My body isn't my enemy. It's not.
I'm not at all sure how to go about writing this blog post. I have so many thoughts (read incredibly strong convictions) and emotions bubbling up inside of me that need an outlet. I'm only 36, and yet I have been working at reconciliation with my body for roughly 3 decades. I cannot remember a time as a child or young person in which I did not feel at war with my body.
The war is over.
Not because one side triumphed, but because I/we realized that there are no sides at all. My body is not an entity outside of my "self."
I wrote an article for The Mennonite quite some time ago on the topic of children and praying with their bodies. In it I draw from the work of Jane Vennard when I say "...the valuing of soul over body has also created a body-negative culture
in North America, where bodies are seen as “beasts of burden” that need
to be starved into thinness or whipped into shape."Our culture hates our bodies. I know that seems like a ludicrous thing to say given the attention that we lavish upon them. We have creams, ointments, masks, waxes, tanning lotions and beds, and programs to keep them in line. Surely we love our bodies, perhaps too much?
I don't think so.
Think about loving a child. If I were to daily look my child in the eyes and tell her that she is not good enough, that she is too fat, or that she is stupid, or that she needs less hair/more hair, should be taller/shorter, should get off her lazy ass, should simply not be whatever she currently is, then I would have my child removed from my care. This is not love, this is abuse. We abuse our bodies. We abuse them when we consistently and constantly judge ourselves, when we berate ourselves, when we speak as if our bodies were somehow not part of us (my body is sensitive, my body hurts etc.), when we try with every ounce of our being and every penny in our pockets to make our bodies something that they are not, we are abusive.
I grew up believing that abusing my body was healthy and good. This is what North American culture taught me. I learned that if I am sad and I begin to cry, I should stifle that impulse, wipe the tears away and suck it up. I learned that if I experience pain in my knee, I should ignore it and push through the pain. I learned that if my body doesn't look a certain way, I should fight it with every weapon I can find. I learned that every natural impulse or characteristic that I have is a problem to overcome. I have fine hair, I should check out a new shampoo. I'm heavy-set, I should try this new diet. I'm sensitive and anxious, I should take medication. I grow body hair, I should be waxed. I grew up with the idea that my body was a thing, and that thing was a problem. And if I could just solve all the problems then I would be happy and the sun would shine out every orifice (watch a diet or hair commercial, I'm not exaggerating).
What a load of hogwash.
I'm not sure exactly how I've come to that realization. I think mentally I've known for years that this was the case, but it's only in the last few years or so that I've come to truly embrace a different way of viewing the world. My body is me and I am my body. I cannot speak of my body as if it is not in every way connected to my mind/spirit/soul/thoughts/emotions. I love how Margaret Farley talks about "inspirited bodies, embodied spirits" (Farley, Just Love). My body is not something apart from myself that needs to be overcome, my body simply is me. And as I have worked with a Gestalt Pastoral Care minister I've come to realize how ridiculous it is to actually imagine that I can feel something in my heart, and have it not impact my body, or injure some part of my body and not have it impact my entire being.
So if I am a whole being, am I then something to be overcome? Many strains of Christianity would say yes, whole-heartedly. As human beings we are at root, sinful, at root we are a problem that is only overcome through Christ. I am a worm who is nothing unless I am "saved." As Alicia discusses far more eloquently on her blog, many of us have a negative theological anthropology. It is an understanding of the self that begins after "the fall." We are oriented in the world through a lens of sin. But that's not where the story begins. Genesis was written to provide stories of orientation, stories to explain who we are, how we can understand ourselves and God. Genesis is a call to faith that begins...in the beginning. These stories of orientation do not begin with our mistakes, they begin in our goodness, in our createdness. They begin in love.
At my core, I am good. In my entirety. I live in a broken world, and I am a broken person and so my goodness is at times masked by hurt/pain, illness, bad behaviour etc. But none of that changes that I am good. And if I choose a lens through which I see myself as good and beloved, over a lens through which I see a worm who is unworthy (or the cultural lens that says I need cosmetic enhancement), that lens makes all the difference.
When I see my whole self through the lens of my belovedness, then I am enough. I am not a problem to overcome, I am a person on a journey. When I sense that I am sad, I allow myself to feel sorrow, I weep, and I approach my sadness with compassion. When I sense that I am experiencing some type of physical pain, I approach the pain with curiousity. When I look into a mirror, I simply see me as I am. I do not approach myself with judgement, but with wonder. I do not succeed at this everyday, it's hard work to change lenses entirely. But most days, at the very least, there is no hatred. There is no war.
