Guest Post: Thankfulness

Thankfulness entails honesty.  Why pretend when God knows the deepest parts of our hearts?  The moment I realized there was no such thing as a secret between me and God, my awe of Him increased, along with my love for Him.  I breathed in at that moment the truth that God loves me, as is, and there is no room for pretending with Him.

I hope you will be encouraged by this guest post which was written a few weeks ago by the most amazing woman I've ever known, my mom.

Thankful……last Monday when you posted about being thankful on Mondays, I announced that I was joining you in giving thanks.  Well…..I did…..in the morning.  Then something happened that brought out the upset, offended, bitchy woman in me.  It took me until Wednesday morning to get over myself.

I have been fighting a second battle with breast cancer all within 2 years of the first time I was diagnosed.  I am not afraid to die…..whether I am in the body or out of the body I am always alive in Jesus Christ.  Breast cancer, or any cancer for that matter, requires so much time spent in doctor’s visits, chemo, radiation, surgery, recovery…….it really interferes with your life.  I had been encouraging myself, that at the end of 3 months of chemo, a surgery and 6 ½ weeks of radiation, my husband and I could go on a nice long road trip.  I love road trips and I love spending all that alone time with my husband on an adventurous journey.  I am married to the love of my life, a blessing not given to everyone…… and I am very thankful for that.

My husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a little over a year ago.  He has been so supportive of me during the cancer battle and I have been supportive of him as we’ve been figuring out how to walk out this Parkinson’s thing.  I am thankful we are “there” for each other.  On Monday, when we went to a doctor’s appointment for him, it became very apparent we would not be going on this long-awaited trip, one, I guess, I had been viewing as a type of “reward” for going through all the cancer treatments for the second time.  I didn’t feel very thankful about that……and here it was Monday, when I was supposed to be feeling so thankful.  I failed at the attempt to be thankful until this morning.

I’m going to rehearse before God the things I am thankful for.  I am thankful He made it possible for me to have relationship restored with the Father.  I am thankful for my husband and my children and my grandchildren.  I am thankful my husband and I both had good parents who took us to church and took good care of us and loved us.   I am thankful for being able to spend more time with most of my grandchildren than most grandparents can.  I am thankful my daughters have husbands who are good and who love them.  I am thankful Jesus has sent the Holy Spirit to lead me and guide me and show me what is yet to come.  I am thankful for God’s provision that has come in so many ways.  I could go on and on. 

The truth is……and I know God knows what is going on in my mind and emotions…….there are some things I am not thankful for.  I am not thankful I am going through cancer treatment, but I am trusting God in the midst of it.  I am not thankful for a lot of things God has allowed in my life, but I am thankful for the God Who is my Shield and Fortress, my Hiding Place, Who delivers me from the snares life sends and Who will never leave me or forsake me.  I am thankful for Him!

My husband and I are 68 years old now.  My human heart can hardly bear to think that we might not be able to take more road trips.  But, I have seen God come through for us, time after time, in ways I never imagined, so I know I can trust Him.  And…..I’m thankful for that.

Lessons from Spain (and other European countries): Ministry Happens in a Bar

I have a new friend who is sassy.  She's also brilliant, sensitive, wise, and discerning, humble and modest, and a fantastic listener.  She is British, 100%, as in, her parents are English, she was born in England, and so that makes her an Englishwoman.  Ryan kisses the back of her hand every time he sees her and addresses her as "Princess."  And she's a girl totally, madly, deeply in love with her Savior.  She is teaching me so very much.

Being from the other side of the Pond, she also likes Scotch, or Bourbon, or Gin, or one of those drinks men who are 60 or older sip in smoky wood paneled clubs with leaded glass windows where Englishmen meet amongst walls lined with leather bound books and trophy deer heads from plaid clad weekends on the hillsides of Europe.

This very statement made some readers wonder if my friend is really even a Christian...seriously, raise your hand if your remember Jesus' first miracle.

