For the first few years of our marriage, I kept a spotless house. The baseboards were always dusted, the closets perfectly organized. Photos were put into albums in a timely fashion. I always knew where my car keys were, the litter box was always near pristine (for a box of poop, anyway), and the refrigerator rarely accumulated detritus covered in fuzzy blue mold.
Then we moved, and I started graduate school. I actually kept up the pristine home, but I also became increasingly crabby and an unenjoyable person. The problem is that I am not a naturally neat person. I drop my coat where I take it off, throw the mail into a bin to be sorted later, and lose my keys/earrings/lip gloss/that important note quite often (although very rarely do these items not return to me...i guess misplace is a better descriptor of what I do with these items).
When I started my doctoral program(following some much needed therapy as a part of my graduate work) I slowly relinquished my stranglehold on perfection. The basics get done, but between comps/pqe/dissertation/internship applications/having a life, the closets are overrun, the grout in the shower is growing something, and my closet needs a good culling. I am a much happier person. But, I am increasingly agitated by the disarray of our home. Oh, none of it is visible. Walk in and you'll see a good enough organized apartment, but I am tormented by the closet I wouldn't dare open. The mishmash of mail lurking in our mail table, the cat toys I know are lurking under the stove and behind the fridge, and the fact that I haven't dusted the items up there on top of the kitchen cabinets in 3 years.
So, I hereby declare Christmas vacation a cleaning vacation. Closets will be organized, fridges cleaned, papers tossed, and order restored in this home. Hubs will be a participant, even if he does it unwillingly, I expect a good cheer smile. I don't care if it's a fake one. (Hubs's inability to order disorder is another conversation for another day...he's just not got "the gift.")
Hold me to it internets. Or else, I might be writing my blog posts from my own nice hospital stay the next time I can't find that blue sweater/silver earring/last cherry coke zero.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Motivation
I never considered just what a huge motivating factor extra credit can be. Because two professors offerred extra credit to students who participate in my research, I now have nearly 70 additional participants for my dissertation study. Bonus!
I also am dissappointed in a conversation that I had today. Someone belly laughed, I mean...literally belly laughed, at the idea that someone who crticizes American foreign policy and supports the legalization of marijuana could be a true Christian. Made me so upset, that this person didn't stop to get to know me enough that he was questioning the veracity of my belief. I just really didn't think anyone could be so limited and closed off.
I ordered shoes to go with my suit that I will wear on internship interviews (still wishful thinking, I haven't heardy ANYTHING from any sites, good or bad). Here they are...all purple and fun! Yay!
I also am dissappointed in a conversation that I had today. Someone belly laughed, I mean...literally belly laughed, at the idea that someone who crticizes American foreign policy and supports the legalization of marijuana could be a true Christian. Made me so upset, that this person didn't stop to get to know me enough that he was questioning the veracity of my belief. I just really didn't think anyone could be so limited and closed off.
I ordered shoes to go with my suit that I will wear on internship interviews (still wishful thinking, I haven't heardy ANYTHING from any sites, good or bad). Here they are...all purple and fun! Yay!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Crazy Dissertation
Sorry, folks. The dissertation is now sucking my time away. Agh! I will do a wrap up post about NaBloPoMo tomorrow or Friday, I promise. :)
To keep you satisfied, here's a picture:
Mmm. Chicago deep dish pizza.
To keep you satisfied, here's a picture:
Mmm. Chicago deep dish pizza.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Autobiography
Process of applying for internship requires writing four essays. Here is one of mine, written for the autobiographical section. Please don't copy. All writings are copyrighted, and cannot be used with out my expressed written permission, for either personal or professional use.
“It is those who have a deep and real inner life who are best able to deal with the irritating details of outer life."~Evelyn Underhill
My journey to becoming a psychologist has been indirect. Raised in a small town, I was not introduced to psychology as a profession. Yet, my family and rural community instilled a love of knowledge and an appreciation for people’s stories. Living in beautiful East Tennessee, I developed a love for the outdoors and longed to understand how all types of systems (i.e. biological, social) work together to create something bigger than their individual parts.
In college, I was drawn to the fields of medicine, sociology, literature, and ministry. Each of these elicited my passions in unique ways, yet felt incomplete. I sought out diverse experiences, desiring a vocation that would unify my interests and talents. I spent one summer coordinating youth mission trips and found another piece to my puzzle--working with adolescents. Yet, I still had no clear idea of the final picture.
My roommate then introduced me to her major: psychology. I was intrigued but unfamiliar, and so I obtained a summer internship working at a therapeutic foster care agency. The clients captured me with their heartbreaking stories, and I was energized by the opportunity to contribute to change in their lives. I had found the key piece to the puzzle of my vocation. I began researching graduate schools and completed the prerequisites for admission during my senior year. Following graduation, I was a counselor on the child and adolescent unit of an inpatient hospital. I learned a vast amount about mental illness and adolescents. This experience confirmed my calling to psychology and allowed me to contemplate the impact of my professional life on my spouse and our marriage.
Given the newness of our marriage and the distance we would likely move, I decided to pursue a Master of Arts in Clinical Psychology. Although it was not what I expected, this time was one of transformative growth that initiated holistic self-examination, both emotional and relational. For so long achievement had defined such a large part of my worth. As an M.A. student, I developed a more balanced view, valuing both personal growth and professional achievement. This process was essential to my becoming an empathic and effective therapist who brings her authentic self into the therapy room. I was challenged to embrace my sensitivity and passion, and yet to manage emotions well. I realized that in addition to doing therapy, I wanted to supervise trainees, do extensive psychological testing, and perform administrative duties, thus, I applied to the Doctor of Psychology program at .
There are many other experiences that are key to the person, and hence the professional, who I am becoming: my rural background and its interactions with psychology and my current life in the Chicago suburbs, key mentoring relationships, and a group of women professionals who have deeply impacted my view of myself as both female and therapist. I look forward to further opportunities to share more of how each of these experiences has impacted my sense of a vocational calling to serve others with my psychological training
“It is those who have a deep and real inner life who are best able to deal with the irritating details of outer life."~Evelyn Underhill
My journey to becoming a psychologist has been indirect. Raised in a small town, I was not introduced to psychology as a profession. Yet, my family and rural community instilled a love of knowledge and an appreciation for people’s stories. Living in beautiful East Tennessee, I developed a love for the outdoors and longed to understand how all types of systems (i.e. biological, social) work together to create something bigger than their individual parts.
In college, I was drawn to the fields of medicine, sociology, literature, and ministry. Each of these elicited my passions in unique ways, yet felt incomplete. I sought out diverse experiences, desiring a vocation that would unify my interests and talents. I spent one summer coordinating youth mission trips and found another piece to my puzzle--working with adolescents. Yet, I still had no clear idea of the final picture.
My roommate then introduced me to her major: psychology. I was intrigued but unfamiliar, and so I obtained a summer internship working at a therapeutic foster care agency. The clients captured me with their heartbreaking stories, and I was energized by the opportunity to contribute to change in their lives. I had found the key piece to the puzzle of my vocation. I began researching graduate schools and completed the prerequisites for admission during my senior year. Following graduation, I was a counselor on the child and adolescent unit of an inpatient hospital. I learned a vast amount about mental illness and adolescents. This experience confirmed my calling to psychology and allowed me to contemplate the impact of my professional life on my spouse and our marriage.
