About Tomorrow: Building a Feminist Movement on College Campuses for Today" laments that older feminists have been reluctant to trust the leadership of the movement to the younger generation, and as a result, the movement is out of touch. They complain about the need for fresh blood, but reject giving young women real responsibility and a significant role. I have heard the same complaints in Christian circles at times too.
This is not unique to Christians or feminists. People lament about the state of our country and want to hearken back to the good old days (for a hilarious and characteristically offensive take on this, see John Oliver of the Daily Show's sketch on this.). Families do this too. Otherwise, the "I walked through the snow barefoot, uphill both ways" bit would have died out long ago. Why do we get stuck in the past?
There is a place for remembering. We learn from our past, and we can be encouraged and inspired from our past too. It can strengthen our ties to one another. But not at the expense of not trusting and building up the next generation. And sometimes, we of the passing generation hold tightly to dying causes. We try to plow forward in work that might be .... done? Or at least done in the way we were doing it?
I want to end with this idea, taken from Mark Nepo. The heart does not resist new experiences. It moves forward. We may try to stay in a memory, but it will lose its clarity around the edges and its gripping power over our emotions. A healthy heart keeps absorbing. A healthy movement or group absorbs new ideas and energy. As humans, we have another capacity besides remembering: survival. Survival requires flexibility and adaptation. It requires wholehearted investment in a new generation. Living tissue isn't brittle. It pulses with regeneration and growth.
Christians get negative press too. Not in the particular show I heard, but the media has been known to not be so nice to Christians either. I do tend to identify as a Christian, because "Christ follower" or other alternatives for saying "Yes, I do love Jesus and try to follow him" make me feel pretentious. A lot of the criticism against Christians is ill-motivated and unfair. But some is dead-on.
Once again, feminists and Christians find common ground in saying "It was better in the old days!" and "It's all going downhill! These young kids aren't made of the same stuff."
Movements don't move forward in that spirit. My pastor (beloved, beloved pastor whose last sermon in our church is this Sunday - another reason this topic is on my mind) is fond of saying that you are not a good leader if you are not grooming a successor. He then provides Biblical examples of necessary torch-passing. Elijah to Elisha. Moses to Joshua. Jesus to Peter.
Sarah Boonin in her article, "Stop Thinking About Tomorrow: Building a Feminist Movement on College Campuses for Today" laments that older feminists have been reluctant to trust the leadership of the movement to the younger generation, and as a result, the movement is out of touch. They complain about the need for fresh blood, but reject giving young women real responsibility and a significant role. I have heard the same complaints in Christian circles at times too.
This is not unique to Christians or feminists. People lament about the state of our country and want to hearken back to the good old days (for a hilarious and characteristically offensive take on this, see John Oliver of the Daily Show's sketch on this.). Families do this too. Otherwise, the "I walked through the snow barefoot, uphill both ways" bit would have died out long ago. Why do we get stuck in the past?
There is a place for remembering. We learn from our past, and we can be encouraged and inspired from our past too. It can strengthen our ties to one another. But not at the expense of not trusting and building up the next generation. And sometimes, we of the passing generation hold tightly to dying causes. We try to plow forward in work that might be .... done? Or at least done in the way we were doing it?
I want to end with this idea, taken from Mark Nepo. The heart does not resist new experiences. It moves forward. We may try to stay in a memory, but it will lose its clarity around the edges and its gripping power over our emotions. A healthy heart keeps absorbing. A healthy movement or group absorbs new ideas and energy. As humans, we have another capacity besides remembering: survival. Survival requires flexibility and adaptation. It requires wholehearted investment in a new generation. Living tissue isn't brittle. It pulses with regeneration and growth.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Break Up Letter
Dear Writer’s Block,
It’s not you, it’s me.
You have been so accommodating, really. You’ve tolerated my strays into the arms of Blogging with so much patience, welcoming me back every time. You made life very comfortable and safe for me.