Anyway, being a SAHCMFTBIA (Stay At Home Caucasian Mom From The Burbs In America), I've never really embraced my ethnicity one way or another.  Just this morning I had to fill out a form and check the vanilla boring nondescript box labeled, "Caucasian."  Before I was married I at least told people how my maiden name means, "Bible" in German and then I'd break out into "Stille Nacht" or count to 10 in German just to show I still had a little in me.

Since meeting my new British friend, my eyes have been opened a tad more to faith in other parts of the world.  Oh, I've been on missions and studied missions and have traveled for both ministry and pleasure in several parts of the world.  And I know from both studying and travels about major world religions, as well as how Christianity differs from culture to culture, and how cultures differ due to religious influence.

But a few months ago while I sipped a glass of red and my British friend her drink of choice, pouring our hearts out to one another about everything under the sun, she told me how, from living in America for 30+ years, American Christianity and European Christianity vary greatly...

...not in the Message of God's love for mankind, but in the cultural message, which often muddles the Everlasting Message profanely.

In Europe, at least in Britain, she said the Pub on the corner is where people talk about love and life and ups and downs, you know, kind of like a "small group."  It's not demonized as a place to just get drunk, like "Spring Break '89", but rather a place to open up and share life.  It's like, oh, could we say, church.

A forbidden fruit mentality has been fostered in this nation for 100's of years, setting up bars and alcohol as something to be pursued in anything other than moderation, putting an age on it as if that makes a person mature and responsible, and slapping a party mentality on it.

The funny thing is, over the last year or so I've spent quite a bit of time with women who have reached out, seeking an ear, belly up to a bar.  Women who have been hit by their husband, others controlled "Sleeping With the Enemy" style, divorced, separated, suffocating in loveless marriages, some just crying out to be loved by their workaholic husbands, not the men they originally had fallen in love with...women pouring out their hearts over their dreams for their children, their fears, their own personal dreams and aspirations, and the brokenness of their realities.

And we cry, and stop, and pray, right there, belly up, holding hands, eyes closed, seeking God's direction and healing in every situation.


My dad asked me why I couldn't just go to Village Inn, instead...

...ummmm, gross, I just barfed a little typing "Village Inn".  

I'm not trying to fit a conventional ideal of what a woman who loves God with her whole heart and also happens to be in ministry, looks like.  And, I'm also not trying to shock anyone just for shock value.

I'm actually quite tired of the banter and pleasing and grieved to my core of all the talk ABOUT so many other THINGS within Evangelical "Christianity" rather than THE ONE THING, the only true thing, which is:

God is totally and completely in love with you.  That's all.

I don't go to Village Inn because it's gross.  I don't even think I'll choose VI when I'm 89.  If a woman asked me to meet there because she wanted to pour her heart into mine, to see if I'd be a listening ear, then of course I'd go to Village Inn...to listen to her heart.

But that's not where these amazing women have asked me to meet them.  They have asked me to meet them at bars, for a drink, where we can just talk.  Can "talking" happen anywhere else?  Duh.

But if I am to embrace my heritage, then I'm guessing some of my Irish, Scotch, German, Swiss, French, and English ancestors likely had church in Pubs, way back when, across the Pond.  And I'd venture to guess their hard-working lives were more authentic and vulnerable than the facades of perfectionism Evangelical "Christianity" has set up here in the "New Country."

And if I'm to truly embrace what it means to lay down my life and follow Christ, to allow my life to be a source of His love poured out, in spite of me, then I also need to embrace the beauty that sometimes women's ministry happens in a bar.

All Up in Your Crazy

"I will combat my stress and heated difficult parenting moments with trips to the toilet.

I read a really darling short story about a woman who locked herself in her master bathroom happily for the weekend.  It was her own special stay-cation, complete with Orangina and crackers.

I may have to try that.  Don’t tell my kids."