Given the newness of our marriage and the distance we would likely move, I decided to pursue a Master of Arts in Clinical Psychology. Although it was not what I expected, this time was one of transformative growth that initiated holistic self-examination, both emotional and relational. For so long achievement had defined such a large part of my worth. As an M.A. student, I developed a more balanced view, valuing both personal growth and professional achievement. This process was essential to my becoming an empathic and effective therapist who brings her authentic self into the therapy room. I was challenged to embrace my sensitivity and passion, and yet to manage emotions well. I realized that in addition to doing therapy, I wanted to supervise trainees, do extensive psychological testing, and perform administrative duties, thus, I applied to the Doctor of Psychology program at .
There are many other experiences that are key to the person, and hence the professional, who I am becoming: my rural background and its interactions with psychology and my current life in the Chicago suburbs, key mentoring relationships, and a group of women professionals who have deeply impacted my view of myself as both female and therapist. I look forward to further opportunities to share more of how each of these experiences has impacted my sense of a vocational calling to serve others with my psychological training
Monday, November 26, 2007
I am impatient and possibly impetuous.
The waiting to hear about interviews? Killing me! I actually looked up what sites have application due dates beyond December 15th in order to strategize my plan of attack if I get an insufficient number of interviews, or none at all.
I often remind my clients that when it come to the unknown, we all remain very much like children. We imagine monsters where there are only whisps of rumor and worry that forebode nothing more than our own irrational fears that will soon be proven wrong. Children imagine scary and elaborate answers in the absence of truth. Monsters are borne to explain fears of the dark, storks emerge in the place of the womb, and absent parents become heroes and villains in the absence of knowing.
Someone speak the truth to me and dispel my crazy making.
I often remind my clients that when it come to the unknown, we all remain very much like children. We imagine monsters where there are only whisps of rumor and worry that forebode nothing more than our own irrational fears that will soon be proven wrong. Children imagine scary and elaborate answers in the absence of truth. Monsters are borne to explain fears of the dark, storks emerge in the place of the womb, and absent parents become heroes and villains in the absence of knowing.
Someone speak the truth to me and dispel my crazy making.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Relaxing weekend..
After the stress of internship applications, and now my just sitting and waiting to hear from sites (or not), Saturday and Sunday were days of relaxation.
Hubs and I headed into the city. We enjoyed the Christkindl Market, a German Christmas market. We then headed over to Macy's (formerly Marshall Field's) and saw the Christmas tree and decorations. There, we spent some time on the FAO Schwarz floor, where Hubs fell in love with a life-size 1200 dollar plush moose.
We watched the ice skaters in Millenium Park, and then ate dinner in Lincoln Park at a hole in the wall with the best pork bbq sandwich I have ever tasted (that's saying a lot for a TN girl). We watched an amazing show at the Old Towne School of Folk Music by Over the Rhine. We caught the 10pm show, the second of 2 for that evening. Complete with a double encore. Karen and Linford (who I always want to call Linwood) performed with a drummer and stand up bass. The drummer was outstanding, the whole show was spectacular. Even the opening act inspired me. His name was (and probably still is) Griffin House, which sounds like a campus-owned apartment complex more than a person's name. Regardless, he was also top notch.
Today, we grabbed some late breakfast at the Corner Bakery near Dearborn and Randolph, and then we headed to Borders to kill time before heading to the train. We then won 4th row tickets to see Wicked's matinee show (you win the privelege to purchase tickets for $25 instead of the usual $100 plus). We watched Wicked, scored an extra ticket that we were able to convince a friend to drive into the city to take in the show with us. Then, we didn't have to wait on the train because our friend drove us home.
Wicked! Bratwurst! Over the Rhine! BBQ Pork! Moose! Ahhh! I've never had a weekend be as fulfilling as I had hoped. This one truly was.
Hubs and I headed into the city. We enjoyed the Christkindl Market, a German Christmas market. We then headed over to Macy's (formerly Marshall Field's) and saw the Christmas tree and decorations. There, we spent some time on the FAO Schwarz floor, where Hubs fell in love with a life-size 1200 dollar plush moose.
We watched the ice skaters in Millenium Park, and then ate dinner in Lincoln Park at a hole in the wall with the best pork bbq sandwich I have ever tasted (that's saying a lot for a TN girl). We watched an amazing show at the Old Towne School of Folk Music by Over the Rhine. We caught the 10pm show, the second of 2 for that evening. Complete with a double encore. Karen and Linford (who I always want to call Linwood) performed with a drummer and stand up bass. The drummer was outstanding, the whole show was spectacular. Even the opening act inspired me. His name was (and probably still is) Griffin House, which sounds like a campus-owned apartment complex more than a person's name. Regardless, he was also top notch.
Today, we grabbed some late breakfast at the Corner Bakery near Dearborn and Randolph, and then we headed to Borders to kill time before heading to the train. We then won 4th row tickets to see Wicked's matinee show (you win the privelege to purchase tickets for $25 instead of the usual $100 plus). We watched Wicked, scored an extra ticket that we were able to convince a friend to drive into the city to take in the show with us. Then, we didn't have to wait on the train because our friend drove us home.
Wicked! Bratwurst! Over the Rhine! BBQ Pork! Moose! Ahhh! I've never had a weekend be as fulfilling as I had hoped. This one truly was.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
M(answers)
There's not much on TV on Thanksgiving. Not that's worth watching, anyway. I surfed by a show called "M(answers)" (Warning...NSFW)and was shocked that there are people, presumably men, who find this show entertaining or useful. The two segments I watchers were "Prostitute or Cop?" and, I think, "How to get drunk quicker." (The answer to that is to put the alcohol up your rectum. Yeah, it evidently is dangerous, because of the quick absorption where you get so much alcohol directly into your blood stream. Blech. They repeatedly warned "DO NOT try this at home.")
None of the men in my life have need of these skills, that I am aware of, anyway. I rarely consider myself naive, given my line of work with college student and teens. But, seriously, are there enough men out there who want to know these things that such a show will succeed?
None of the men in my life have need of these skills, that I am aware of, anyway. I rarely consider myself naive, given my line of work with college student and teens. But, seriously, are there enough men out there who want to know these things that such a show will succeed?
Friday, November 23, 2007
Frankly, They Smell
We're ferret sitting for some dear friends. Dear friends are the only type of friend for whom you would agree to ferret sit. Because ferrets, they poop A LOT. And in weird places. They have a habit of biting you for no good reason.
And btw, someone tell my husband that if you turn on the vacuum cleaner when the ferret is out of its cage, it will lose its shit and go and hide in an impossible corner for 20 minutes in an unaccessible cavity under the bookcase. So, yeah.
Otherwise, we had an uneventful day, did a bit of afternoon shopping that had nothing to do with Christmas and everything to do with needing to get out of the house and to have a peppermint white chocolate mocha. Mmmm. We did buy a couple of items, but mostly spent our time running to the bank and browsing for things for our Christmas wish lists that we will never get. Like a Dyson (me) or every box set of Lost (him).
We're taking a short holiday into the city tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. The cats and a friend will be guarding the house, and no ferrets are invited in our absence.
