Week 4ever: Oh, the Places My Gaze Will Go

My reasoning for not writing a reflection at the conclusion of my #monthwithoutmirrors last week is twofold: 1. the week was busier than I have been used to in awhile. therefore, I enjoyed sitting on my couch not doing anything or talking to anyone a bit much when I returned home each night. 2. I wanted to wait awhile to compare my return to mirror-less existence to this past month as well as life before.

Sweet, holy mother of pearl! 

The mirror is annoying.

It's not completely unnecessary but almost. Sort of like salad dressing. We think it's a wonderful thing to have and that in the name of all things good and holy we can't live without it...until we end up at work with no dressing and al our work buddies brought not-salads and OH NO! Oh, yes. You'll be just fine. In fact, you'll be able to taste your salad not just your salad dressing. Fancy that. 

By no means am I advocating for us all to frolic into the streets, mirrors in hand and smash away our reflections. No, no, no. Please use the mirror to help you pluck your eyebrows and put on eyeliner and check for panty lines. These things are a decent part of feminine existence. And guys, please watch yourself while shaving and make sure your crack stays in your pants and before you leave the house, please! please! please! check that you're not wearing stripes and plaid together. These things are also a decent part of feminine existence. Yeah. 

Please someone, explain to me why on god's green earth I find it necessary to check myself in the mirror when I'm about to head out running. Why?! If I pick clothes out of my closet, why do I stand in front of the mirror as if to ask "is this acceptable' or 'does this look okay'? I'm a pretty competent human being. I think I can put clothes on my body in an acceptable manner...but perhaps not. Something deep in my psyche seems to disagree.  

In the past week, I think I've realized I'm looking in the mirror hoping for reassurance that I appear the way I want...determined by what the world has told me I should want. It's completely arbitrary and yet controlling. Remember my rant about the 000 clothing size at J. Crew? Same concept here combined with the concept I chatted about week 2 regarding my inner chatter, my inner appearance being unchanged. If I appear confident, perhaps I will become confident. 

If I appear competent, perhaps I will become competent. If I appear fulfilled, perhaps I will become fulfilled. If I appear ______, perhaps I will become _______. Let's remember what I learned at my very first collegiate swim camp: the body achieves what the mind believes. Though I believe there's truth in that regarding athletic performance and even a tad relating to life-performance, I strongly dislike the 'fake it till you make it' mentality and I realized this appear-->become crap is exactly that. HOLY DANG! I'm doing exactly the thing I despise. Grrrrrrrrrrr. #thanksnothanks My issue with 'fake it till you make it' is that it tells you that you're not enough as you are and that someday, after a lot of hard work, you will be enough. False. No. Wrong. Lies. Deception. My tent has its stakes hammered down in the land of 'relax. you have enough. you do enough. you are enough.' 

Legit posted in my journal, next to my mirror, and on my door.

It seems I'm needing to live a mirror-lite existence. The full-length mirror in my room is going to live under a shroud for awhile to help me figure out this intentionality...a little barrier between my mirror-happy psyche and reality. I vote that what I bring to the world is already in me, I just have to find it and share it. Cool bros. 

Be the STRONGEST You You Can Be

A few weeks ago, my best friend sent me an article about J.Crew adding the '000' size to their inventory, and asked for my thoughts. I didn't know what to say...however, now I have some thoughts...

___________________________

Initially, my reaction spun with horror and outrage. Then, I read the article in which J. Crew reps were quoted saying the sizing was aimed at meeting the needs of smaller framed women in the Asian countries and, for a moment, I bought into this justification. Honestly, though it's an entire truckload of horse poop. It's not that simple, it's never that simple. 

In a world riddled by female body-hatred (yes, men suffer too, I know, but that's not on my mind at the moment), the last thing we need is for skinny to get even skinnier. The average height and weight of women varies around the world, but in the United States in 2010 the average adult female has a height of 63.8 inches--approximately 5'4"--waist size of 32 and weighed 166.2 pounds, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. This average woman would be considered overweight by the ever-so-popular BMI calculator which I scorn. This is the average woman--meaning there are many heavier, taller, bigger as well as lighter, shorter, and smaller. Also be aware that average does not equate with ideal or healthy.