I ache when I see ads/videos/books that try so hard to convince me that I am a problem. My teeth which are a natural shade of "tooth" are not white enough. My body which naturally grows hair is too hairy. My breasts which are naturally large should stand up taller (a gravitational impossibility). My skin which is naturally white should be more tan. Every single day I am bombarded with people telling me that I have a problem and it needs to be fixed. That I am at war and must be armed for battle. I ache for myself and for every woman, every man, and every child who learns to view the world and themselves through a lens that promotes war against the body, that promotes an understanding of the self that is divided and in perpetual conflict.
It's funny, that often people think of God as judgmental, or exacting, or demanding. I think we do a pretty spectacular job of that all on our own. And when I feel completely disheartened and overwhelmed by our warring ways, I meditate. And God meets me. She meets me under a huge oak tree and we sit in the sun and it shines and we shine, and there is peace (no purchase necessary).
Friday, 10 May 2013
Saturday, 4 May 2013
Yes I appreciate free-range, but I simply can't raise chickens in my bathroom
I was checking out some great links posted on The Femonite this morning and I came across an article that stirred up some thoughts for me. It's called "Is Michal Pollen a sexist pig?" and the author, Emily Matchar, discusses the current trend toward domesticity, whole foods, and urban chickens (and a whole lot of other related stuff) and how those who are blaming feminism for the destruction of our food culture and our health have it wrong. It's quite a fascinating article and it brings up a lot of interesting points, but I just want to touch on this one particular paragraph (which, I should mention, is not really the main point of the article).
I too love that people are starting to care more about food, about where it comes from, how we can prepare it and share it with friends and family. But I have absolutely no desire to be part of a culture that shames people into doing and being things that are not life-giving or provides them with another way to feel insufficient. If you've just managed to rip off those apron strings after decades of kitchen monotony, then please, don't look back! In my opinion, the purpose of recognizing where our food comes from is so that we can be reconnected with the earth, the purpose of reclaiming cooking is so that we can revel in creativity and hospitality, the purpose of rediscovering whole foods is so that our bodies and our earth can be healthier. All of these things are meant to be life-giving, but that doesn't mean that all people who hold these particular values (and not everyone does) will desire or be able to live them out in the same way.
I meet people who most certainly care deeply about the foods that are eaten in their homes, and about the environment etc. but not all of them find digging in the dirt, or cooking in the kitchen to be life-giving. Gardening and cooking are first of all, skills that not everyone has (you can always learn, but let's face it, some people will always find that their plants die and their cakes flop), and second, they are activities that drain the life out of some people. Alicia adores digging in the dirt and watching things grow and I hate it. Let me be clear, I love the idea of gardening and harvest and growing things and being sustainable, but I just don't like to have dirty hands. I never have. But I love cooking (most days). I find it incredibly life-giving to pull fresh baked bread out of the oven or cook pots of nourishing soup, but I also know people for whom cooking a meal is akin to going to the dentist. What is life-giving for one, is simply not life-giving for another. If you love to cook or garden, great! If you'd love to learn, that's great too! If you want to run for the hills when someone hands you an apron, I'll find you a good pair of runners!
And whether you find these tasks life-giving or not, realistically we don't all have the time to do absolutely everything from scratch. Our ancestors didn't do everything "all natural" because they wanted to, but because they had to. They had to make choices about where their priorities lay and what could get done in a day given their reality and we have to do the same. If you have three kids and a full time job, then your choices are going to look mighty different than mine, as a single woman currently underemployed. Some people who really want to get in touch with where food comes from will sell their house, quit their job and start share-cropping on a farm somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Others might buy a good book for their kids and suggest a school field trip to a farm at their next parent/teacher meeting and still others might grow tomatoes in a pot on their 3 foot balcony. I for one love free-range chickens, but I have no yard, and I can't raise them in my bathroom. We have to make choices that grow out of our values as well as our current reality (which doesn't mean that you can't take risks or dream).
And another valuable point that Matchar makes is that the group that most largely supports movement towards this contemporary domesticity is the group that can choose to do so because they are part of the more privileged and/or educated middle-class (though certainly not all fall into this group). It is simply not financially feasible for every single person to follow the current trend of buying all organic, free-range, fair trade, local etc. These foods are expensive! Shopping at Superstore, Walmart or Kroger does not mean that one doesn't care about the environment, it may simply mean that's where one can afford to shop in order to put food on the table. And while some foods are actually cheaper when you do make them yourself (yogurt), they also take time and a bit of know-how. Again, each of us has to make purchasing choices based on both our values and our reality.