And btw, someone tell my husband that if you turn on the vacuum cleaner when the ferret is out of its cage, it will lose its shit and go and hide in an impossible corner for 20 minutes in an unaccessible cavity under the bookcase. So, yeah.
Otherwise, we had an uneventful day, did a bit of afternoon shopping that had nothing to do with Christmas and everything to do with needing to get out of the house and to have a peppermint white chocolate mocha. Mmmm. We did buy a couple of items, but mostly spent our time running to the bank and browsing for things for our Christmas wish lists that we will never get. Like a Dyson (me) or every box set of Lost (him).
We're taking a short holiday into the city tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. The cats and a friend will be guarding the house, and no ferrets are invited in our absence.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Gratitude
Thanksgiving always turns me toward the concept of gratitude, and this year is no different. Hubs and I cooked an entire dinner, complete with turkey, dressing, various casseroles, cranberry sauce, rolls, and pumpkin pie. For 2 people! We're gluttons today, folks.
But lately, I have felt an overwhelming gratitude for many things in my life. I am thankful for being in a profession where I feel I can daily live out my calling and use my gifts. Most times, I leave sessions saying, "THIS is why I do this." I am thankful for a husband who respects me, adores my independence and my ideas, and thinks that this overweight body is delightfully appealing. Our marriage has felt especially rewarding these days.
However, my thoughts also inevitably turn to our next steps. For the longest time, my academic background in sociology, training in community psychology, and idealistic nature has combined swimmingly with our shared Christian faith and Hub's love for social justice and a Tony Campolo type of Jesus faith. The result is that we have long felt a call to live in a neighborhood many young professionals would shun. One where the houses are less than pristine, where crime is not an anomaly, where people work hard and many never get caught up, much less ahead.
If we head back to our home in Tennessee for my internship, we plan to buy a home in such a neighborhood. In my head, we'll be these urban Christian hippies who grow our organic garden in the backyard and invite our multi-colored neighbors over for happy hour with everything from Pabst Blue Ribbon to pomegranate martinis.
I joined the neighborhood yahoo group for one such area where we might live, and the reality busted my bubble a bit. Yes, there are regularly scheduled social events in this diverse neighborhood, but there are also neighborhood meetings on how to respond to prostitution, public relations initiatives to explain those two murders, and other evidence that our children would likely NOT be riding their bicycles down an idyllic tree-lined street, as I did in my youth.
I am not doubting what I feel is God's call to stretch myself beyond the comfort of my white-bred (and white-bread) rural upbringing to grasp what is good about living in the reality of a grittier, less insulated life. People breathe, and people breed, and people live, and people die. I don't want to miss that, but I do seriously doubt my own faithfulness to do this. Can I go from one of the most affluent, predominantly Christian suburbs of Chicago to the reality of an impoverished small city in the American South?
My brother points out that I could minister to "those people" without living with them. My father points out that the resell value of our home will likely not be good. My mother worries about the schools our children will attend. I am not naive, these are worries that I have, as well. But, I can't get past that all of these are selfish concerns. All about if me and mine are getting the best, if we can insulate ourselves from the reality that many have no choice to live in and with everyday. Realities of poverty, discrimination, disadvantage, disappointment, and suffering.
I don't have hopes of swooping in and saving anyone, that is not why the desire to live in this way came about when I was 19, and has not waned one iota. It's because as much as I feel I have something to offer, I also have something to gain. But what I have to gain is more intangible, less measurable, and more elusive. Thus, I listen to the doubters who doubt for good reason. They love me and they want to forestall their own losses by keeping Hubs and I safe.
Gratitude. Can I be grateful for what God is calling me to? That, I'm not sure. Not yet, anyway.
But lately, I have felt an overwhelming gratitude for many things in my life. I am thankful for being in a profession where I feel I can daily live out my calling and use my gifts. Most times, I leave sessions saying, "THIS is why I do this." I am thankful for a husband who respects me, adores my independence and my ideas, and thinks that this overweight body is delightfully appealing. Our marriage has felt especially rewarding these days.
However, my thoughts also inevitably turn to our next steps. For the longest time, my academic background in sociology, training in community psychology, and idealistic nature has combined swimmingly with our shared Christian faith and Hub's love for social justice and a Tony Campolo type of Jesus faith. The result is that we have long felt a call to live in a neighborhood many young professionals would shun. One where the houses are less than pristine, where crime is not an anomaly, where people work hard and many never get caught up, much less ahead.
If we head back to our home in Tennessee for my internship, we plan to buy a home in such a neighborhood. In my head, we'll be these urban Christian hippies who grow our organic garden in the backyard and invite our multi-colored neighbors over for happy hour with everything from Pabst Blue Ribbon to pomegranate martinis.
I joined the neighborhood yahoo group for one such area where we might live, and the reality busted my bubble a bit. Yes, there are regularly scheduled social events in this diverse neighborhood, but there are also neighborhood meetings on how to respond to prostitution, public relations initiatives to explain those two murders, and other evidence that our children would likely NOT be riding their bicycles down an idyllic tree-lined street, as I did in my youth.
I am not doubting what I feel is God's call to stretch myself beyond the comfort of my white-bred (and white-bread) rural upbringing to grasp what is good about living in the reality of a grittier, less insulated life. People breathe, and people breed, and people live, and people die. I don't want to miss that, but I do seriously doubt my own faithfulness to do this. Can I go from one of the most affluent, predominantly Christian suburbs of Chicago to the reality of an impoverished small city in the American South?
My brother points out that I could minister to "those people" without living with them. My father points out that the resell value of our home will likely not be good. My mother worries about the schools our children will attend. I am not naive, these are worries that I have, as well. But, I can't get past that all of these are selfish concerns. All about if me and mine are getting the best, if we can insulate ourselves from the reality that many have no choice to live in and with everyday. Realities of poverty, discrimination, disadvantage, disappointment, and suffering.
I don't have hopes of swooping in and saving anyone, that is not why the desire to live in this way came about when I was 19, and has not waned one iota. It's because as much as I feel I have something to offer, I also have something to gain. But what I have to gain is more intangible, less measurable, and more elusive. Thus, I listen to the doubters who doubt for good reason. They love me and they want to forestall their own losses by keeping Hubs and I safe.
Gratitude. Can I be grateful for what God is calling me to? That, I'm not sure. Not yet, anyway.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I can't believe that I forgot to do that!
Last night I made a 'to do' list for today. I didn't want to forget anything. Hubby left before I did this morning, and when I woke up and retrieved my list, he had added an additional task for me to complete. I got everything done except that one thing.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I'm done!
Right now, sitting next to me, are my two final completed internship applications.
I should be celebrating, and I am! But, in a really low-key non event way. Graduate school is a long pursuit in the same direction, so to speak. Except that much of the time, you're sprinting. It's like suicide sprints interspersed with grade card day at school.
It's interesting all the things that one must hold aloft during any graduate training. There's internship applications, the equivalent of writing a 10 page paper every day for a month after doing months of compiling and research mixed with the anxieties about where you want your career to head and where you want to live.
But, I still have clients, and classes, and oh, that dissertation thing all up in the air, too. I guess that explains why my closets are heaping messes and that my eyebrows are in severe need of a taming. Umm hmm.