However, the triple-zero fits a woman with a 23-inch waist. For adult women, however, “it is incredibly rare to have that waist size naturally,” said Jackie Grandy, outreach and education coordinator from the Toronto-based National Eating Disorder Information Centre. Think about this: a little girls' size 8 fits a 23-inch waist. The girl who wears a size 8 is typically less than 75 pounds. Do you still want to try to tell me an adult woman can be healthy at that size? Sure, you can say that a woman who is considerably shorter than average could be healthy at this size--but if they were short enough for that to be the case, J. Crew's clothing would still not fit since it is cut only for the average sized (or Tall) woman. So, there.

Even more concerning than the glaring lack of logic behind J. Crew’s recent decision is the message shouted into the ears of every woman. When companies begin making sizes smaller, some women understand this to say they must become smaller, that the ideal size, the "beautiful" size is smaller. Ladies, we are shrinking! Zero is not a size. If you’ve ever taken a math class, you know that zero equals nothing. For women vulnerable to preoccupation with weight loss and body size, zero is absence…a way of disappearing. Women have fought for the more than 100 years to be seen and heard. How is it that now, as we are now beginning to find a seat at the table, we simultaneously seek to shrink, to disappear? I could write a book on the phenomenon here. 

For some time now, I’ve wondered what it would be like if numerical sizes were replaced with words like “classy,” or maybe “creative,” or even “strong.”

I can’t stand by and let more and more generations become riddled by the body-image catastrophe infused in current culture. J. Crew birthed a solid third of my wardrobe but that store will never swipe my credit card again.

Friends, both men and ladies alike, let's be strong, courageously independent, fiercely compassionate, and confident. Never sell yourself short. Never let a clothing store or a celebrity or an advertisement or even your friend tell you your hips are too wide or your butt is too big or your boobs are too small or that you weigh too much. Be the strongest you that you can be. 

Now You See Me...Now You Don't

When I brush my teeth before bed tonight, 

I will be looking in the mirror for the last time for a month. 

I'm beginning a month without mirrors.

completely

It's not because I'm so vain that I need to take a break from loving myself. It's not that I'm so full of self-hate that I need space from my ugliness. Some of both, sure, but it's way bigger than that. 

People fast from food and technology and bad habits and all sorts of things as a way to cleanse themselves physically and spiritually. This month without mirrors (I'm hoping) will serve the same sort of purpose. When I look in the mirror, yes, I see myself. More often than not, however, that image staring back at me seems distant, imperfect, and wrong because I'm busy comparing what I see to what I think I "should" see...who I "should" be. And I'm sick of it. 

Brene Brown says, "COMPARISON is the THIEF OF JOY."

I don't know what it's going to be like. I don't know what to expect--other than that it will be challenging. I don't know how it will affect me. I don't know if I'm ready to do this. The way to figure it all out, though, is to try. 

Ready? Go!

I'll keep you updated each week!

I need a Dr. Seuss for body-image

The world was given a gift with Dr. Seuss sharing the brilliance of:

Dr. Seuss wrote these words and changed how many people approach their real courage. They are able to grasp life in an embrace of freedom. 

However, it's killing me that the sentence ends there. I want Dr. Seuss to enlighten all the ways I sense myself and my world. 

Because of the secret-code-of-femininity into which I was born because of the pairing of my chromosomes, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to actually wonder about this out loud. Here's the thing, though, I've been wondering about it silently, internally for months now and am just stirring with curiosity about other's thoughts.

I can't keep it in any longer or I'll burst!

The thought comes in the inquisitive form: what would it be like if each of us could actually be 114% content looking however we look without slaving over constant "adjustments" or "improvements"? Specifically, what would life be like if each of us could simply be the weight our bodies want to be at any given time?

This would be a life without worrying about calories  or exercise as a means of 'transformation' or the number printed on your clothes tag or BMI's. I'm not advocating for obesity to take over the world in some binge-eating free-for-all, but, rather, for a culture in which size truly doesn't matter.

Sadly, I don't think this is possible any time soon. I can't imagine how we would function, how we would compare each other. I'm sure some of you may be thinking "You're too self-conscious. I'm totally fine being the size I am and don't feel like I need to change it." Okay, great, I'm really happy for you. My question, however, runs deeper--would you feel the same way if you were, say, four clothing sizes larger? My guess is no. And the root of my question is, why not?

Dance through your life

Pain. You just have to ride it out. Let it go away on its own. Let the wound that caused it heal. There are no real solutions. No easy answers. You just breathe deep and wait for it to subside. Even if it takes longer than anticipated, longer than you think you can handle. 