I love a lot of stuff that comes out of this more natural, sustainable, earthy movement. I love that there are children out there learning to grow things. I love that there are people pulling bread out of the oven for the first time with a sense of pride and accomplishment. I love that there are people being creative in the kitchen and thinking about new ways to care for our earth. But I don't love the judgement, or the guilt, or the shame that sometimes seems to get attached to these ideals. Valuing our health, our food, our planet, and our creativity is supposed to be life-giving and I don't want people to feel insufficient because they don't have the time or money or ability to live in the box this trend has created, even a sustainable eco-friendly one!
Our country is clearly in a dire state when it comes to obesity and the environmental impact of factory farming, so the fact that more people care about food is terrific. But the kitchen’s always been a fraught place when it comes to gender and class, and the twenty-first century is shaping up to be no different. For some, the new cooking culture is incredibly empowering. Others are finding themselves tied up in apron strings all over again.
I too love that people are starting to care more about food, about where it comes from, how we can prepare it and share it with friends and family. But I have absolutely no desire to be part of a culture that shames people into doing and being things that are not life-giving or provides them with another way to feel insufficient. If you've just managed to rip off those apron strings after decades of kitchen monotony, then please, don't look back! In my opinion, the purpose of recognizing where our food comes from is so that we can be reconnected with the earth, the purpose of reclaiming cooking is so that we can revel in creativity and hospitality, the purpose of rediscovering whole foods is so that our bodies and our earth can be healthier. All of these things are meant to be life-giving, but that doesn't mean that all people who hold these particular values (and not everyone does) will desire or be able to live them out in the same way.
I meet people who most certainly care deeply about the foods that are eaten in their homes, and about the environment etc. but not all of them find digging in the dirt, or cooking in the kitchen to be life-giving. Gardening and cooking are first of all, skills that not everyone has (you can always learn, but let's face it, some people will always find that their plants die and their cakes flop), and second, they are activities that drain the life out of some people. Alicia adores digging in the dirt and watching things grow and I hate it. Let me be clear, I love the idea of gardening and harvest and growing things and being sustainable, but I just don't like to have dirty hands. I never have. But I love cooking (most days). I find it incredibly life-giving to pull fresh baked bread out of the oven or cook pots of nourishing soup, but I also know people for whom cooking a meal is akin to going to the dentist. What is life-giving for one, is simply not life-giving for another. If you love to cook or garden, great! If you'd love to learn, that's great too! If you want to run for the hills when someone hands you an apron, I'll find you a good pair of runners!
And whether you find these tasks life-giving or not, realistically we don't all have the time to do absolutely everything from scratch. Our ancestors didn't do everything "all natural" because they wanted to, but because they had to. They had to make choices about where their priorities lay and what could get done in a day given their reality and we have to do the same. If you have three kids and a full time job, then your choices are going to look mighty different than mine, as a single woman currently underemployed. Some people who really want to get in touch with where food comes from will sell their house, quit their job and start share-cropping on a farm somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Others might buy a good book for their kids and suggest a school field trip to a farm at their next parent/teacher meeting and still others might grow tomatoes in a pot on their 3 foot balcony. I for one love free-range chickens, but I have no yard, and I can't raise them in my bathroom. We have to make choices that grow out of our values as well as our current reality (which doesn't mean that you can't take risks or dream).
And another valuable point that Matchar makes is that the group that most largely supports movement towards this contemporary domesticity is the group that can choose to do so because they are part of the more privileged and/or educated middle-class (though certainly not all fall into this group). It is simply not financially feasible for every single person to follow the current trend of buying all organic, free-range, fair trade, local etc. These foods are expensive! Shopping at Superstore, Walmart or Kroger does not mean that one doesn't care about the environment, it may simply mean that's where one can afford to shop in order to put food on the table. And while some foods are actually cheaper when you do make them yourself (yogurt), they also take time and a bit of know-how. Again, each of us has to make purchasing choices based on both our values and our reality.