Take Monday, for example. I was seeing clients by 8:30 AM. In between client hours, I was photocopying my surveys so that I could spend my lunch break collecting data from students in a class where the professor was out of town. After a non lunch, there were more clients and the requisite paperwork. Followed by an evening spent editing essays and cover letters for dear friends who have done the same for me. Somewhere in there I ate dinner and baked cookies (ate those, also). I am amazed and pleased at how much one can successfully handle concurrently. I'm also abhorred by such overfunctioning. I often wonder what would happen if I just said "NO." Would things still get done, eventually? Would I see any ill effects?
So, now I brace myself for the joys and the rejections that will start coming soon. The waiting part is hard for me. 18 applications in the mail. I wonder how many interviews I will get? I could have some interviews as soon as two weeks, and have some interviews as late as the first week of February.
I should be celebrating, and I am! But, in a really low-key non event way. Graduate school is a long pursuit in the same direction, so to speak. Except that much of the time, you're sprinting. It's like suicide sprints interspersed with grade card day at school.
It's interesting all the things that one must hold aloft during any graduate training. There's internship applications, the equivalent of writing a 10 page paper every day for a month after doing months of compiling and research mixed with the anxieties about where you want your career to head and where you want to live.
But, I still have clients, and classes, and oh, that dissertation thing all up in the air, too. I guess that explains why my closets are heaping messes and that my eyebrows are in severe need of a taming. Umm hmm.
Take Monday, for example. I was seeing clients by 8:30 AM. In between client hours, I was photocopying my surveys so that I could spend my lunch break collecting data from students in a class where the professor was out of town. After a non lunch, there were more clients and the requisite paperwork. Followed by an evening spent editing essays and cover letters for dear friends who have done the same for me. Somewhere in there I ate dinner and baked cookies (ate those, also). I am amazed and pleased at how much one can successfully handle concurrently. I'm also abhorred by such overfunctioning. I often wonder what would happen if I just said "NO." Would things still get done, eventually? Would I see any ill effects?
So, now I brace myself for the joys and the rejections that will start coming soon. The waiting part is hard for me. 18 applications in the mail. I wonder how many interviews I will get? I could have some interviews as soon as two weeks, and have some interviews as late as the first week of February.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Bumbling young fool.
That's what I felt like today. A long weekend writing internship applications, a night of really poor sleep haunted by all of the thoughts and worries I have been putting on hold these days, and a rainy Monday morning made me especially not present today. I found myself spacing out, thinking about my own tasks for the day, and sometimes just not listening. This is probably okay if your job is not purely based on listening to people. However, in my line of work, it can be downright irresponsible
When I opened my mouth, my thoughts were jumbled, too self-referential, and often too precise, cutting, or straightforward to be taken in by my clients. The buffer where I can usually contain myself and dispense only as much truth as is kind and gracious failed, and even a good amount of caffeine couldn't dislodge me from my funk.
I hope that my attempts to admit my bumbling, admit my discombobulation, and apologies for my addled state were sufficient. It's an odd profession where you must wonder if your clients can handle you being a person today, or if it is too soon.
I am tired, so I shall rest. Thanksgiving can't come soon enough.
When I opened my mouth, my thoughts were jumbled, too self-referential, and often too precise, cutting, or straightforward to be taken in by my clients. The buffer where I can usually contain myself and dispense only as much truth as is kind and gracious failed, and even a good amount of caffeine couldn't dislodge me from my funk.
I hope that my attempts to admit my bumbling, admit my discombobulation, and apologies for my addled state were sufficient. It's an odd profession where you must wonder if your clients can handle you being a person today, or if it is too soon.
I am tired, so I shall rest. Thanksgiving can't come soon enough.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
The Annoying Reasons Why I Love Him
His refusal to wear socks, but sticking his cold feet on me.
His need to poop naked.
His hoarding of past date foodstuffs. Including a can of collard greens circa 2003.
His habit of saying "What are you up to?" when he has nothing else to say and it's evident that you're up to something really obvious.
The over-usage of soap and body wash. His insistence on using a loofah.
His hoarding of digital images, even the accidental shots inside his coat pocket.
His penchant for taking pictures of any and all birds, particularly pigeons.
The refusal to go to the damn eye doctor, even though one lens fell out months ago and he put it back in upside down, and one of the eye pads is attached with a string that I used in a pinch about 10 months ago.
How he asks "What's for dinner?" when I get home more than an hour later than he does.
How he calls me a thousand times from the grocery store to ask questions, but still brings home the wrong kind of oatmeal.
That the drive-thru window overwhelms him. The choices! The ordering! The awkwardness! He gets all anxious.
That he insists on a turkey for Thanksgiving, even when the smallest we can find is 12lbs..for 2 people.
That he loves me as much as I love him, despite my annoyances, too.
His need to poop naked.
His hoarding of past date foodstuffs. Including a can of collard greens circa 2003.
His habit of saying "What are you up to?" when he has nothing else to say and it's evident that you're up to something really obvious.
The over-usage of soap and body wash. His insistence on using a loofah.
His hoarding of digital images, even the accidental shots inside his coat pocket.
His penchant for taking pictures of any and all birds, particularly pigeons.
The refusal to go to the damn eye doctor, even though one lens fell out months ago and he put it back in upside down, and one of the eye pads is attached with a string that I used in a pinch about 10 months ago.
How he asks "What's for dinner?" when I get home more than an hour later than he does.
How he calls me a thousand times from the grocery store to ask questions, but still brings home the wrong kind of oatmeal.
That the drive-thru window overwhelms him. The choices! The ordering! The awkwardness! He gets all anxious.
That he insists on a turkey for Thanksgiving, even when the smallest we can find is 12lbs..for 2 people.
That he loves me as much as I love him, despite my annoyances, too.
Feminists Are Sexy
Feminists have more rewarding relationships. A feminist woman married to a feminist man results in really outstanding sex. So says a new study that was recently purchase in Sex Roles. I knew that there was a reason that I married a feminist.
Friday, November 16, 2007
The Application that Could
I am applying to quite a number of internship sites, all of them selected because I was drawn to some aspect of their training. Some of them are enhanced by having several great experiences, a superb location, or some other aspect. I chose sites from all over, across 8 states and Canada.
One of the Canadian sites is a college counseling center, and I had my application done in plenty of time. I did express mail anyway, with it guaranteed to be there within five days. But, um, don't forget Veteran's Day. Regardless, the latest that my application was guaranteed to arrive was on its due date, which was yesterday.
But my tracking showed all day yesterday that my application packet had "Cleared Canadian Customs" sometime on Wednesday. So, I emailed the director my predicament, along with my tracking number and the progress of the packet, to demonstrate that lack of planning was not why my application had not arrived and asking him to still consider it.
But, I didn't hear back from the director, so I sent another email. Some sites make interview decisions on the day right after the due date, and this site was adamant in their materials that your application be received by November 15th. This time I attached my cover letter, vita, and application with a promise to fax my recommendations, transcripts, part 2 of my application, and any other documents required by this site.
But, I had mailed my recommendation letters to the site with my application, so I had to scramble to get together some letters addressed to this site. That was an ordeal. Then, I went to send the fax. Well, halfway through the fax failed.