Most of the time, pain can be managed. But sometimes, the pain gets you when you least expect it. Hits way below the belt and doesn’t let up. Pain is a bitch.

Pain. You just have to fight through. 

Because the truth is, you can’t outrun it. And life always makes more.

Pain hurts. That's the nature of it and it's bad. There's always a lot of bad to focus on. there's hope too. And that matters. Hope matters. 

According to Glennon Menton Doyle. life is 'brutiful' (a hefty dose of both brutal and beautiful simultaneously) 

You can choose what you want to believe in--the bad or the hope or some combination.

You choose.

Now.

Every moment.

Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass

it's about learning to dance in the rain.

-Vivian Greene

What is you decided to embrace Pain and Uncertainty and Confusion and all that? What if you decided that there is something to be gained from your current situation? What if you understood the awesome responsibility you have of choosing how you view your life? You get to choose if you wait and get angry about the cold, wet droplets pounding your skin or if you dance to the sound of the water sparkling around you.

What if you could appreciate where you are right now? who you are right now? Have you ever wondered what you would be like if the only person you compared yourself to was you? 

Don't get me wrong. I'm super cynical and sarcastic and find it disgustingly difficult to live in a state of home and positivity. Buttttttttt I LOOVVVEEEEE gratitude. Before I visited my best friend for just a few short days back in February, someone asked if I get the post-visit blues. My response? Surprisingly no, I wrap myself in post-visit gratitude. 

Now is the time to dance, because the longer you just wait, the easier it is to keep waiting...and waiting. The perfect time to dance will never come. Dance while things are imperfect and things just may get better pretty darn fast.

And here's a trick, don't dance alone. You can if there's no one around, but we belong to each other. We all live in this brutiful world. We are all trying to make it through. 

Your Body is NOT Your Masterpiece

Wow.

This just happened.

I just finished pitter-pattering away on my keyboard in the dark of my living room (don't worry, it's not depressing--Grey's Anatomy is keeping me company)...and I came across something I needed. This is something that did not just speak to my soul but wrapped its motherly arms around me and whispered in my ear "it's alright, you can rest. You're okay."

And so tomorrow you can see what I was going to say today. However, today, I share:

YOUR BODY IS NOT YOUR MASTERPIECE

Jul 06 2014

Your body is not your masterpiece – your life is.

It is suggested to us a million times a day that our BODIES are PROJECTS. They aren’t. Our lives are. Our spirituality is. Our relationships are. Our work is.

Stop spending all day obsessing, cursing, perfecting your body like it’s all you’ve got to offer the world. Your body is not your art, it’s your paintbrush. Whether your paintbrush is a tall paintbrush or a thin paintbrush or a stocky paintbrush or a scratched up paintbrush is completely irrelevant. What is relevant is that YOU HAVE A PAINTBRUSH which can be used to transfer your insides onto the canvas of your life- where others can see it and be inspired and comforted by it.

Your body is not your offering. It’s just a really amazing instrument which you can use to create your offering each day. Don’t curse your paintbrush. Don’t sit in a corner wishing you had a different paintbrush. You’re wasting time. You’ve got the one you got. Be grateful, because without it you’d have nothing with which to paint your life’s work. Your life’s work is the love you give and receive- and your body is the instrument you use to accept and offer love on your soul’s behalf. It’s a system.

We are encouraged to obsess over our instrument’s SHAPE  - but our body’s shape has no effect on it’s ability to accept and offer love for us. Just none.  Maybe we continue to obsess because  as long we keep wringing our hands about our paintbrush shape, we don’t have to get to work painting our lives. Stop fretting. The truth is that all paintbrush shapes work just fine -and anybody who tells you different is trying to sell you something. Don’t buy. Just paint.

No wait- first, stop what you are doing and say THANK YOU to your body – right now. Say THANK YOU to your eyes for taking in the beauty of sunsets and storms and children blowing out birthday candles and say THANK YOU to your hands for writing love letters and opening doors and stirring soup and waving to strangers and say THANK YOU to your legs for walking you from danger to safety and climbing so many mountains for you.

Then pick  up your instrument and start painting this day beautiful and bold and wild and free and YOU.