But you see, that’s part of the problem. I’ve realized that I need to pursue, to dream, and to take chances. In our relationship, I have let that part of me lie neglected and languishing. I know you many not understand this, but if I stay with you, I will eventually be mourning the loss of that self.
I am writing this letter to say that it is time for us to go our separate ways. This must be a total break. I am sorry. We cannot be friends, because I fear that we will again fall into an easy pattern of you letting me have little affairs here and there with the likes of Term Papers. Please don’t try to contact me. It’s better for both of us this way. My heart is not really with you, and I cannot be what you want me to be.
I was going to write a piece about how humans seek safety, but really, what is accomplished by being safe? I was going to talk about how Aslan was not a safe lion and how well-behaved women rarely change history, but how can I do that when I am playing it safe myself? How hypocritical to encourage my friends to be brave while I sit afraid to make changes.
This may really hurt you, but I thought it would be less painful if you heard it from me instead of through the grapevine. Once a week, I plan to have a date with Short Stories (from Given Prompts, in Writer’s Digest - you have met a few times). This is very public, and we will be seen regularly in Ourselves, Reinvented. I’m sorry. It is what I think I need to get me on my feet.
I hope you find someone else soon. Maybe someone like J.K. Rowling? She might be ready to settle down. It won’t take you long - you can be very engaging.
Sincerely,
Tiffany
Friday, June 10, 2011
Welcome Summer!
Summertime! It hit an almost unheard of 97 degrees here in CNY this week. (Thank goodness I have one of the houses in the minority with central air conditioning).
My kids are not out of school yet. They are aware that the majority of the country is on summer break and are vocal about how unfair it is that they are not. This has not stopped them from daydreaming about the things they would like to do this summer.
Remember that - the luscious anticipation of no school for weeks? The looming stretch of lazy summer days where you could spend so much time doing whatever you wanted? Especially when I got old enough to ride my bike all around town, that freedom was intoxicating.
I looked forward to picnics with unlimited amounts of my favorite food and big softball or volleyball games or water balloon fights and what seemed like minimal adult supervision. I loved staying up until the sun went down, which was much later than my school bedtime, and chasing fireflies or playing flashlight tag, or going for ice cream. I remember snatching up with delirious joy any invitation to go swimming (we did not have a pool in my yard). I played tennis for hours, hit every jungle gym in every park in town, made forts under friend's porches. We took trips to lakes, including the one my grandparents lived on in Northern Wisconsin, which was the uncontested highlight of every summer.
Don't you still look forward to summer? In Michigan, it meant days on the dune beaches of Lake Michigan and camping trips to the UP. It meant I could plop my preschooler in the trailer and bike everywhere. It still means barbeques with friends and excursions to the farmer's markets. We will take trips with friends and just with our family, and we will swim in lakes
Maybe it's because winter is too darn long and rough, but Northern summers are heavenly, and I am celebrating that another one is here.
My kids are not out of school yet. They are aware that the majority of the country is on summer break and are vocal about how unfair it is that they are not. This has not stopped them from daydreaming about the things they would like to do this summer.
Remember that - the luscious anticipation of no school for weeks? The looming stretch of lazy summer days where you could spend so much time doing whatever you wanted? Especially when I got old enough to ride my bike all around town, that freedom was intoxicating.
I looked forward to picnics with unlimited amounts of my favorite food and big softball or volleyball games or water balloon fights and what seemed like minimal adult supervision. I loved staying up until the sun went down, which was much later than my school bedtime, and chasing fireflies or playing flashlight tag, or going for ice cream. I remember snatching up with delirious joy any invitation to go swimming (we did not have a pool in my yard). I played tennis for hours, hit every jungle gym in every park in town, made forts under friend's porches. We took trips to lakes, including the one my grandparents lived on in Northern Wisconsin, which was the uncontested highlight of every summer.
Don't you still look forward to summer? In Michigan, it meant days on the dune beaches of Lake Michigan and camping trips to the UP. It meant I could plop my preschooler in the trailer and bike everywhere. It still means barbeques with friends and excursions to the farmer's markets. We will take trips with friends and just with our family, and we will swim in lakes
and wade in creeks.