I love a lot of stuff that comes out of this more natural, sustainable, earthy movement. I love that there are children out there learning to grow things. I love that there are people pulling bread out of the oven for the first time with a sense of pride and accomplishment. I love that there are people being creative in the kitchen and thinking about new ways to care for our earth. But I don't love the judgement, or the guilt, or the shame that sometimes seems to get attached to these ideals. Valuing our health, our food, our planet, and our creativity is supposed to be life-giving and I don't want people to feel insufficient because they don't have the time or money or ability to live in the box this trend has created, even a sustainable eco-friendly one!
Thursday, 25 April 2013
I'm not a mannequin
The one thing that I always looked forward to was the possibility of spending time at Coles bookstore (no longer in existence). The sore feet and long hours were worth it if I could just be let loose for a time among all those good friends I had yet to meet. Coles was the one saving grace in a mall filled with nattering sales people trying to convince me that I looked wonderful in that T-shirt even though it fit me like a sausage in a casing. It was the one place I felt at home.
Yesterday, I found myself in the mall. It was of necessity. I don't go shopping unless I have to. Since I live in the city now, the trips are thankfully shorter, though no less infrequent. However, because I was going to meet Alicia there, and my tasks took less time than I anticipated, I ended up walking the mall for well over an hour. As I walked passed the stores, Victoria's Secret with its soft porn advertising (or maybe not all that soft) and shoe store after shoe store, I was struck by a sudden realization. All the "edifying" stores were gone. I know there are millions of people who would probably like to argue with me that La Senza and Forever XXI are edifying, but this isn't their blog.
What I mean by edifying stores are the stores that fed people's hearts and minds. There used to be art (real art, not a zillion copies of a Gerber daisy or two cute kids kissing), musical instruments (along with sheet music and records), books, games and toys (often educational), craft stores and shops dedicated to the art of cooking. And now it seems we are just mannequins who need to be dressed and undressed and dressed again. Almost every store I passed by was dedicated to this purpose of shaping my outer persona, of covering up my flaws and flaunting my...well, we won't go there.
Like I said, as a child the one saving grace in the mall was the book store. The craft store and the toy store were a close second. They were the places I could breathe, provided I wasn't standing too close to the eucalyptus branches used for making tacky 80's swags for over the mantel.They were the places where I could explore my interests and escape from the never-ending concern about my body and how I looked to other people. And I don't like to get all immersed in the "oh, this whole world's going to hell in a handbag" kind of mentality, but this realization did make me stop and think. Young people spend hours in these malls. I could tell when school got out because the hallways were flooded with young people. And certainly a few looked like they were coming in to grab an item and leave, but for many, this is a serious past time. And it just made me think. I'm not a mannequin. None of us are mannequins.
We are so much more than dolls to be dressed up. We are worth more than a BOGO shoe sale. We are worth fables, and biographies, arias, and ballads, and banjos, and cellos, and pastels, and oil paint, and canvas, and easels, and Scrabble, and Trouble, and hiking, and baking, and pasta making.
And I'm not saying that I expect the mall to be the place where we go to become whole, complete human beings, but perhaps I'm just afraid that spending a lot of time at the mall will make us forget that we are.
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Can you see me sparkling? Do you see me glow? :)
(I should note that the title of this post is roughly a line from a Mennonite (?) camp song that was running through my head as I wrote this...and now it won't stop!)
You know that look, that sparkle you see in someone's eyes when they're comfortable in their own skin, when they're doing the thing that makes them most alive, when they're being truly who they were created to be? Have you seen that look? It's a look of absolute rightness, of pure congruence. I adore seeing that look in peoples' eyes. It's the look that says, "I'm home."
For many people, this doesn't happen very often. And frequently we don't notice it when the look is on our own faces. I know I sure didn't. I remember some of the first times when Alicia and others like Mandy, Sheila, and Linda began to smile and even laugh while watching me talk. I was confused, I wasn't saying anything funny. And then they pointed out that I was glowing.
I was glowing.
Having friends point out when I begin to glow has been one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. I can't see myself in the mirror all the time (and I probably wouldn't respond the same way when talking to a mirror!). I don't always notice when I'm truly joyful, or truly convicted, or truly at peace. But sometimes people who know me notice. They watch me talk about ministry, about finding resources, about storytelling, about fiction, about baking bread and they see me begin to glow and they know that I am home.
Having received this gift from my friends and mentors, I find myself looking for it in others. I hope and pray that each time I see that look, I will be mindful of it. I will cherish it, and I will name it.
I will name it.
It was life-changing for me, maybe it will be for them as well.