Love,

G

-from Momastery.com/blog

The theory of ENOUGHness

First of all, "enoughness" is a word.
Freshman year, my theology professor told me that all good theologians make up words. Therefore:

By the power vested in me

by the paper in my file designating me, 

Emily Marie Clark,

as a theological studies major,

I hereby declare "enoughness" a word

to be given equal respect and consideration

as all other formerly declared words.

Now that that's cleared up,

not that anyone was questioning the legitimacy of my vocabulary,

let's get down to business.

I wrote the synthesis paper for my independent study this past weekend. Dr. Julie Rubio and I had been reading about and discussing various ethical problem areas of modern American society and asking ourselves how we, as Catholics, are called (or if we are called) to respond? I was not going to be satisfied with vague or flimsy answers. I wanted practical suggestions that were flexible enough to tailor to my life experience but firm enough to stand the test of time and the scrutiny of Catholic morality. 

For the paper, I was to hash all that out in 12-15 pages. 

We read over a dozen books.

We touched on at least five different problem areas (I call them 'isms').

And so my process looked like this:

I didn't have enough time or space to write anything close to what I wanted to write, but I wrote 20 pages anyway. And around page 5, I explained what I've come to recognize as the driving force, the common denominator that connects all these 'isms' (individualism, racism, consumerism, materialism, classism, environmentalism). I call it the theory of enoughness...if you hadn't already guessed that.

Here's what I wrote:

Through the books I have read and other personal experiences I have had as a member of American society, I have observed a struggle within the culture characterized by an inability to sense when enough is enough. I am not the first to acknowledge a societal focus on “having” enough rather than “being” enough but perhaps I may be one of the first to point to a problematic element in the existence of a focus on either form of “enoughness” The shift from “being” to “having” has likely occurred because “being” falls to qualitative rather than quantitative measure which seems subjective and, therefore, inadequate or, at least, unreliable. As a result, Americans tend to lose their sense of Self while yearning for conformity and ‘the next big thing.’ With no sense of Self ‘having” allows people to overly-rely on external gauges to guide their determination of what is enough. The difficulty in measure, however, does not come from the need to be or to have but rather the context of enough. The ‘isms’ represent a dysregulation of the American sense of “enoughness”. Becoming desensitized to and struggling with “enoughness” causes power issues with relationship, food, sex, money, and goods. We see this power issue expressed in the stereotypes, discrimination, and oppression of others and ourselves that results from a disconnected relationship with the sense of enough.

GOT IT?

Here's the skinny:

Americans are on this treadmill of "the more the merrier" and "bigger is better."

The treadmill makes you work hard but never gets you anywhere.

Meaning: you're in a race that doesn't really matter, racing for things you'll never get.

But culture forgets to tell you that.

And so your endorphin high keeps you from knowing when to stop.

So your sense of what is enough dies.

And you end up hurting yourself and others in the process.

So, step 1 to making things different:

Remember it.

Believe it.

Live it.

And tell everyone about it.

Until next time,

may you find peace.

Merry Christmas.

Learning to walk

Hi, I'm Emily and I'm addicted to running.

real life.

Yeah, sure, I ran a marathon on a broken foot.

but that's not really what I'm talking about here.

When I mentioned to my mom two years ago that I could graduate a semester early, she shot me down before I had even finished expressing the thought. Her response was:

 "Emily, slow down. 

You've always been in a rush to get through life. 

You need to just let life happen."

At first, I was offended that she wasn't interested in hearing what I had to say but was enforcing her agenda on my life. But she was so right. Since that 'conversation' I've often reflected on what she said and really tried to bring a sense of mindfulness and peace into the way I go through life--simply starting with slowing down. 

Easier said than done.

Just last night, I stood in my doorway getting ready for bed and said 'Can I just skip tomorrow?' as if it was not worth the effort and somehow the following day my life would be dramatically different. what a cop out. 

Be mindful,

pay attention,

live slowly,

just be.

I want to skip past the school related stresses of the next 10 days.

I want to skip the boredom of Christmas break.

I want to skip the waiting period of the grad school application process.

I want to skip the discernment process that comes after I get letters from grad schools.

I want to skip saying goodbye at graduation. 

I want to skip the [anticipated] awkward loneliness of moving to a new place.

Apparently, I want to skip the next 10 months of my life. I have goals and I want to run towards them. I anticipate pain and change and I want to run past it. I'm addicted to running. 

Above All,
Trust in the Slow Work of God



Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
     to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way
     to something unknown, 
         something new.
Yet it is the law of all progress that is made
     by passing through some stages of instability
         and that may take a very long time.