 -  Jessica Patay, author of "She Runs a Good Race"

Here's my comment:
Some thoughts: I rhymed "Orangina" with vagina when I read that...and you caught me, my kids are perfect and I do, indeed, every moment of everyday, respond in godly wisdom and oozing goodness to them, like it oozes from me, from every pore...it's like I'm angelic or something.  This post has just inspired a post in my head...so I'm heading over to my blog to get my writing on, but in the meantime, you are better than me because instead of sitting on the pot to talk to God and find "poof" peace lately, I've been escaping to try to beat level "30" on Candy Crush.  And when I do sit in there a while I poop rainbows.  #isuckwayworsethanyou #youareonefantasticmama #iloveyougirl #youareawesome

My girlfriend Jess is an inspired writer, raw and authentic, and just posted some great wisdom for moms, a result of what she has been learning in "time-out"...not her kids' time-outs, but her own...where she puts herself to cool off and think it over.  The following post was inspired by her piece and actually started as my comment in her comment section, but I didn't want to hi-jack the post with a mega-comment, so, instead, here it is.

May I invite you into my brain, friend?  It looks a helluva lot like the 144 magazines on the library wall I'm sitting across from at this moment, all on different topics, each with a 100+ pages, plus advertising...and in that chaos, I get overwhelmed in my own head, want to throw everything away and live in an RV and just come visit you and drink a little wine overlooking the great Pacific.  Then Emily, excited, sweet, with the greatest of intentions, comes over to my shit-laden desk where I sit staring, wondering how I didn't get one friggin' thing accomplished all day, yet managed to stay busy anyway, and says, "Mom, can we look at organizational websites and draw up a plan of action and spend the whole weekend totally purging and organizing my room?"  And I should be excited about this because my kid wants to down-size and get organized but I'm folding 9 loads of laundry, laced with camouflage and safety orange and glow in the dark pajamas and odd numbered socks and I have 17 books home from the library that contain no pictures because they are for me to gain inspiration on how to live life free of the crazy because I actually don't care about stuff or things so organizing her room or any room in the house would look more like donating everything to the thrift and, of course, only having "7" of anything...and it's nearing the dinner hour and my personal Paleo chef decides we're having GF frozen pizzas and full-on grain nachos with dollops of dairy and leftover buffalo carnage.

And she doesn't mean anything by it because how could she know all the crazy that goes on in my head and heart on any given day?  And truth be told, her desire to purge, organize, and clean her room is evidence of her listening and letting it soak in all the times I've said, "Sweetie, more stuff doesn't fill the deepest part in our heart we're trying to fill...it's just more stuff and eventually it will overwhelm us. Less truly is more."

But the truth is I am a little kid, totally ego-centric, because I want to purge, organize, and clean up my crazy before I clean up her crazy.  I wanna be first!

And since I was just in the bathroom, I can't run there, she's got me cornered at my desk in the kitchen, so I sit on the toilet in my head go there in my head and talk to God, I'm not even 1/2 listening to her but instead breathing deeply, in my own time-out, and I repent for being selfish and ask God for grace in this moment, to let go of the agenda, my to-do list, my crazy, because I can't play level "30" to escape, and thanks to you, friend, I can't even eat chocolate or drink a little to escape because we are doing this flippin' accountability thingy, and it's good because I know and you know and we all know God truly is the Only One who can fill that deepest part in our heart where everything else around fades in importance and priority and somehow falls into place.

And so I pull her onto my lap, hug her huge with #intention, and tell her, "Peanut, I would totally love to help you with your room!  Let's get a plan and do it!"

Because spending the weekend with my pre-teen daughter, because she wants me to, is a blessing...I guess it's all about perspective.

An Exercise in Writing

I've been a bratty "writer."  And by that, I mean, I love writing, I do it when I'm inspired, sometimes I'm inspired when I don't have access to a computer or even paper, so I "write" in my head, but then it gets lost in my mental cosmos.  But as far as "practicing" I've operated under a bratty opinion of, "I'm only going to write if I'm inspired...otherwise it's so contrived."

Super bratty, but I'm hungry for, and willing to, change.