We will hike and canoe in the Adirondacks. I will forget to put on sunscreen and a hat and ruin my skin and hair. I will sustain a large number of mosquito bites, especially when I am pulling weeds in the morning in my garden. 
We will pick fresh berries
and make pies and muffins and just eat them raw until our bellies can't hold anymore. I vow to squeeze every ounce of wonderfulness out of every sunny and warm day this summer. Maybe it's because winter is too darn long and rough, but Northern summers are heavenly, and I am celebrating that another one is here.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Reverse Inspiration
Perhaps this is a negative topic. I plunge ahead anyway.
Just as there are people who inspire us, there are people who don't inspire us, or to be more accurate, inspire us to not be like them.
A fact: we all have difficult people in our lives. Whether it be the neighbor you try not to make eye contact with when you're outside, the coworker you can't stand, the extended family member who raises your blood pressure every holiday - we all can think of someone. And in this post I'm not even calling us to find the good in them.
Nope. What is that quality of theirs that makes every nerve in your body stand on end? Focus on that. Why does it bother you?
For me, there is often a subtle similarity to that person in myself - a tendency of mine that if allowed to go wild, would manifest itself in the form of the behavior of the one irking me. Opposite is not always what bothers us. In fact, it probably intrigues us. It's usually the traits we fight in ourselves that we dislike the most.
In the vein of the post yesterday about hearing our voice in our head vs. hearing our voice the way others hear it: I think these people in our lives can serve as the recorded version of our voices, so to speak. If someone caught you singing the song you don't want anyone to know you like with your earbuds in (because everyone sings loudly and off-key with earbuds in), recorded it, and then set it on a constant loop in the yard, cubicle, or couch next to yours - it's like that.
You may be thinking I'm a Meanie Jim (that's what we call it in our house, stolen from Junie B. Jones), but you gotta deal with difficult people somehow. Live and learn. When I am finding myself irritated to the point where I am about to bust out a nasty verbal lashing, I try to remember that perhaps, this is a reminder of what I don't want to be. For example, if someone is complaining so much that I want to hit them over the head - that's what I sound like when I complain. That's what I look like when I'm being selfish and stingy. That's what I sound like when I am being arrogant. That's what it looks like when I sit on my butt and do nothing.
This method beats becoming bitter, anyway. Not that I've mastered it. It feels good to gossip like hell in the moment. But of course that just opens an invitation to gossip like hell about me when I inevitably engage in the same behavior. Hypocrisy is even harder to resist gossiping about.
So be inspired;)
Just as there are people who inspire us, there are people who don't inspire us, or to be more accurate, inspire us to not be like them.
A fact: we all have difficult people in our lives. Whether it be the neighbor you try not to make eye contact with when you're outside, the coworker you can't stand, the extended family member who raises your blood pressure every holiday - we all can think of someone. And in this post I'm not even calling us to find the good in them.
Nope. What is that quality of theirs that makes every nerve in your body stand on end? Focus on that. Why does it bother you?
For me, there is often a subtle similarity to that person in myself - a tendency of mine that if allowed to go wild, would manifest itself in the form of the behavior of the one irking me. Opposite is not always what bothers us. In fact, it probably intrigues us. It's usually the traits we fight in ourselves that we dislike the most.
In the vein of the post yesterday about hearing our voice in our head vs. hearing our voice the way others hear it: I think these people in our lives can serve as the recorded version of our voices, so to speak. If someone caught you singing the song you don't want anyone to know you like with your earbuds in (because everyone sings loudly and off-key with earbuds in), recorded it, and then set it on a constant loop in the yard, cubicle, or couch next to yours - it's like that.