You know that look, that sparkle you see in someone's eyes when they're comfortable in their own skin, when they're doing the thing that makes them most alive, when they're being truly who they were created to be? Have you seen that look? It's a look of absolute rightness, of pure congruence. I adore seeing that look in peoples' eyes. It's the look that says, "I'm home."
For many people, this doesn't happen very often. And frequently we don't notice it when the look is on our own faces. I know I sure didn't. I remember some of the first times when Alicia and others like Mandy, Sheila, and Linda began to smile and even laugh while watching me talk. I was confused, I wasn't saying anything funny. And then they pointed out that I was glowing.
I was glowing.
Having friends point out when I begin to glow has been one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. I can't see myself in the mirror all the time (and I probably wouldn't respond the same way when talking to a mirror!). I don't always notice when I'm truly joyful, or truly convicted, or truly at peace. But sometimes people who know me notice. They watch me talk about ministry, about finding resources, about storytelling, about fiction, about baking bread and they see me begin to glow and they know that I am home.
Having received this gift from my friends and mentors, I find myself looking for it in others. I hope and pray that each time I see that look, I will be mindful of it. I will cherish it, and I will name it.
I will name it.
It was life-changing for me, maybe it will be for them as well.
Saturday, 13 April 2013
Elephants, Hippos, Giraffes...Oh My!
When I was a child I must have had dreams, but I can honestly say that I don't remember almost any of them. I vividly recall nightmares (which were few, but memorable, usually involving amphibians and reptiles), but never my dreams. When I moved to the city as a 17 year-old things changed. All of a sudden I started to wake up with clear memories of the most startling and bizarre dreams imaginable. And after that, they've never really stopped.
I don't remember my dreams every night. And I still have nightmares sometimes. It's funny, my nightmares often are exactly the same ones I had as a small child, with a few home invasions thrown in. But my dreams, my dreams are completely impossible to predict.
Okay, perhaps not completely impossible. The number of dreams I've had of elephants means there's probably at least a 20% chance that my dreams will include at least one of these creatures. I've ridden elephants, watched dancing elephants, had elephants on my roof, and watched a baby elephant jumping on a trampoline who wanted me to take pictures and get him duplicates. Coincidentally, my mother also dreams about elephants. I have no idea why, and I'm not all that into dream analysis, so I just kind of go with it.
Not long ago I had a dream in which my dad and I were about to be eaten by a hippopotamus. We were floating in a river and there were little huts along the bank. Some small children saw our predicament and started calling to one another down the river and eventually help came to save us from the gaping maw of the hippo. Not sure what would have happened to us if no one had come to the rescue! And while there was some sense of impending doom, I wouldn't classify it as a nightmare. I didn't wake up in a sweat with my heart pounding.
I understand the myriad dreams that I've had that in some way indicate frustration. Often I've been racing around an arena completely unable to get to the judges stand on the other side. The competition is ready to begin and I'm the only one missing. These kinds of dreams make sense to me. They are predictable, normal, and while they sometimes put me in a bit of a panic, they are basically boring. But some of my dreams are just delightfully bizarre and make me wonder if nothing is impossible. I wake up bewildered. I wake up smiling. And sometimes I actually wake up laughing.
So whether my food or the furniture is talking or I find myself riding a giraffe in a purple fedora, I'm grateful for these dreams because in them there is a kind of freedom. In them all societal norms, all the laws of physics and biology are out the window and anything can happen. :)
I don't remember my dreams every night. And I still have nightmares sometimes. It's funny, my nightmares often are exactly the same ones I had as a small child, with a few home invasions thrown in. But my dreams, my dreams are completely impossible to predict.
Okay, perhaps not completely impossible. The number of dreams I've had of elephants means there's probably at least a 20% chance that my dreams will include at least one of these creatures. I've ridden elephants, watched dancing elephants, had elephants on my roof, and watched a baby elephant jumping on a trampoline who wanted me to take pictures and get him duplicates. Coincidentally, my mother also dreams about elephants. I have no idea why, and I'm not all that into dream analysis, so I just kind of go with it.
Not long ago I had a dream in which my dad and I were about to be eaten by a hippopotamus. We were floating in a river and there were little huts along the bank. Some small children saw our predicament and started calling to one another down the river and eventually help came to save us from the gaping maw of the hippo. Not sure what would have happened to us if no one had come to the rescue! And while there was some sense of impending doom, I wouldn't classify it as a nightmare. I didn't wake up in a sweat with my heart pounding.