I shoved the sheaf of 18 pages into the arms of my husband who I sent to his workplace to try to fax it again on his way to meet some friends for a weekly "The Office" party, while I compiled digital copies of the fax into a pdf file that I could email.
But, the pdf turned out to be 10.03 MB, and that's too big for most email systems. So I was going to upload the document to a storage place I use online that provides links where you can share documents with others, without that person needing to sign in. But, that service is only free for files up to, you guessed it...10MB. So I pulled out the credit card to pay the 3 bucks to host the document. But the first card I pulled out, the stupid CVV security code was rubbed off. I pulled out another card, put in the info, got the document uploaded, got the link, and sent another email with the link.
About that time, I get a phone call. Some employee at the site working late to catch up on some paperwork was getting a fax...well, two faxes, the one I sent and the one my husband was now sending. And they have a small fax machine, and well, it was overwhelming.
This sweet dear woman offered to trash the extra fax and let that be our secret. God bless her. She also informed me that while they are highly selective, they aren't inhuman, and that my application would likely be considered because they weren't on a strict time deadline or experiencing a heavy time crunch. Whew.
And, tonight at 10pm, I received an email from the US Postal Service. My mailed application arrived at 7:30 am this morning. Meaning that all of that was likely unnecessary. And I've managed to appear irresponsible and obsessive compulsive in the same day with 3 emails, 2 faxes, and one phone call.
I'm hoping they're intrigued by my obvious desire to be considered at their site, and invite me for an interview if only to meet the weird girl who did all of that.
One of the Canadian sites is a college counseling center, and I had my application done in plenty of time. I did express mail anyway, with it guaranteed to be there within five days. But, um, don't forget Veteran's Day. Regardless, the latest that my application was guaranteed to arrive was on its due date, which was yesterday.
But my tracking showed all day yesterday that my application packet had "Cleared Canadian Customs" sometime on Wednesday. So, I emailed the director my predicament, along with my tracking number and the progress of the packet, to demonstrate that lack of planning was not why my application had not arrived and asking him to still consider it.
But, I didn't hear back from the director, so I sent another email. Some sites make interview decisions on the day right after the due date, and this site was adamant in their materials that your application be received by November 15th. This time I attached my cover letter, vita, and application with a promise to fax my recommendations, transcripts, part 2 of my application, and any other documents required by this site.
But, I had mailed my recommendation letters to the site with my application, so I had to scramble to get together some letters addressed to this site. That was an ordeal. Then, I went to send the fax. Well, halfway through the fax failed.
I shoved the sheaf of 18 pages into the arms of my husband who I sent to his workplace to try to fax it again on his way to meet some friends for a weekly "The Office" party, while I compiled digital copies of the fax into a pdf file that I could email.
But, the pdf turned out to be 10.03 MB, and that's too big for most email systems. So I was going to upload the document to a storage place I use online that provides links where you can share documents with others, without that person needing to sign in. But, that service is only free for files up to, you guessed it...10MB. So I pulled out the credit card to pay the 3 bucks to host the document. But the first card I pulled out, the stupid CVV security code was rubbed off. I pulled out another card, put in the info, got the document uploaded, got the link, and sent another email with the link.
About that time, I get a phone call. Some employee at the site working late to catch up on some paperwork was getting a fax...well, two faxes, the one I sent and the one my husband was now sending. And they have a small fax machine, and well, it was overwhelming.
This sweet dear woman offered to trash the extra fax and let that be our secret. God bless her. She also informed me that while they are highly selective, they aren't inhuman, and that my application would likely be considered because they weren't on a strict time deadline or experiencing a heavy time crunch. Whew.
And, tonight at 10pm, I received an email from the US Postal Service. My mailed application arrived at 7:30 am this morning. Meaning that all of that was likely unnecessary. And I've managed to appear irresponsible and obsessive compulsive in the same day with 3 emails, 2 faxes, and one phone call.
I'm hoping they're intrigued by my obvious desire to be considered at their site, and invite me for an interview if only to meet the weird girl who did all of that.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Internship Craziness
I have a sad, hilarious, Chevy Chase comedy type of story to tell you. But I will do it tomorrow, after drinks with some friends. Because tonight, I SO SO SO need those drinks.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Dear Future Me
Dear 5 year old Nicole:
Chill out dear. You're going to be doing this school thing for a long time, so try not to be so intense about it. It's okay that you can't tie your shoes. But they aren't lying to you about how to do it, as you accuse them. Just take a deep breath and trust them. And don't lie to your teacher by having your friend tie your paper shoe for you. She'll find out later that you cheated, and it will be embarrassing.
Dear 8 year old Nicole:
I know that this year really truly ishard. That Julie girl will move away next year and you'll never see her again, so just stick your tongue out at her and move on. Don't be so proud of yourself (see chill out about school advice above).
Dear 9 year old Nicole:
With the school thing? Again, chill out. And getting a B on your behavior folder is okay. And that new girl with the same name? She's going to date your brother for 3 years in the future, so do whatever you can to make her not hate you for the rest of elementary school. That won't be easy. Oh, and don't perm your hair. It's naturally curly. You have my permission to tell your mom that she's crazy and that she doesn't understand because of her stick straight hair.
Dear 11 year old Nicole:
On that one day in the spring? Don't wear white shorts. And do wear underwear. And stay away from that math teacher guy. He's creepy.
Dear 12 year old Nicole:
I love you and I promise life is so much better than 7th grade. Oh, and that other girl named Nicole? Be nice to her even when she makes your life miserable. Remember what I said about her dating your brother in the future? Still true. Still intense about the school thing, it's okay, you are not what you do. Those questions you ask about God...well, everyone asks them. Ask away, he can take it.
Dear 13 year old Nicole:
I love you, and I promise life is so much better than 8th grade. When they ask you if you want to skip this grade, actually consider it before saying no, because this year is going to be a lot harder on you than you could possibly imagine. And don't be in such a hurry to get kissed. It will happen, it will be wonderful, and you have plenty of time for that.
Dear 14 year old Nicole:
Whew, you made it to high school. Enjoy the next 4 years, you're going to do great. (Oh, and have fun with that Matt guy, but don't let yourself think you're going to marry him...that's just silly.) Remember when I said that Nicole girl would date your brother? It's about to happen. Stick up for yourself more, and talk to your brother about how she treats you at school. Actually talk to your brother period, he loves you and will be around for the long haul. She'll go away eventually.
Dear 15 year old Nicole:
Don't date that Michael guy. He's not good for you. And still date that Levi guy, but break up with him a lot sooner..way before you get stupid. And that Nicole girl? Ignore her. Enjoy this time with Ms. Ivens and Ms. Godsey. They'll both die before you're 30 and before you tell them how important they were to the woman you've become. Thank them now, in advance.
Dear 16 year old Nicole:
Didn't you hear me? Break up with the Levi guy. Oh, and when you date Josh to get over Levi? Be nice to him. He's a great guy, even if he's not the one for you. Don't buy that Ford Tempo, it's a piece of crap. Try for a car whose horn works. Spend less time worrying about your hair. It's more beautiful now that it will ever be again. And enjoy those firm thighs. You are beautiful.