You may be thinking I'm a Meanie Jim (that's what we call it in our house, stolen from Junie B. Jones), but you gotta deal with difficult people somehow. Live and learn. When I am finding myself irritated to the point where I am about to bust out a nasty verbal lashing, I try to remember that perhaps, this is a reminder of what I don't want to be. For example, if someone is complaining so much that I want to hit them over the head - that's what I sound like when I complain. That's what I look like when I'm being selfish and stingy. That's what I sound like when I am being arrogant. That's what it looks like when I sit on my butt and do nothing.
This method beats becoming bitter, anyway. Not that I've mastered it. It feels good to gossip like hell in the moment. But of course that just opens an invitation to gossip like hell about me when I inevitably engage in the same behavior. Hypocrisy is even harder to resist gossiping about.
So be inspired;)
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Is That What I Sound Like?
My youngest daughter recently discovered that the way her voice sounds to others is not the way she hears it in her head. I remember when this happened to my older daughter, and even myself as a kid. The discovery is accompanied by disbelief and then almost disgust. "That's NOT what I sound like! Is it?" Each kid then went through a stage when they did not want to hear a recording of their voice. They preferred not to be confronted with reality.
There is nothing a person can do about this. The acoustics of hearing your voice from inside your own head will never be the same as hearing them from the world outside your head.
This happens in many areas of life when exercising our faith and passions or carrying out responsibilities. Also recently, I discovered that my daughter's view of me as a mother is quite different than my own view of me as a mother. I knew this was so, I just did not realize HOW this operated. I assumed it was that I thought I was cooler than she thinks I am, which I was pretty sure was not at all. That I am dumb and clueless and she is smart and savvy.
Nope. How about that she thinks I am always unhappy with her, and that I am difficult to please. And I thought I was so gracious and accepting.
Ouch. More than ouch. Heartbreak. Especially when my husband has been aware of this. And who knows who else. I suspect many people, from the way my friends are always saying, "Tiff, you know she's a great kid, right?"
This mismatch of the way I hear my voice and the way others hear my voice occurs far too often. I think I am a good ____. And then I see someone else get the offer I was hoping for and it dawns on me that others do not share the same opinion. Of course, my temptation is to say "Well, I AM a good ____ and they just don't see it" and carefully arrange circumstances so that I don't have to face reality.
I took voice lessons as a teenager. While one can never know exactly what one's voice sounds like unless by hearing a recording, I had to learn how to change the quality of my voice to match what my instructor required of me. When you learn anything new, you are worse for awhile before you get better. I always had a good ear, but I struggled through a period of time when I sang consistently sharp. One day it finally clicked, and I went back to having good pitch and being able to tinker with all those other adjustments I was learning to make.
In most of life, the stakes are usually much higher, as in the case of being a mother. There are natural tendencies I am stuck with that I just have to learn to adjust around. I can pretend things are fine - the problem is with everyone else. Or I can open myself to critique and dig in and work hard to change what could be better. Which is usually worth it. The silliest thing would have been for my kids to start refusing to talk because they did not like the way their voices sounded in the ears of others.
Sometimes, we know we sound good and someone is just way off base or jealously motivated to be untruthfully mean. In which case you shake it off. Which is why it is important to develop a good sense. Because we can also learn to be hyper-sensitive so that we are ineffective and gun-shy and never develop the courage to exercise our voices.
We can march ignorantly ahead in the same dissonant fashion or quiet our voices at the barbs of our critics. Or we can develop a relationship with trusted mentors and peers who are practicing as we are, who will give us helpful feedback and support. Teachers who will guide us through the process of change, and honest friends who will praise or hold our hand when needed.
Why am I telling you this? Because we need the assurance that we are not the only one who got passed over for a promotion or who did not get asked to serve on the committee or whose submission got rejected. Good singers don't always get the lead role. I might even still be an ok mom, because, after all, who lovingly dresses the track burn wounds or waits in dressing rooms in the mall for hours? (That's called "self pep talking"). None of us have perfected the upgraded version. But that doesn't mean we don't stop trying to work the kinks out.
There is nothing a person can do about this. The acoustics of hearing your voice from inside your own head will never be the same as hearing them from the world outside your head.