I understand the myriad dreams that I've had that in some way indicate frustration. Often I've been racing around an arena completely unable to get to the judges stand on the other side. The competition is ready to begin and I'm the only one missing. These kinds of dreams make sense to me. They are predictable, normal, and while they sometimes put me in a bit of a panic, they are basically boring. But some of my dreams are just delightfully bizarre and make me wonder if nothing is impossible. I wake up bewildered. I wake up smiling. And sometimes I actually wake up laughing.
So whether my food or the furniture is talking or I find myself riding a giraffe in a purple fedora, I'm grateful for these dreams because in them there is a kind of freedom. In them all societal norms, all the laws of physics and biology are out the window and anything can happen. :)
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
No, I don't have children
Recently I heard a comment that stung... just a little. We were having a conversation about nurturing children and someone mentioned (in a nutshell) that people who don't have children have no business contributing to the discussion.
If I am to be honest, my most immediate response, as someone who has devoted much of her ministry to the nurture of young people, is to become defensive. But a defensive posture is rarely a healthy posture. So, I must admit that I'm not entirely sure how to respond to such statements.
I agree, that I cannot possibly fathom what it feels like to hold your newborn child in your arms for the first time. To get up night after night (or hour after hour) for feedings and to clean up vomit. To help your child navigate school and friendships. To drive children from one place to another, all.day.long. To ache when you see your child make unwise choices and to celebrate with them in their accomplishments. To hold them when they are ill and to encourage them in the things that bring them deepest joy. I can't walk a mile in your shoes. It's simply not possible.
But does that mean that I can't journey with you?
Often it seems that the only way that society can understand "helping" parents is through criticism. It's by watching them, pointing out what they're doing wrong, and then giving them info (often from the internet) on how they can do things better. Certainly, this is not helpful. I've heard enough parents express frustration over random strangers coming up and criticizing them in grocery stores! And I'm sure I have been guilty of offering criticism, though perhaps not to strangers, and hopefully not often. No one appreciates such judgment.
However, I hope that there are other ways that people who don't have their own children can be of support to those who do. One of the guiding scripture passages in my life is Deuteronomy 6:4-9.
This is the way that we pass faith along to the next generation, and it is a command for all of us, not only parents.I want parents to know that they are not alone. That the endeavor of raising their children is one that they can share with a supportive community. My goal is not to judge parents, but to listen, to watch, to learn to recognize the systems in which they and all of us live, and to offer whatever support might lead them towards life. My ministry to families involves paying attention, not problem solving. It involves listening for the soul, not judgment. And while I don't know what it's like to be a parent, I do know what it's like to be a child (at least in a retrospective sort of way). And certainly I know what it's like to run out of time. To not have the time to find resources, or to make supper, or to listen. This is what I hope to offer families. I hope that I can arrange my own life in such a way as to be able to offer them my time. To be available to do some of the searching for resources that families often can't do on their own, to bring food when getting dinner together is just an unmanageable burden, and to listen when it feels like the ears of the world are deafened to the longings of the soul.
No, I don't have children... but I hope I can still journey with those who do.
If I am to be honest, my most immediate response, as someone who has devoted much of her ministry to the nurture of young people, is to become defensive. But a defensive posture is rarely a healthy posture. So, I must admit that I'm not entirely sure how to respond to such statements.
I agree, that I cannot possibly fathom what it feels like to hold your newborn child in your arms for the first time. To get up night after night (or hour after hour) for feedings and to clean up vomit. To help your child navigate school and friendships. To drive children from one place to another, all.day.long. To ache when you see your child make unwise choices and to celebrate with them in their accomplishments. To hold them when they are ill and to encourage them in the things that bring them deepest joy. I can't walk a mile in your shoes. It's simply not possible.
But does that mean that I can't journey with you?
Often it seems that the only way that society can understand "helping" parents is through criticism. It's by watching them, pointing out what they're doing wrong, and then giving them info (often from the internet) on how they can do things better. Certainly, this is not helpful. I've heard enough parents express frustration over random strangers coming up and criticizing them in grocery stores! And I'm sure I have been guilty of offering criticism, though perhaps not to strangers, and hopefully not often. No one appreciates such judgment.
However, I hope that there are other ways that people who don't have their own children can be of support to those who do. One of the guiding scripture passages in my life is Deuteronomy 6:4-9.
4 Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. 5You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. 6Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. 7Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. 8Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, 9and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.