Except I've been thinking about such a mentality for the last year or so and realized something.  When you practice something, you often get better at it.  Take, for example, swimming.  I started out as a toddler on the side of the pool, only dipping my toes, telling my mom I didn't want to go in the water. We moved to Arizona when I was 6 and were enrolled in swim lessons right away since a pool is mostly standard issue in every backyard, and if not, for sure in every neighborhood.  My first swim class was for "Minnows", aka, little swimmers...beginners getting comfortable with the water.  I know at some point I became a "Shark" and then in time I was on a team, gathering 5th and 6th place ribbons, then 4th and 3rd, then years later State Titles with teammates in High School.

We practiced every day after school from mid-August to the end of November, from 2:30 to 5:00.

A lot of hours, a lot of practice.  Some of it redundant, but building strength and endurance, perseverance, and in some races, excellence.

So, I'm trying to apply the same mentality to writing.  Because I really like writing.  Mucho.  So, recently when I saw on Twitter a post by Lisa-Jo Baker about a writing exercise group link she does on Friday's with readers, I was intrigued.  It's called, "Five Minute Friday," and she gives a prompt, you set your timer, and then write.  And write.  And write until the timer goes off, and then, you stop.  So, I've never done it before, but I'm starting it now.  Like, right now.  And the prompt is:  She.

GO:

She.

She is your mom.  She is your sister.  She is your daughter.  She is your aunt, cousin, grandmother, friend.  Her strength is astounding.  Her smile strengthening, lighting up a room, filling hearts, bringing life and love wherever it's revealed.

There are days when her smile is hidden.  She doesn't realize the power behind its revelation, she is unaware of the life it offers, she doesn't know because it has been darkened, the lines diminished from years of sorrow.  Life unraveling.

We look at her and long for the smile to return to her face.  She has aged, but the lines in her face aren't from laughter but longing.  Worry, wonder, despair, a broken heart.  The lines are deep and they draw her smile, the beauty that was once alive on her face, the lines draw them down.

Look up!  Look around you!  See the sea of faces looking back at you.  These are the faces of family and friends, and we love you.  We are so sorry for the hurts in your heart, the aches you've hidden deep, the memories fresh even though ancient.  We love you and want you to know your sheer existence, the fact that you are here, now, in this space, brings love and hope to us.

Let those lines run deep, not from sorrow, but because of laughter, laughter of days to come, joy in the unknown

STOP.

Wow.  That was a cool exercise.  I practiced writing.  It was kind of crazy to see what came to mind.  I think I'll practice this exercise every Friday.  It only takes 5 minutes, so it's not like I can say I don't have time to write.

If you care to join in the practice, here's the information.  You may leave your writing in the comments section or link your blog post in the linky section (I've never done a "linky" so hopefully it's easy and I can figure it out...), then head to the blogger's site who posted prior to you and read their piece and encourage them.

Have a great weekend! 

Lessons from Spain: Beauty is Freedom

...and Freedom is Beautiful.

When I recommend articles on Facebook or Twitter or here on my blog, due to the nature of life and the Internet, I don't always know the author personally, may not know their tone of voice in writing or if I'd even invite them to dinner...but a nugget here or truth there stands out to me, I take the good, throw out the bad, and move on with it...it's the middle-child peacemaker in me, likely.  I've never agreed with someone totally and completely on everything.  Have you?

But, all that to say, writer's write, myself included, to start conversations, therefore I'm glad for the opportunity to discuss, regardless of whether we agree or not.

So, last week, when a mom I'd never heard of wrote an article and a friend on FB posted it, I read it, took away a few nuggets like: what a great idea to share social media time as a family and we all should discern what we share/post, whether we're teenage girls or grown men or SAHM's or singles or marrieds, for self-respect sake.

Did she specifically say this?  No.  She had a different agenda which I did not take away.  She directed her post to teenage girls, and I'm not one, nor do I have one yet, and so I read it, got the overall gist of what I wanted to take away, re posted it, and then went back to folding laundry and randomly spray painting things around the house...like these...

Anyway...

A friend was concerned about the post I re posted, so we dialogued a bit, I headed back to the post, re-read it, headed to the comments section of the blog, saw it had gone sour and that she was being eaten alive, some of it valid, other points out in left field, and wished I had posted what I had learned in Spain about all this two weeks ago when I got back.