This happens in many areas of life when exercising our faith and passions or carrying out responsibilities. Also recently, I discovered that my daughter's view of me as a mother is quite different than my own view of me as a mother. I knew this was so, I just did not realize HOW this operated. I assumed it was that I thought I was cooler than she thinks I am, which I was pretty sure was not at all. That I am dumb and clueless and she is smart and savvy.
Nope. How about that she thinks I am always unhappy with her, and that I am difficult to please. And I thought I was so gracious and accepting.
Ouch. More than ouch. Heartbreak. Especially when my husband has been aware of this. And who knows who else. I suspect many people, from the way my friends are always saying, "Tiff, you know she's a great kid, right?"
This mismatch of the way I hear my voice and the way others hear my voice occurs far too often. I think I am a good ____. And then I see someone else get the offer I was hoping for and it dawns on me that others do not share the same opinion. Of course, my temptation is to say "Well, I AM a good ____ and they just don't see it" and carefully arrange circumstances so that I don't have to face reality.
I took voice lessons as a teenager. While one can never know exactly what one's voice sounds like unless by hearing a recording, I had to learn how to change the quality of my voice to match what my instructor required of me. When you learn anything new, you are worse for awhile before you get better. I always had a good ear, but I struggled through a period of time when I sang consistently sharp. One day it finally clicked, and I went back to having good pitch and being able to tinker with all those other adjustments I was learning to make.
In most of life, the stakes are usually much higher, as in the case of being a mother. There are natural tendencies I am stuck with that I just have to learn to adjust around. I can pretend things are fine - the problem is with everyone else. Or I can open myself to critique and dig in and work hard to change what could be better. Which is usually worth it. The silliest thing would have been for my kids to start refusing to talk because they did not like the way their voices sounded in the ears of others.
Sometimes, we know we sound good and someone is just way off base or jealously motivated to be untruthfully mean. In which case you shake it off. Which is why it is important to develop a good sense. Because we can also learn to be hyper-sensitive so that we are ineffective and gun-shy and never develop the courage to exercise our voices.
We can march ignorantly ahead in the same dissonant fashion or quiet our voices at the barbs of our critics. Or we can develop a relationship with trusted mentors and peers who are practicing as we are, who will give us helpful feedback and support. Teachers who will guide us through the process of change, and honest friends who will praise or hold our hand when needed.
Why am I telling you this? Because we need the assurance that we are not the only one who got passed over for a promotion or who did not get asked to serve on the committee or whose submission got rejected. Good singers don't always get the lead role. I might even still be an ok mom, because, after all, who lovingly dresses the track burn wounds or waits in dressing rooms in the mall for hours? (That's called "self pep talking"). None of us have perfected the upgraded version. But that doesn't mean we don't stop trying to work the kinks out.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
a baby step
Time for some honesty. When it comes to the struggles of women worldwide, I've not done a whole lot. My heart aches when I hear the stories, when I recognize that being born a woman in many parts of the world is a life sentence, in a way. Yet I haven't really found my way of making a difference. I've been an observer of the situations, not a participant in remedying them.
But I may have just stumbled upon something that is right up my alley.
Over the weekend, I hosted a byTavi open house in my home. byTavi and a sister program, Daughters, have both been featured here before. You can read what Tiffany's written about them here and here. There are also links at the bottom of the page for more information about what these organizations are doing for women in Cambodia.
It was my sister-in-law, Carrie, who first introduced me to these products, the organization, and the story. One holiday, she unloaded a huge bin of scarves and bags. I'm a shopper. A lover of beautiful things. And I was so excited! We "shopped" for hours in the dining room. I bought things for myself and gifts.
That was over eight months ago. That night, Carrie suggested that I have a party. A simple idea. I have people over, show them the byTavi products, tell a little about the story of byTavi, and let them buy if they find something they like.
And honestly, it took me eight months to work up the courage. It seems silly, doesn't it. Having to work up courage for such a simple thing.
It actually took the prompting of a friend, who had never even seen the products, to get me to do it. We are in a book club together and she thought it would be a great idea to have the products out and available to the book club members when they came over for the monthly gathering. So I did.