This is the way that we pass faith along to the next generation, and it is a command for all of us, not only parents.I want parents to know that they are not alone. That the endeavor of raising their children is one that they can share with a supportive community. My goal is not to judge parents, but to listen, to watch, to learn to recognize the systems in which they and all of us live, and to offer whatever support might lead them towards life. My ministry to families involves paying attention, not problem solving. It involves listening for the soul, not judgment. And while I don't know what it's like to be a parent, I do know what it's like to be a child (at least in a retrospective sort of way). And certainly I know what it's like to run out of time. To not have the time to find resources, or to make supper, or to listen. This is what I hope to offer families. I hope that I can arrange my own life in such a way as to be able to offer them my time. To be available to do some of the searching for resources that families often can't do on their own, to bring food when getting dinner together is just an unmanageable burden, and to listen when it feels like the ears of the world are deafened to the longings of the soul.
No, I don't have children... but I hope I can still journey with those who do.
Wednesday, 27 March 2013
Becoming
I've had a lot of time to think over the past year and a half. That's about how long I've been underemployed and realistically there were only so many blankets I could sew/crochet, bread I could bake, things I could clean and organize and fiction I could read in my spare time. Eventually thinking, meditating had to happen. It really was inevitable.
And I'm glad it did (and is still) don't get me wrong. I strongly believe in working on my own
stuff, in growing in self-awareness, in becoming still and listening for the voice of God. But if am to be honest, I do a lot of things to avoid the process too.
I think of this process as "becoming." It's a process of integrating my experiences, both inner and outer, it's a process of organizing thoughts and listening to God with my whole being in order to allow my true self, the image of God within me to emerge. And it's a process that often seems unproductive. And as I mentioned here I grew up with a strong work ethic alongside a strong need to fulfill expectations and so sitting and meditating often seems...lazy.
But it's not. Not in the least. And I feel blessed to have this space in which to think. It's especially nice right now since my landlords are away for the winter. I can meditate in almost complete silence which is a gift I am not taking for granted.
And in the process of meditating, I have of late come to a conclusion, or at the very least a strong working theory that there is no point in me trying to be anything that I'm not. I know this seems rather obvious, but let me continue.
I'm not sure how, or where, but somehow over the past number of years I got the impression that pastors didn't get to be real or authentic. That pastors needed to always take great care in their public persona to avoid angering congregants and thus losing their job. Wait a second... I have actually been told this. And it has always felt very uncomfortable to me. I don't mean to say that I don't think that pastors should take care with their words. I believe STRONGLY in the power of words, both as beneficial tools to build up and harmful ones that tear down. But I think the discomfort grew out of a sense that I was being told that my own internal integrity didn't matter. What mattered was job security and "unity."
For me, "becoming" is about integrity. It's about aligning my outer life and my inner life in such a way that it is indistinguishable from the Divine will. Yes I know, that's a totally lofty goal, but I like to aim high. It's about becoming so connected to the light within (think Quaker here) that I can choose no other way. Sometimes this might mean offending someone, sometimes it might mean being quirky or not being what people want or expect. But I've come to realize that when I meditate the pull of the light, the pull towards "becoming" is much greater than external pulls that compromise my integrity and in the end, help no one, not really.
I've been thinking about people I know who have hidden their true selves (thoughts, feelings, deeply held convictions) in order to make others happy or keep the peace. I've been thinking about the times in which I do this as well. And certainly, on the surface, peace is kept and people (certain people) get to be happy. But what about the people who were longing to hear from that authentic self? What if, in meeting traditional expectations, in being what some people want me to be, I am in fact robbing the Spirit of the opportunity to connect with others through my authentic self. What if offering my partial self, my incongruent self is really a cheap gift while reaching deep within to my authentic self (even if it upsets some people) could be the voice that someone was longing to hear?
Maybe the world needs a quirky whimsical person who wears teal crocs.
Maybe the world needs a person who loves to read fiction, especially fantasy because it sparks the imagination.
Maybe the world needs a person who is passionate about the biblical story and just won't let it go.
Maybe the world needs a person who doesn't feel called to be married and have children.
Maybe the world needs a person who has a giant menagerie of stuffed animals.
Maybe the world needs a person who has struggled with anxiety and who has triumphed!
Maybe the world needs a person who knows how it feels to lose a family member to mental illness.
Maybe the world needs a person who believes and is willing to state that all people are created in the image of God, regardless of sexual orientation.