You see, Europeans wear whatever they want.  300 lb women wear bikinis.  Hairy men wear Speedos.  65 year old women only wear bikini bottoms.  Little kids don't match and at the beach, clothing is totally optional when you are pint-sized.  On the streets, in the cafes, strolling through plazas and parks, European women wear clothes they think are pretty, regardless of size or coverage.

Seriously, there's only one sized bikini in Europe, and every sized woman wears it....

And guess what?  They all were beautiful!  I speak Spanish fluently and never once overheard a discussion on whether another person's beach attire was modest or immodest, whether they were causing another to stumble, if the exclusive, judgmental opinions of American Evangelicals mattered to them as they enjoyed a day at the beach with their family and friends on the other side of the world with their tops off.

Instead, I witnessed freedom and beauty and laughter and living.

People were not humping in the streets just because some epidermis was visual.  On the beach, every third woman had her bikini top off, and looking around, as men, women, and children were soaking in the sun, playing volleyball, reading books, swimming and chatting, some smooching under their umbrellas, I didn't see one erection.

Can you even believe it?

Gasp.

That's right.  I looked around for erections...because being a SAHWMFTB (Stay At Home White Mom From The Burbs) and a Christian one at that, I just was curious, because from all the talk in Evangelical culture, every man on that beach should have had a hard-on, but they didn't.

Nope.  Europeans just seem a heck of a lot more comfortable in their bodies...and with everyone else's bodies, too.  Men and women.  Kids, too.

All shapes.  All sizes.  All beautiful.  So very beautiful!

My British girlfriend told me that when Jason and I went to Spain I needed to go to a nude beach.  She said I needed to experience the freedom in all my glory, the "outfit" God made me originally.  It's funny how in America, "nude beaches" are destinations.  In Europe, they are just beaches...where you get tan...and have a picnic...and take a nap.

We never did find the "nude" beach, but all the same, Europeans don't delineate which grain of sand is which and where they can take off their tops or bottoms.  They just sunbathe.  In their skin...in the bodies God placed their hearts and souls and minds in to carry them through the life He breathed into them when He made them and thought they'd be an awesome addition to life on Earth, here and now, a display of His creativity, to commune and have relationships with all the other skin-covered people.

Tonight another friend posted this on my FB page.  I loved it!  Loved the message, the response, thought it was well thought out and well written.  Would I have coffee with her?  Totally, because she gets me...I mean, Ryan rubs his boogers on our couch, DAILY, so her sticky furniture would feel like home to me. In particular, I loved this paragraph:

"We see you, sweetheart. We do. We see what you’re writing. We see what you’re posting. 

We see more of you than you think we do. We see sometimes down to the very center of your soul. 

And what you need to know is this: You are beautiful. You are valuable. You are worthy. 

You are your physical body, and you are so very much more. And you, baby girl, 

have infinite chances for grace and redemption and relationship and community 

and wholeness and LOVE. 

Always. Always and forever. Amen." - Beth Woolsey at http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/

Anyway, IMO, Americans are being unnaturally influenced and inundated by hyper-sensitive "Christians" who are speaking on "every one's" behalf without my permission on the topic of beauty and sex and modesty and so much more.  This is maddening and I have some opinions on this...

But for now, until we understand, honor, and cherish the part that we are all totally freaking awesomeness embodied in all shapes and sizes, we've missed it.  Here's an awesome article on that...

Modesty isn't a uniform and "modesty" itself doesn't make you beautiful.  But that's what much of the "discussion" is asserting.

I've spent some time on the foreign mission field.  I've spent years mentoring women.  Recently I've spent a bit of time with very broken and bruised women over drinks in bars.  In those times when heart to heart conversations were taking place, I can honestly say I don't remember what they were wearing or if it was modest or not, just that I was there to listen and they felt safe to pour their heart into mine.

Nope.  Freedom in knowing we are loved by God is what makes us all beautiful.  And how can "blocking" people from our lives be an avenue to demonstrate God's love?