And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually. Let them grow.
Let them shape themselves without undue haste.
Do not try to force them on 
     as though you could be today what time
         -- that is to say, grace --
     and circumstances 
        acting on your own good will 
     will make you tomorrow.
Only God could say what this new Spirit
     gradually forming in you will be.



Give our Lord the benefit of believing 
     that his hand is leading you,
     and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
         in suspense and incomplete.
Above all, trust in the slow work of God,
     our loving vine-dresser.


Amen.

the 3 D's

Back when I swam for Shannon Dunworth, he sat the team down for a "come to Jesus" meeting of sorts regarding our goals and motivation. What he said centered around what he called the 3 D's of success:

DedicationDetermination
Desire

These three have similar cores that give them a similar purpose. Dedication, Determination, and Desire propel you to dig real deep when you are stressed or tested or just plain tired. Some people see it as stubbornness or inflexibility or pride--and, granted, sometimes it is--but mostly there is a force from deep inside you pulling you toward something.

One who is dedicated knows knows every day is not her best day but that every single day counts. The dedicated student does not procrastinate or cheat or do just enough to slip under the radar. The dedicated athlete does not spend her time distracted or wishing her body felt more able or making excuses. Those who are dedicated are consistent and reliable. Each night, it is their fortitude that is rejuvenated through rest.

One who is determined sets goals with the intention of meeting them. This determined individual knows herself well enough to know her capabilities. Her goal is one step beyond the point at which she knows she will want to give up. Her dedication to herself and her goal keeps her from sitting on the sidelines in fear. Determination holds a person to a higher standard or excellence, not perfection, but excellence. This excellence results from knowing one's capabilities and never settling, for a determined individual knows that "to settle for less than your best is to willingly surrender a part of yourself that could have been."

One who has desire knows nothing of complacency. Desire fuels the drive for greatness. For it is "only those who dare to fail greatly [who] can ever hope to achieve greatly."

In January 2012, I tied on my shoes the same way I've tied them for years but I had a different reason this time. I wanted to see if my body was capable. I was not going to push myself beyond what my body was capable of but I was willing to push myself beyond what my body was comfortable with. I didn't sign up until March 1st because I needed time to listen to my body. I thought I could do it, I listened to my body, and I did it. On April 16, 2012, I completed my first half marathon.

On June 6th, I sat on the couch wondering if I could do more. Still unsure, I decided to, again, listen to my body. I thought I could do it, so I would try. On June 6th, I signed up for the Rock N' Roll Savannah half-marathon which would take place on November 3rd. I had every intention of running a full marathon but I wasn't sure if I was capable. My plan was to start out training for the full but not put my money on it (literally) until I was sure. After a solo 12-miler after 6 hours of work that began at 6am, I was sure and so I did the upgrade. The marathon is in 2 1/2 days and I am struggling to hold on to that certainty. I've trained with all 3 D's but I'm still wondering if that's enough. I was dedicated--I ran when I was tired and when it was too cold and too hot. I was determined--I started the long runs with Kelsey with a plan (finish) and a go-get-em attitude. And I had desire--even after being put in a stability boot with a stress fracture 2 1/2 weeks ago, I've continued to run because I want this. I want this for me. I am proud of myself and I want to finish the job. But I'm scared. 

"I'll be there to help 

whatever is left of you 

at the finish line. 

Either way, 

you're going to cross that finish line, 

even if it's on my back" --Nathan Blair 

people say running is an individual sport. Clearly, those people aren't runners. 

An Ode

For the past week, I've been working on writing a poem. Turns out, however, that the poetry gods did not bestow their gifts upon me at birth. Coming to grips with that limitation this week has been extremely difficult, harder than my last long training run on Friday (22 miles that turned into 25 when Kels and I missed a turn). 

Though that sarcasm mainly fuels that last thought, it's not completely false. I simply don't like to not be good at things, hence my stubborn determination. 

I had intended my poem to speak volumes but I struggled to find ways to convey the whit, sincerity, and transparency of its subject matter.

to my cousin:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KELLY

I'm sorry I couldn't write you a poem

but you still deserve to know what I wanted to share;

When we were younger, I thought you were much older, wiser, and put together. I thought you had all the answers, or at least enough that I could learn what you knew and be totally fine. In time, as we both grew, I began to see your questions, struggles, imperfections. And when those things broke the shiny veneer I had constructed over you, I was not disappointed, instead I appreciated your authenticity as you tried to figure out what your authenticity actually looked like authentically. 