Maybe the world needs a person who advocates for children as fully human beings capable of tremendous spiritual depth.
Sometimes it's not "popular" to wear teal crocs (maybe an understatement!), or to read children's fiction, or to live in an alternative household, or to talk about my struggles with anxiety, or to voice my support for those I believe are being sidelined or ostracized. But maybe God didn't call me to be popular. Maybe God just called me to be me, not some watered down version of me whose entire life is focused on meeting societal expectations, but the authentic and dynamic child of God that I am.
And the funny thing is, that thinking of myself this way, doesn't make me feel like I'm more than other people, or make me more "me" focused, it just makes me curious about who you really are.
And I'm glad it did (and is still) don't get me wrong. I strongly believe in working on my own
 |
| You know...self awareness :) |
I think of this process as "becoming." It's a process of integrating my experiences, both inner and outer, it's a process of organizing thoughts and listening to God with my whole being in order to allow my true self, the image of God within me to emerge. And it's a process that often seems unproductive. And as I mentioned here I grew up with a strong work ethic alongside a strong need to fulfill expectations and so sitting and meditating often seems...lazy.
But it's not. Not in the least. And I feel blessed to have this space in which to think. It's especially nice right now since my landlords are away for the winter. I can meditate in almost complete silence which is a gift I am not taking for granted.
And in the process of meditating, I have of late come to a conclusion, or at the very least a strong working theory that there is no point in me trying to be anything that I'm not. I know this seems rather obvious, but let me continue.
I'm not sure how, or where, but somehow over the past number of years I got the impression that pastors didn't get to be real or authentic. That pastors needed to always take great care in their public persona to avoid angering congregants and thus losing their job. Wait a second... I have actually been told this. And it has always felt very uncomfortable to me. I don't mean to say that I don't think that pastors should take care with their words. I believe STRONGLY in the power of words, both as beneficial tools to build up and harmful ones that tear down. But I think the discomfort grew out of a sense that I was being told that my own internal integrity didn't matter. What mattered was job security and "unity."
For me, "becoming" is about integrity. It's about aligning my outer life and my inner life in such a way that it is indistinguishable from the Divine will. Yes I know, that's a totally lofty goal, but I like to aim high. It's about becoming so connected to the light within (think Quaker here) that I can choose no other way. Sometimes this might mean offending someone, sometimes it might mean being quirky or not being what people want or expect. But I've come to realize that when I meditate the pull of the light, the pull towards "becoming" is much greater than external pulls that compromise my integrity and in the end, help no one, not really.
I've been thinking about people I know who have hidden their true selves (thoughts, feelings, deeply held convictions) in order to make others happy or keep the peace. I've been thinking about the times in which I do this as well. And certainly, on the surface, peace is kept and people (certain people) get to be happy. But what about the people who were longing to hear from that authentic self? What if, in meeting traditional expectations, in being what some people want me to be, I am in fact robbing the Spirit of the opportunity to connect with others through my authentic self. What if offering my partial self, my incongruent self is really a cheap gift while reaching deep within to my authentic self (even if it upsets some people) could be the voice that someone was longing to hear?
 |
| Convocation wouldn't have been the same without the Crocs! |
Maybe the world needs a quirky whimsical person who wears teal crocs.
Maybe the world needs a person who loves to read fiction, especially fantasy because it sparks the imagination.
Maybe the world needs a person who is passionate about the biblical story and just won't let it go.
Maybe the world needs a person who doesn't feel called to be married and have children.
Maybe the world needs a person who has a giant menagerie of stuffed animals.
Maybe the world needs a person who has struggled with anxiety and who has triumphed!
Maybe the world needs a person who knows how it feels to lose a family member to mental illness.
Maybe the world needs a person who believes and is willing to state that all people are created in the image of God, regardless of sexual orientation.
Maybe the world needs a person who advocates for children as fully human beings capable of tremendous spiritual depth.
Sometimes it's not "popular" to wear teal crocs (maybe an understatement!), or to read children's fiction, or to live in an alternative household, or to talk about my struggles with anxiety, or to voice my support for those I believe are being sidelined or ostracized. But maybe God didn't call me to be popular. Maybe God just called me to be me, not some watered down version of me whose entire life is focused on meeting societal expectations, but the authentic and dynamic child of God that I am.
And the funny thing is, that thinking of myself this way, doesn't make me feel like I'm more than other people, or make me more "me" focused, it just makes me curious about who you really are.
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