Dear 17 year old Nicole:
Don't skip Governor's School to do Junior Miss. Apply for the humanities school instead of the sciences. I promise, you'll be better off. And that Mike guy? That's going to turn into a messy unhealthy thing. Just don't date him. It's better that way. Try being single for awhile. Go ahead and plan a senior trip away with your brother, because that Nicole girl? She's going to burn him and screw you out of a senior trip with all of your friends. Prepare for it. Mostly, they weren't real friends anyway. Be yourself, pleasing others is not what it's cracked up to be.
Dear 18 year old Nicole:
Break up with Mike already. Kiss that guy who is your best friend, because you'll always wonder "what if." Don't join that big box Southern Baptist church, you'll understand why later. Reach out to people more, make your own friends. Stand up to your roommate, she's taking advantage of you. You are special, beautiful, and wonderful, and no matter what stupid things you do, tell your parents, they'll still love you. Oh, and that Mike guy? Kick him in the balls for me one good time, because he's going to do some things where he deserves that and more.
Dear 19 year old Nicole:
Still no major? Quit worrying. It will all work out, I promise. And don't date that Chad guy either. Try out for the softball team. You probably could have done it. And take a psychology class already. Oh, and it's called PCOS, you're not crazy, you have an illness that is treatable.
Dear 20 year old Nicole:
This year is going to be a good one. Have fun with that guy you're dating, he's going to be an awesome husband. Enjoy flag football this year, you're going to win the championship. Grow out your bangs. Try to relax and be yourself. I know it's hard. This school thing? You're still intense, just let it go a little.
Dear 21 year old Nicole:
Spend less time planning your wedding and more time having fun. Again, Grow out your bangs. I'm glad you're getting healthy, but focus more on how great you feel and less on how much you weigh. Grow out your bangs. Go to therapy more consistently, you're going to need it in the coming years. That school you visited near Chicago? Quit worrying about getting in, it's going to happen and it will be some of the best years of your life. Yes, you're marrying the right man.
More later....
Chill out dear. You're going to be doing this school thing for a long time, so try not to be so intense about it. It's okay that you can't tie your shoes. But they aren't lying to you about how to do it, as you accuse them. Just take a deep breath and trust them. And don't lie to your teacher by having your friend tie your paper shoe for you. She'll find out later that you cheated, and it will be embarrassing.
Dear 8 year old Nicole:
I know that this year really truly ishard. That Julie girl will move away next year and you'll never see her again, so just stick your tongue out at her and move on. Don't be so proud of yourself (see chill out about school advice above).
Dear 9 year old Nicole:
With the school thing? Again, chill out. And getting a B on your behavior folder is okay. And that new girl with the same name? She's going to date your brother for 3 years in the future, so do whatever you can to make her not hate you for the rest of elementary school. That won't be easy. Oh, and don't perm your hair. It's naturally curly. You have my permission to tell your mom that she's crazy and that she doesn't understand because of her stick straight hair.
Dear 11 year old Nicole:
On that one day in the spring? Don't wear white shorts. And do wear underwear. And stay away from that math teacher guy. He's creepy.
Dear 12 year old Nicole:
I love you and I promise life is so much better than 7th grade. Oh, and that other girl named Nicole? Be nice to her even when she makes your life miserable. Remember what I said about her dating your brother in the future? Still true. Still intense about the school thing, it's okay, you are not what you do. Those questions you ask about God...well, everyone asks them. Ask away, he can take it.
Dear 13 year old Nicole:
I love you, and I promise life is so much better than 8th grade. When they ask you if you want to skip this grade, actually consider it before saying no, because this year is going to be a lot harder on you than you could possibly imagine. And don't be in such a hurry to get kissed. It will happen, it will be wonderful, and you have plenty of time for that.
Dear 14 year old Nicole:
Whew, you made it to high school. Enjoy the next 4 years, you're going to do great. (Oh, and have fun with that Matt guy, but don't let yourself think you're going to marry him...that's just silly.) Remember when I said that Nicole girl would date your brother? It's about to happen. Stick up for yourself more, and talk to your brother about how she treats you at school. Actually talk to your brother period, he loves you and will be around for the long haul. She'll go away eventually.
Dear 15 year old Nicole:
Don't date that Michael guy. He's not good for you. And still date that Levi guy, but break up with him a lot sooner..way before you get stupid. And that Nicole girl? Ignore her. Enjoy this time with Ms. Ivens and Ms. Godsey. They'll both die before you're 30 and before you tell them how important they were to the woman you've become. Thank them now, in advance.
Dear 16 year old Nicole:
Didn't you hear me? Break up with the Levi guy. Oh, and when you date Josh to get over Levi? Be nice to him. He's a great guy, even if he's not the one for you. Don't buy that Ford Tempo, it's a piece of crap. Try for a car whose horn works. Spend less time worrying about your hair. It's more beautiful now that it will ever be again. And enjoy those firm thighs. You are beautiful.
Dear 17 year old Nicole:
Don't skip Governor's School to do Junior Miss. Apply for the humanities school instead of the sciences. I promise, you'll be better off. And that Mike guy? That's going to turn into a messy unhealthy thing. Just don't date him. It's better that way. Try being single for awhile. Go ahead and plan a senior trip away with your brother, because that Nicole girl? She's going to burn him and screw you out of a senior trip with all of your friends. Prepare for it. Mostly, they weren't real friends anyway. Be yourself, pleasing others is not what it's cracked up to be.
Dear 18 year old Nicole:
Break up with Mike already. Kiss that guy who is your best friend, because you'll always wonder "what if." Don't join that big box Southern Baptist church, you'll understand why later. Reach out to people more, make your own friends. Stand up to your roommate, she's taking advantage of you. You are special, beautiful, and wonderful, and no matter what stupid things you do, tell your parents, they'll still love you. Oh, and that Mike guy? Kick him in the balls for me one good time, because he's going to do some things where he deserves that and more.
Dear 19 year old Nicole:
Still no major? Quit worrying. It will all work out, I promise. And don't date that Chad guy either. Try out for the softball team. You probably could have done it. And take a psychology class already. Oh, and it's called PCOS, you're not crazy, you have an illness that is treatable.
Dear 20 year old Nicole:
This year is going to be a good one. Have fun with that guy you're dating, he's going to be an awesome husband. Enjoy flag football this year, you're going to win the championship. Grow out your bangs. Try to relax and be yourself. I know it's hard. This school thing? You're still intense, just let it go a little.
Dear 21 year old Nicole:
Spend less time planning your wedding and more time having fun. Again, Grow out your bangs. I'm glad you're getting healthy, but focus more on how great you feel and less on how much you weigh. Grow out your bangs. Go to therapy more consistently, you're going to need it in the coming years. That school you visited near Chicago? Quit worrying about getting in, it's going to happen and it will be some of the best years of your life. Yes, you're marrying the right man.
More later....
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Shitty Day
(One of) My best friend's boyfriend broke up with her. My dad's coworker's daughter died in a car accident. So my dad called to say how much he loved me. He's calling my brother, too. My brother is struggling with his depression. (One of) My (other) best friend's brothers took his own life about a year ago. I had a client yesterday whose brother took his own life.
Life is hard.
I'm going to go cry and be with best friend the first.
Life is hard.
I'm going to go cry and be with best friend the first.