When I was in high school and you were just beginning college, I remember believing you had your life all figured out and you were capable of doing the work to figure mine out as well. Now that I'm a few years past that 'just beginning college' time, holy cow am I sorry for thinking what I thought. At 18, I didn't know who I was or what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be or really who I didn't want to be and I certainly wasn't capable of figuring that out for someone else.

Now we may be 700 miles apart and maybe even further in the not-so-distant future, but I've shared moments with you I haven't with many. Simple moments: crying on the phone because my parents inability to understand me hurts so bad, photoshoots on train tracks, making birthday surprise cupcakes,  feeling connected though few words are shared. 

You're not my best friend but you're certainly my favorite cousin--go ahead, tell Brent. 

TRUE BEAUTY 

shines from the soul and warms the world 

with its kindness, compassion, and integrity

Join me on another journey

SAVANNAH, GA

Whoot. Whoot.

"for what?" you ask.

26.2 miles

Yep! That's right. I'm running my first marathon...in Savannah, GA..in exactly 4 months. My friend Nathan kinda talked me into it and I kinda let him a few weeks ago. We signed up on June 6th--national running day--and booked our hotel last week and began training on Sunday.

I'm scared shitless but so so so excited. I LOVED training for the Go! St. Louis half marathon I ran in April and all my running didn't stop after the race. Running connects me to my existance in a way I've never really felt before. I'm breathing and sweating and pounding and squinting and telling myself "don't stop. just [insert distance here] more." 

I remember watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants way back when and at the end of the scene where Bridget and the hott soccer coach race on the beach, he says "ahh, there's nothing like a good run" and she replies, "yeah, it's like you're running and all the bad stuff in the world can't catch you if you just keep going." I didn't understand how that made any sense because you always have to stop sometime and so all your running [if you're doing it for Bridget's reasons] was pointless. Well, I get it now. Even when you stop, you're on a high and you know you can always start up again. When I run, I win. I am strong and centered and in touch with myself and my world. 

I've got 4 months of that greatness up ahead all in preperation for a solid 26.2 miles of glory. 

You'll be hearing a lot about it, I'm sure. :)

Synthesis: shalom

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all.  Do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle.

The world you desired can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours." -Ayn Rand  

I'm in a class on the Old Testament Psalms this semester, and in this class, we talk about Hebrew words more than we talk about English it seems. On the first day of class some 6 weeks ago, Dr. Asen spoke about "shalom." It's a word we've all likely heard before and most of us translate it to mean "peace"...but, as Dr. Asen described, it means far more than peace.


Hebrew words go beyond their spoken pronunciation. Each Hebrew word conveys feeling, intent and emotion. Shalom is more then just simply peace; it is a complete peace. It is a feeling of contentment, completeness, wholeness, well being, and harmony.


"The best way I've heard 'shalom' explained to me," Dr. Asen shared, "came from a Jewish Rabbi who explained it as meaning 'I hope all the pieces of your life fit together'."

I hope all the pieces of your life fit together.

I've been working to fit the pieces of my life together recently--the past memories with the present situation with the hope of the future. It's complicated but important. 

I feel like it may be one of those unattainable ideals that we continue striving for despite knowing we will never actually get there. That sucks. The 'unattainable ideal' has been a common theme in my life recently--things I want but know can never be reality. In another one of my classes [spiritual exercises], we are contemplating this issue and learning how to live with these sorts of things. We are becoming intentional about observing the difference between the things we can control and those we can't. 

I may not necessarily be able to fit the pieces of my life together all myself but I can be open to the changes necessary for this to happen--letting people know which pieces don't fit, letting people love me, loving myself, acknowledging that it's okay that all the pieces do not fit together right now, and so on. It's a mindful contemplation focused on believing that the ideal I cherish is something I can work towards.

Friends, shalom, I hope the pieces of your life fit together. I hope, someday, you will look upon the entirety of your life and smile--not out of happiness for the pain, not denying the suffering, but seeing the completeness of the puzzle with all the pieces fit together.

Special offer:

Don't get too excited.
The "special offer" is nothing more than what I give you whenever I write here--a quick peek inside my brain (and often my heart as well).

2 thoughts today. 