And then, since I had three tubs of gorgeous stuff, I decided to build up my courage and ask the rest of my friends over to see what byTavi makes.
It actually took the prompting of a friend, who had never even seen the products, to get me to do it. We are in a book club together and she thought it would be a great idea to have the products out and available to the book club members when they came over for the monthly gathering. So I did.
It was a great evening. I sent out an email invitation to about twenty gals and gave them the website ahead of time so they could look at some of the products. Ten or so of them came to browse, try on, and check out the bags and scarves.
Basically, all I had to do was display the products and collect the payment, though I did also provide some fresh flowers, snacks, and drinks.
It was a great way to spend an evening. It felt great to introduce some of my friends to the lovely products and the good work that byTavi is doing for women in Cambodia. Women with children who are worried about things I've never even had to consider.
Thanks byTavi, CGI, and Carrie for letting me in on this amazing experience.
If you think you'd be interested in hosting a party like this, you can get in touch with the right people by going to the byTavi website. Again, the link is at the bottom of the page. Also, byTavi and The Center for Global Impact are on Facebook.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
On Second Thought
I Corinthians 12:1-16?! "Man is God's glory, made in God's own image, but the woman is the glory of man." Get outta town, Paul. (He's telling women to cover their heads when they are praying, but men don't have to). At least he admits that this is one of those topics up for debate, not the absolute truth from God. I'll give you that, Paul.
In one of my past lives (no, it's really the same life - I just have, er, made some sharp turns in my journey) I was a nursing student, and had to take LOTS of anatomy & physiology and such. The difference between men and women is a different cocktail of chemicals. Powerful chemicals, yes. But the same exact stuff is in all of us - just different amounts of hormones and a little chromosome.
If you are taking a walk or run or a long car ride or have some time to kill I STRONGLY recommend listening to Testosterone, and if you are really short on time at least listen to Act Two, about a person who decided they were really the other gender and started taking testosterone. It is really fascinating and causes you to really explore the subject of gender in ways you may not have.
I wonder if "This American Life" is available in Heaven....
In one of my past lives (no, it's really the same life - I just have, er, made some sharp turns in my journey) I was a nursing student, and had to take LOTS of anatomy & physiology and such. The difference between men and women is a different cocktail of chemicals. Powerful chemicals, yes. But the same exact stuff is in all of us - just different amounts of hormones and a little chromosome.
If you are taking a walk or run or a long car ride or have some time to kill I STRONGLY recommend listening to Testosterone, and if you are really short on time at least listen to Act Two, about a person who decided they were really the other gender and started taking testosterone. It is really fascinating and causes you to really explore the subject of gender in ways you may not have.
I wonder if "This American Life" is available in Heaven....
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Summer Reading
June is summer in my mind. Even if my kid's aren't out of school until the end of the month. Summer means vacation, fun, etc. You have a whole month to read The Pull of the Moon by Elizabeth Berg for a book discussion with Amanda in July. This is a lighter, quicker read than the others we have done. A summer read. Perfect for lovely June evenings:) In addition, if you can get your hands on it, we'll be discussing it's companion essay "Martin's Letter to Nan" in Berg's Ordinary Life, a compilation of short stories. (As an aside, you simply must read the title story just because it's fabulous).
Pull of the Moon is a series of a woman's letters to her husband, and the short story is his response (already, isn't it interesting that what she has to say fills a book, and what he has to say is a few pages?) It will be fun to talk about the 2 together, but there's plenty to discuss in the book alone.
If you haven't joined the book discussions before because they seem to heavy, this would be a great one to jump in on.
Pull of the Moon is a series of a woman's letters to her husband, and the short story is his response (already, isn't it interesting that what she has to say fills a book, and what he has to say is a few pages?) It will be fun to talk about the 2 together, but there's plenty to discuss in the book alone.
If you haven't joined the book discussions before because they seem to heavy, this would be a great one to jump in on.
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