Monday, November 12, 2007
How My Faith Impacts My Clinical Work
I am grateful for God’s provision in my life in the form of Christian parents, a Church that provided for spiritual parenting, and a rural small-town upbringing that protected me from experiencing many of the more painful realities of this world. Yet, like all parents, although the Church was “good enough,” I came away with my own set of wounds. Along with the messages of justice, faithfulness, and holiness, I took away from my religious upbringing the quality of being judgmental, an emphasis on impression management, and more fear than freedom.
All of this was transformed over the past five years that I have spent in graduate school. During this time, I came to a new faith experience through mourning the losses of my life and entering into my disillusionment. God has painfully yet lovingly stripped from me my false self, and invited me to enter into a relationship with Him that is based on honesty and genuineness. My journey to accepting that I am God’s beloved has been a difficult and ongoing struggle to know my self so that I might be able to better know God. Because of my unbelief, I had my very name, “beloved” permanently tattooed on my physical body, so that the identity I struggle to daily accept cannot be denied.
This experience of God, as a lover of my true self, has been instrumental in how I view the context of therapy. Based on this understanding of God, therapy becomes a journey toward self-knowledge, health, and restored relationships for patients. Regardless of our respective belief systems, when I enter into a relationship with a patient, I bring my true and authentic self. I reflect who a patient is so that she can see and discover her true self. By understanding and knowing the self, a patient learns about the Creator through studying the creation. Balancing grace with truth, therapy is a place to ‘bind up the broken hearted and to set captives free.’ Because of my beliefs, therapy becomes a journey of faith where change is assumed, innovation is expected, and rebirth is welcomed. Rather than reacting out of fear, I rest in my identity in Christ, able to come alongside patients as they wrestle with and through the questions of life and God.
God also calls us to mirror His creativity. Beauty, art, and imagination are instrumental in this process of knowing and being known. These mediums are understood as coming from the Creator and as a means to better experience, express, and understand the various aspect of ourselves, others, and God. Thus, therapy also becomes a space where I encourage patients to explore creative means of knowing and engaging the self through art therapy, mindfulness, contemplative practices, or role play.
I appreciate that God equally values the individual self and the community of multiple selves in relationship. God, whose nature is relational, calls us to live in a community of people where individuals can bring their full selves in order to both know others and be known in such fullness. I strive to provide such an experience in the therapy room so that patients may go out and engage in healthier relationships, participating in the narrative that God is telling through scripture, history, and experience by fully engaging in their communities.
All of this was transformed over the past five years that I have spent in graduate school. During this time, I came to a new faith experience through mourning the losses of my life and entering into my disillusionment. God has painfully yet lovingly stripped from me my false self, and invited me to enter into a relationship with Him that is based on honesty and genuineness. My journey to accepting that I am God’s beloved has been a difficult and ongoing struggle to know my self so that I might be able to better know God. Because of my unbelief, I had my very name, “beloved” permanently tattooed on my physical body, so that the identity I struggle to daily accept cannot be denied.
This experience of God, as a lover of my true self, has been instrumental in how I view the context of therapy. Based on this understanding of God, therapy becomes a journey toward self-knowledge, health, and restored relationships for patients. Regardless of our respective belief systems, when I enter into a relationship with a patient, I bring my true and authentic self. I reflect who a patient is so that she can see and discover her true self. By understanding and knowing the self, a patient learns about the Creator through studying the creation. Balancing grace with truth, therapy is a place to ‘bind up the broken hearted and to set captives free.’ Because of my beliefs, therapy becomes a journey of faith where change is assumed, innovation is expected, and rebirth is welcomed. Rather than reacting out of fear, I rest in my identity in Christ, able to come alongside patients as they wrestle with and through the questions of life and God.
God also calls us to mirror His creativity. Beauty, art, and imagination are instrumental in this process of knowing and being known. These mediums are understood as coming from the Creator and as a means to better experience, express, and understand the various aspect of ourselves, others, and God. Thus, therapy also becomes a space where I encourage patients to explore creative means of knowing and engaging the self through art therapy, mindfulness, contemplative practices, or role play.
I appreciate that God equally values the individual self and the community of multiple selves in relationship. God, whose nature is relational, calls us to live in a community of people where individuals can bring their full selves in order to both know others and be known in such fullness. I strive to provide such an experience in the therapy room so that patients may go out and engage in healthier relationships, participating in the narrative that God is telling through scripture, history, and experience by fully engaging in their communities.
Busy Bee
I've been busy writing internship applications, so I had to go into the archives for something. The archives being this folder from my undergrad years labeled "personal diatribes." The excerpt below is from a critical editorial I wrote of my undergrad experience, as if the president of our university had to live the life of one of the ugrad students.
After filling his tummy with yummy goo, our President could then make his way to class. If he’s lucky, he’ll have a professor that does his job extremely well and will leave feeling educated and fulfilled. Nevertheless, there is the likely possibility that the class will be taught by an inept grad student or disillusioned professor. In these classes one of three things happens:
1.) The professor has totally lost track of what it was like before he knew all the ins and outs of quantum mechanics. He’ll teach our fine President in incomprehensible terms at warp speed, never checking to see if the entire class is lost. The class average is a 60, but with the curve, everyone will leave with A’s and B’s. No one has learned anything in the course of a semester, but Professor X doesn’t care. He’s too busy working on that $500,000 grant application. (I had a professor tell me this once, in all seriousness.)
2.) This is a very common case. Professor X has tenure and a degree awarded decades ago, without any further education. He has no attendance policy, requires no homework, and gives tests as old and predictable as your grandmother’s 20-year-old cat. Everyone makes wonderful exam scores, but still leave without learning anything.
3.) In this scenario, President Gilley gets a graduate teaching assistant. This wonderful person either a.) knows nothing or b.) knows nothing and thinks that he knows everything. He uses the class as research subjects for his dissertation, cancels class once a week, and gives impossible exams on material never covered in class. In fact, he’s so busy that he doesn’t answer anyone’s emails nor is he ever in his office hours. Even if he were, his office is in South Stadium Hall and his hours are during the President’s classes.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
I Feel Like a Woman
I wrote in the past about my struggle with PCOS. I took that blog entry and cleaned it up to use it for an essay for an internship site. This site requires additional essays, one on a difficult experience and how your grew as a result.
When I was 18, my body went on strike. I became lethargic. Fatigue made attending classes seem impossible. Despite sleeping 10 to 12 hours, I woke exhausted. I was constantly hungry. The midsection of my normally athletic frame expanded in a way that I knew was irregular. Despite my intuition alerting me something was significantly amiss, doctors informed me that I was simply “stressed.” I was doing well in school and making meaningful friendships, but I was too tired to feel present. Finally, my mother saw a television special about PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, an imprecise but pervasive endocrine disorder unique to women that affects hormone levels, ovulation, and the production and processing of insulin. A new doctor and several medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.
Since my diagnosis with PCOS, it has been a struggle to release my ideas of femininity as defined by a Caucasian American culture. I have experienced grief at the loss of my physically feminine self. I am no hourglass; I am an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My lustrous curly hair is no longer thick. I do not get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, or the soft ringlets of my once-thick hair wrapping around my face. Despite high quality treatment, I spend many anxious moments worrying that PCOS will result in fertility problems. My friends have lithe bodies that they can maintain with a small measure of effort, but my attempts to maintain a healthy weight must be deliberate and slow.