Yeah, I thought I was just going to Spain to celebrate 20 years of marriage with the love of my life.  In addition to that expectation, I learned more in 2 weeks than I have in 41 years about loving myself.  I learned a lot about beauty and sexuality and freedom and comfort with my own body and even how to love you better.

...I learned that beauty is freedom and freedom is beautiful.

 I should go to Spain more often...seriously.

The beach in Barcelona where I found freedom.

*I'd love to continue the conversation if the focus of modesty lies not with what we wear or don't wear, but rather valuing every single person with whom we come in contact.  Once we begin to cherish and honor tangible people as awesome hand-crafted pieces of art shaped by the hand of God, then I think we'll be onto something...however, if one-piece bathing suits and a 3-inch wide tank top on our daughters shoulders is your idea of a "teaching" on modesty, count me out.

It's Important for you to Know

It's important for you to know I don't always hate myself.

It's important because it is the truth.

And "hate" is a big word, one which isn't truly accurate for how I feel day in and day out.  But for those of you who struggle with the person in the mirror on occasion, you know when the word "hate" is stirring and feel the brunt of it when it rears its ugly head.

Most days I don't even think about myself.  I love being a wife and mom and friend and neighbor.  All roles I enjoy and have even chosen.

But this morning a thought came to mind.  After processing it a bit with my husband, a friend, and just an hour ago with my counselor, I'll try my best to convey here.

Earlier this week I read this article.  Before you criticize the author, read it and then process it through the following filter:

My intention in attending a 4-year college was not to find a husband.  I mean, really, if you think about it...$20,000/year for private schooling = a really nice dowry after 4 years.  Instead, I got married with a heap load of debt.  I went to school with a desire to learn and grow and explore more of God's creativity, knowledge, and will for my life.  Originally I wanted to be a writer, but after being placed in remedial English my freshman year (WHO KNEW you could study for the SAT???!!!) and being challenged by my parents to choose a "real major," I decided to move forward in pre-med, because I at least knew I wanted to heal people.  (*Pretty sure my parents envisioned a beatnik writer in a smoky coffee shop with a beret handing out free copies of my work or a writer in a cabin in the woods, never publishing but living off her parents.  I think they forgot about journalists and columnists and you know, authors and writers.)

Photo by Ann Larie Valentine

If you've read here a while, you know I didn't make it through pre-med, seeing as how passing chemistry is necessary and all.  With a passion for international travel and culture and a love for God's love story for the world, I majored in Theology with a Missions emphasis and a minor in Spanish.  Upon graduation, my husband and I set off with hundreds of teenagers in tow to Venezuela to share God's love, and that was just the beginning.  (*This doesn't really have anything to do with what I'm talking about here...but you try tracing a thought in your head on paper.  It's tough stuff.)

Anyway, way back when my mom told me about reproduction, namely sex and baby delivery, I was cool never being a mom.  And FOR SURE not going through the delivery part.  Ewwww and OWWW!  Kids were fine and all if they belonged to someone else, but for me, it was six in one, half dozen in the other.  Then I met my husband and realized he would be one amazing dad.  And then I met our first child and fell in love.

I hung up the world of Student Development in the college setting, having only been surrounded by college aged women from the time I entered college plus 7 more years as a professional.  And I entered into daily one on one's with an infant girl.  One for whom I was souly (*I meant: soul) responsible, but really had nothing to give in return other than bodily excretions and some lovely sounds and snuggles.  All good, but not the reason I went to college.

Soooo, follow along here for a sec...a few years ago my mom and I were talking about indulgence and contentment specifically how I'll eat to escape.  We talked about how on vacation we are relaxed, enjoying feelings attached to new memories, rewarding experiences, and new pleasures, often times coupled with dining and trying exotic foods or yummy drinks or relaxing on warm beaches.  These are all good and great and obviously a luxury, but all reasons we long for and look forward to vacations, even short getaways. 

This morning it occurred to me, a person who loves authenticity and enjoys the art of writing, whether on paper or in my head, that even though I love being a wife and mom, those roles do not define me.  My friend even said her husband posed the question to her several years ago, "If I died or our children died, you wouldn't be my wife or their mother anymore...so who would YOU be, not what would you DO?"  He went on to say those are roles she may love, but they aren't necessarily her authentic true self, they are part of her but not her.