Both without my words.

"It's just that the suffering has to be visible and not called inevitable or blamed on the victim before we can stop it." check this to see what the heck brought about these words


"We can never answer your fear with proof." read The Red Tent to know the rest of the story


These are nuggets I've been chewing on this morning as I drink my coffee and count the red cars that pass on the freeway outside my apartment window. 


Go live your life. Stop reading this. 

Reading for fun...I have time for that now!

This morning, I went over to the beehive (building of offices for humanities faculty) to pick up a paper. When the paper wasn't in my professor's mailbox I had to go up to the third floor to get it directly from her. I knocked on the door and she ushered me in. Long story short, we talked for an hour...and only about my paper for about 4 minutes.

Out of the blue, she asked me what I was currently reading. I pulled my book out from my bag sitting at my feet and let her take a look--Death By Love by Mark Driscoll...not really light reading. Laughing, she said "and some fiction on the side?" She asked if I'd ever read anything by Flannery O'Connor. Not only have I read most of her work (all her short stories and one of her novels), she just happens to be my favorite author. No big deal. She grinned, impressed? surprised? Whatever the case, she lent me her copy (every time I go to Dr. Rubio's office, I leave with at least one book) of Flannery O'Connor's letters--letters to everyone...her publishers, her friends, her family, everyone. 


As I've been working my way through the introduction, I was struck by some of her words:

"There are some of us who have to pay for our faith 
every step of the way 

and who have to work out dramatically what it would be like without it 

and if being without it would ultimately be possible or not."

I sat on my bed, intellect seized by introspection. 

American culture often treats religion as some kind of fad--in one day and out the next. But Flan is suggesting otherwise. She motions that being might not be possible without faith. Granted, religion and faith are different. Lots of people might say they have faith but not unite themselves with a certain religious community. It's like "I'm spiritual not religious." What's with that? When did all these sub categories become so common place? When did religion come to be seen as a negative thing? 

Faith is believing in things unseen, or so I've heard. 

So is faith innately irrational?

I don't like the thought of that. 

I like things to be black and white. Unfortunately, the world doesn't come nicely split like that. There's a lot of black and a lot of white, they just happen to be mixed together forming innumerable shades of gray, that's why relativism is becoming such a popular thought process. 

There are times when I'm not so sure what exactly I have faith in, but I know, without a doubt that there has to be something bigger than me, something beyond this Earthly existence, or else none of this matters. If this is all there is and I'm going to get dropped eight feet in the ground and piled with dirt after I die and that's it, what's the point? I need there to be a God. I need there to be an afterlife. Without those, living seems irrational. Because there is so much pain and suffering (often seen as useless) I cannot begin to understand why we would continue if there was no purpose to the pain, nothing better to come. 

All I know is that despite my rationality, I'm often wrong. I can explain things until my heart stops beating but it is ever so easy to undo all that explanation. Even when I think I am most right, there always exists another person who feels s/he is just as right. There is only one truth.

I suppose I revert back to what this professor spoke about at the end of our last class a few weeks ago. She said, "knowing how wrong I've been and how many mistakes I've made forces me to see and acknowledge that I want something other than me leading my life." Looking back on our lives, even in reviewing the past week, we can probably all see how our plans didn't turn out the way we expected. We put so much time and energy into planning and organizing but it's gonna happen His way no matter what. We can take the long road or the short road, or better yet, His road. No matter what, all roads lead back to Him. We have faith because we're not good enough--or at least that's why Dr. Rubio and I do.

I'm still just in the introduction. I haven't even really had a chance to dissolve myself to become one with the words of the book. I have over 600 pages of pure entertainment reading and I couldn't be more excited. There is nothing I am supposed to learn from this. There no notes to take, no questions to answer, and no deadline to meet. 

Pleasure reading, a fantastic concept. 

Words of the heart.

there is this girl named Annie

we are friends.

 it's intense.

like camping!

I love her.

a lot.

We became friends by having a class together last spring. Little did we know that class would bond us together this way. In the past year, we've grown into closer and deeper friendship. Annie has gotten to know my heart and my head...that is something to be applauded. She knows what makes me tick. She knows when I need to talk but don't want to. She knows how to push me without making me fall over. And if I do fall, she's had her hand outstretched waiting for me to take it since before I fell. 

Needless to say, I am blessed.