Are you even tracking with me?  I'm sorry if not...I'm trying here.

So, I can't speak for you, but I'll speak for myself.  I adore my children and am a really good mom.  I'm also a smoking hot, attentive wife who prays favor and blessings over my husband every day.  And during this season of life, which is now going on 11 years as a parent, 20 as a wife, I've put aside much of my own desires, passions, pursuits, and ways in which I am wired, to focus on the here and now, namely my family and their well-being.

I put all my coals in one fire.

Like the British mum who expressed her heart, this is not something I should have done.  Loving myself by keeping one iron in the fire would have kept God's deposits, His gifts, still kindling.  INSTEAD, like many SAHM's and Outside the Home Working Mums, I focused on just one thing and that one thing became THE thing.  And as a result, I have FILLED those places which were rich and fulfilling with temporary satisfaction, namely food.

And maybe you've filled it with an addiction to sassy coffee or keeping a perfectly clean house or volunteering extra hours at things which are good and worthwhile and important or shopping or redecorating and redecorating and redecorating your house or that third glass of wine?  Or maybe you've filled it with accomplishments at work and others opinions of you or checking things off a list or keeping up the image you portray to those around you, no matter how weary you really are?

These feelings we experience on vacation when we are able to escape from the day to day become feelings we want to experience in the day to day when the rubber hits the road and we feel overwhelmed...and especially as Americans, we think we deserve it.

Okay, never mind, I'll speak for myself...I think I deserve it.

I think because I did 7 loads of laundry, cleaned the house, got Em off to school and played trains and dinosaurs with Ryan for three hours and put a healthy dinner on the table, I deserve this or that reward...and truth be told, I crave the reward and instant gratification food or wine or, for sure, chocolate, delivers.

All the while, the reason these temporary indulgences have come up short is because as I dove head first into being a mom, specifically, I didn't leave an iron in the fire.  A writing iron, that is.  The very iron God designed in me as an outlet for creativity and in more recent years, for authenticity, ministry, and healing.

Which leads me to my Facebook post after counseling today:

"Here I go to counseling to talk about disordered eating and unhealthy expectations and body image, and we wind up talking about writing...because apparently when I write authentically, candidly, and with vulnerability, I'm being true to who God made me to be."  #stuffcounselorstellyouthatyouknowdeepdown #killingmonsters #findingfreedomtowritemyheartout

After counseling I had lunch with Jason, then headed to a beatnik coffee shop to write.

The girls next to me asked me what I do.

I told them I'm a writer.

And 10 Things I Love About Me

So, last fall I was really humbled to be part of an intimate retreat weekend in Austin, Texas.  I relished in hearing the stories of the women I had never met, as well as cherished the opportunity to reconnect with the girls I knew from various times in my life.  To be honest, just be away from everything and have girl time was what the Doctor ordered.

I love girl time.  (Written language is inadequate a tool for me to convey how much I love time with girlfriends...)

Kristin Armstrong shared some of her own story during our weekend, with authenticity and vulnerability.  She's a fan of Brene Brown, queen of vulnerability, but not only that, she's a fan of girlfriends and especially a fan of when we as women come together and thrive in our uniqueness. 

I still carry many treasures from that weekend, but one I keep coming back to is how Kristin asked each of us to think for a while, to remember way back when, to our first memory of really feeling alive doing what we loved to do.  Like, "when you were a kid, what was your favorite thing to do?" type of question. 

And then, basically, what your first memory of your favorite thing was is how you were designed/wired/created...how God made you..."what you would thrive in being when you 'grow up'."

My memory of when I first felt alive was on the playground in elementary school.  I could picture it clear as day, and I could see myself, gathering girls.

Photo: www.katu.com "Portland Park Series"

I wanted everyone to belong.  My heart hurt when other girls felt left out.  I still remember the names of some of my classmates...the ones other kids made fun of for different clothes, different ticks, different skin color.

I felt most alive and the deepest joy when swinging on the monkey bars or climbing the Rocket Slide with all the girls.  It made my heart happy when we ALL played Chinese jump rope or Double Dutch, taking turns.  Even though only two could go at a time, I loved taking turns on Wall Ball, Tether Ball, and on the swings.

The 80's were good on the playground.  Photo: www.egotvonline.com

For me it wasn't hard to believe we could all just get along.  Even if we had disagreements, I knew deep down in my heart the playground was for everyone...Krissy, Swati, Kari S, all of us.

It wasn't just for the whoevertheheckdecideswhoispopular kids.

And so, even if some days I sit on my floor and cry because I'm stuck and not in love with myself, because of your encouragement and God's love for me, I woke up to this reminder this morning.

Here are 10 Things I Love About Me and I have even gone to my counseling appointment, wink, wink:

1. I am a peacemaker.  "You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight.  That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family."
2. I love to build bridges between women.
3. I actually do love to play on the playground.
4. I love listening to the stories of other women.
5. I love to see a woman living in complete freedom...to me, it's one of the most beautiful sights to behold.  There's nothing she can't do...
6. I love how much my heart is capable of loving my husband and kids.
7. I love time with girlfriends.
8. I'm really good at making soup from scratch.
9. I love to sew and design and create clothes and jewelry and decor.
10. I will always believe the best about you, because we all have a story...

*I won't lie, writing this list took me a lot longer than my "hate" list.

I challenge you, not just to do this exercise, but because it will encourage others, as well:  in the comments, write 10 Things You Love About Yourself.

Ready, go...

10 Things I Hate About Me

I just thought of that title so, either this list will be a piece of cake and I'll need to make a part 2 and 3, or I will need to make some stuff up.

1. My upper arms.
2. My bent towards inconsistency.
3. How my self-worth is so closely knit with 10 lbs of fat and whether I eat "clean"or not...or not.
4. My eternal optimism for everyone else, but inability to offer it to myself.
5. How I can treat the people I love the very most with complacency when I feel fat and failure-ish because I eat a carb instead of not.
6. My unrelenting desire to make peace between others but my inability to make peace with myself.
7. The fact that I could even write a list like this.
8. That I am an isolationist when I don't have my shit in order.
9. How I will believe the best about you to a fault, even if you actually suck as a person.
10. #3 and #6

A couple of weeks ago I sat on the floor in my closet and cried.  I hadn't tripped trying to change my clothes, hitting my head on the dresser or wall or anything.  It wasn't due to a physical injury.  I was crying because I'm messed up.  I was crying out to God.  "How can my worth be so intrinsically connected to the fat on my body?!?!  I don't want to be this shallow!  I know You designed me to matter so WHY can't I break free from this endless battle that rages in my head and heart?  Why can't I just eat clean and be done with this friggin' 'journey'?????"

On Mother's Day my daughter gave me a poem she had been working on for a couple of months.  Here it is, written exactly as she did:

why i love you mom

you are funny

you love me more than stars in the sky

you comfort me when I'm sad

I can talk to you about anything

you are fun to hang out with

you would do anything for me

you care for me

you're compassionate

you're creative

you're loving

you have a good sense of humor

you're talented

you can find good in anything

you have a awesome sense in fashion

andddd you're awesome!!!!!!!!!!

you know me so well

mom, these are some the reasons i love you

Emily

I've never let Emily know how much I'm not a fan of myself.  I'm a good liar...except I'm actually known for totally sucking at lying.  I can't do it.  I have never said, "I'm fat or ugly or I don't like myself" in front of her.  But she's not stupid, in fact, she's quite brilliant.  And like I said, I suck at lying, so I know I'm not pulling the wool over her eyes.

This is NOT the legacy I want to leave...

So, on Tuesday I'm headed to see a counselor who specializes in Eating Disorders.

Because the things she loves about me are there deep down inside and they matter and they are the things I know make up my true beauty.  And I actually do believe these things about myself, the "beauty" my daughter sees, but what I believe in my head just hasn't quite made it to my heart and I think I need someone to help me get there...