Annie knows she doesn't always have the right words to say but sometimes songs do and sometimes other people do. It is not uncommon for me to open a text message telling me to go youtube a song or open an email pointing me to a quote on pinterest. 

I don't know what I was going through when she sent me this 

(couldn't have been all that important if I didn't journal about it)

but it made me tear up.

I often refer to God as 'Daddy' (for a number of reasons) and I rarely see that anywhere but in my own heart. Yeah, lots of people begin prayers invoking 'Father, God' but it's not the same. A daddy is much different than a father. Clearly, it was a big deal for me to see the way this was "signed." Dad may not be the same as 'Daddy' but its pretty darn close--close enough for this to seem personal, rather than just another corny Christian things on the internet. 

I blogged on March 22nd (I looked it up. I promise I don't just freakishly remember these things) about how words don't mean a thing to me until they are followed by some type of action, and so I see how it seems a little inauthentic that I'm now telling you how much these words mean to me. 

It's not the words.

It's the action behind the words.

In order for those words to get to me, Annie had to be thinking of me. I doubt she was online frantically searching for something to give me comfort, but, instead, God brought her to these words and gave her the push to email them to me. Annie and God get mucho brownie points for making that touch my heart. I won't say it has nothing to do with the words. That'd be totally false, but I promise you that if I had just come across those words as I was surfing across the interwebbs it wouldn't be something I'd still be thinking about.

This speaks to my heart right here and now.

When I get to where I think I'm going.

Remember those days when if someone asked you what you wanted to be when you grow us, you would've answered: batman, a princess, a firefighter, a ballerina, etc, etc.? I was sure I was going to be a ballerina, I bet my parents were pretty sure as well. From the day I could walk, I was dancing around the kitchen in my pretty pink tights, I was running to the house next door in my tutu to see if Alyssa could come out and play. I barely remember those days, but what I can remember makes me happy.

I have no idea when reality set in. I suppose it was somewhere around second or third grade when I realized that there are only a few dozen prima ballerinas in the world and I didn't have good odds. That was a hard reality, I'm sure, but I soon latched on to a new dream. I was going to be a teacher...and I held on to this dream until the middle of high school. From second or third grade all the way until the beginning of junior year of high school, I was planning on being a teacher. I would get so excited to walk in to school on the first day each year to the newly decorated bulletin boards and binders full of lesson plans. I've always loved school and learning (I just hate grades.) so it seemed perfectly natural.

Well, that changed and I wanted to be a counselor (a hardcore Catholic therapist, to use my exact wording from the time). Now I know I'm meant for ministry. I have a lot of helping myself to do before I can help other people, but I have far too much experience with far too many aspects of life to keep them to myself.

When the question became less "what do you want to be when you grow up?" and more "what do you want to do with your life? and who do you want to be when you grow up?" it started to get serious. I'm talking about picking precisely what you need in college to get where you want to go. Your major. Your concentration in your major. Your extracurricular activities. Your summer plans.  One day a few years ago it became this serious business where I better pick correctly or forever hold my peace.

Still, on monday Dr. Miller's advice as we sat in his classroom for the last time was to "Keep dreaming. People will squash your dreams sometimes but if you stop dreaming, you've let them squash you. It might hurt to get rejected but it will hurt more to have regrets."

As I grew up, college was illustrated as a time to search. A time to take a bunch of classes in areas that interest you. A time to talk to professors and figure out what you want to do with your life. And after you figure that out, you get to have experiences that will build you in that direction.

False.

College has turned me into a professional paper writer. I mean, yes, I've gotten to know some of my favorite professors--one even asked me to house-sit for her this summer--but I've realized that it is my job to sit on my bedroom floor and pour my heart and soul into Microsoft Word for hours at a time.

this is the current state of my bedroom floor--

just picture me with my back against the pillow, 

legs covered by the yellow blanket,

and computer on my lap.

I've just passed the half-way point with my 5th paper in two weeks. 

When I finish this one, I will have written over 65 pages. 

How to end sexual violence.

The effects of abuse on self-worth.

The gospels.

C.S. Lewis' view of Satan.

The historicity of the bible.

...and a two weeks before all this started I wrote 10 pages on Natural Family Planning.

This is collegiate paper writing at its finest I'm telling you.

Let me just tell you, I'm looking forward to the day when I get to take all this knowledge I'm writing about and actually do something with it.

"I try to never let school get in the way of my education" --Mark Twain