I must cultivate a strong sense of self in the face of a culture that tells me that, because my physical appearance does not meet an ideal, I am deficient and inadequate as a woman. Yet, amidst suffering, hope and a deeper faith have developed. I am grateful that medications manage my appetite and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe, attending to the rhythms of my body as a guide for life’s choices. There is meaning in a disease that can cause false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual hungers from my own yearnings has been an instrumental experience in learning to listen to the true call of God.
Most of all, I have been challenged to grow to place my identity in Christ. I have accepted that my worth, as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and He delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from my hands unwillingly. Yet, I have begun to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Womanhood is now tied to my gifts of feeling deeply, living passionately, and being courageous. I am a strong woman because of the ways in which I can love and nurture that are distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but with it has come deep pain and much loss.
I must admit that I do not always think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. I ask God to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my knowledge of my self and to feel shameful for being too much or not enough in certain regards. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get angry about it all. This, too, has been part of my spiritual growth. I have come to know God in a more intimate way and have learned that God wants to know all of me. This has led to better connection with others, where I am more comfortable sharing all of my experience and can invite others to do the same.
When I was 18, my body went on strike. I became lethargic. Fatigue made attending classes seem impossible. Despite sleeping 10 to 12 hours, I woke exhausted. I was constantly hungry. The midsection of my normally athletic frame expanded in a way that I knew was irregular. Despite my intuition alerting me something was significantly amiss, doctors informed me that I was simply “stressed.” I was doing well in school and making meaningful friendships, but I was too tired to feel present. Finally, my mother saw a television special about PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, an imprecise but pervasive endocrine disorder unique to women that affects hormone levels, ovulation, and the production and processing of insulin. A new doctor and several medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.
Since my diagnosis with PCOS, it has been a struggle to release my ideas of femininity as defined by a Caucasian American culture. I have experienced grief at the loss of my physically feminine self. I am no hourglass; I am an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My lustrous curly hair is no longer thick. I do not get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, or the soft ringlets of my once-thick hair wrapping around my face. Despite high quality treatment, I spend many anxious moments worrying that PCOS will result in fertility problems. My friends have lithe bodies that they can maintain with a small measure of effort, but my attempts to maintain a healthy weight must be deliberate and slow.
I must cultivate a strong sense of self in the face of a culture that tells me that, because my physical appearance does not meet an ideal, I am deficient and inadequate as a woman. Yet, amidst suffering, hope and a deeper faith have developed. I am grateful that medications manage my appetite and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe, attending to the rhythms of my body as a guide for life’s choices. There is meaning in a disease that can cause false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual hungers from my own yearnings has been an instrumental experience in learning to listen to the true call of God.
Most of all, I have been challenged to grow to place my identity in Christ. I have accepted that my worth, as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and He delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from my hands unwillingly. Yet, I have begun to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Womanhood is now tied to my gifts of feeling deeply, living passionately, and being courageous. I am a strong woman because of the ways in which I can love and nurture that are distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but with it has come deep pain and much loss.
I must admit that I do not always think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. I ask God to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my knowledge of my self and to feel shameful for being too much or not enough in certain regards. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get angry about it all. This, too, has been part of my spiritual growth. I have come to know God in a more intimate way and have learned that God wants to know all of me. This has led to better connection with others, where I am more comfortable sharing all of my experience and can invite others to do the same.
Friday, November 09, 2007
I held a baby tonight..
And my ovaries exploded. I don't know which I wanted more, the small child that I was holding or the cute little schnauzer prancing around the house. Of course, I then realized that no babies and no dogs equal a lot less poop in my life than in some others' lives. For that I was thankful.
Anyone out there ever gone through this whole graduate school/internship thing and have children? When's a good time? There is no perfect time, I know! But, I wonder how having a baby fits into the life schedule. You'd think I might consult God on these things, but that guy has a habit of giving me answers that I don't like, and I"m feeling selfish today. I promise I'll talk to him about that after internship applications are done. Oh, and maybe to my husband. It's not like a can bare his child without at least a little bit of his involvement.
If you're reading this blog and I've sent you an application, don't worry. I'm not having a baby during internship. But you may have to make way for my bloated belly at some point during the process, and put my office near the bathroom.
Anyone out there ever gone through this whole graduate school/internship thing and have children? When's a good time? There is no perfect time, I know! But, I wonder how having a baby fits into the life schedule. You'd think I might consult God on these things, but that guy has a habit of giving me answers that I don't like, and I"m feeling selfish today. I promise I'll talk to him about that after internship applications are done. Oh, and maybe to my husband. It's not like a can bare his child without at least a little bit of his involvement.
If you're reading this blog and I've sent you an application, don't worry. I'm not having a baby during internship. But you may have to make way for my bloated belly at some point during the process, and put my office near the bathroom.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Raise Your Hand If You're Sure...
In graduate school, there are many people, processes, and paperwork that are irritating and annoying. But few things raise my ire as much as the grad school hand raiser. The hand raiser is ALWAYS a woman. While everyone else seems to have learned that we're all adults, the hand raiser seems to need the validation of someone calling on her in order to deign to grace us with her thoughts. The hand raiser raises her hand as if she's holding her place in line to speak.
"What is so annoying?" you ask. "Is the hand raiser not simply being polite?"
No, the hand raiser is being a passive aggressive manipulator who wields power in the worst of ways. The hand raiser demands to be acknowledged by others, as if everyone else in the room isn't also holding in a thought that could be shared. The hand raiser is declaring to the whole class, "Instead of listening to whomever is speaking, I'm sitting here holding my thought and pondering it instead."
The hand raiser is waiting for everyone to pause and invite her to speak. Worse than the hand raiser, is the professor who calls on her. "Oh wait, Steve. Jenny has her hand raised." Nevermind that Steve is the introvert who speaks in class exactly twice a year, Jenny has her hand raised.
Being in psychology, I often wonder if the hand raiser raises her hand to speak at family functions. If in therapy sessions, she raises her hand while her clients pour out their pain, because she's waiting to be recognized. Hand raisers are at the same time arrogant and insecure. It's a passive power move hidden behind a demeanor of propriety that is actually an insidious form of obsequiousness. (Google it!)
I once was in an Advanced Psychodynamic Therapy class where we confronted the hand raiser. She didn't stop. When she raised her hand on the last day of class, during our termination session, I pointed it out. She didn't like that, and we all just talked over her until she gave in and said whatever the hell she had to say. I find that the greatest victory of my graduate career. Forget about the clients who have made great strides under my care, or my own personal journey of growth. An entire year later, I find so much more satisfaction in that moment where the hand raiser was conquered.
Well, except the hand raiser is in class with me once again, raising that damn hand. The hand raiser isn't so bad, but in class I just want to slowly break each of her fingers. But, if I did that people would probably feel more sorry for her deformed claw of a hand and professors would call on her more. Then it would be, "I'm sorry Steve, but Jenny has her misshapen handicapped claw raised." Grrr.
So, to the hand raisers of the world. Stop. It. We aren't five and neither are you. And if you start waving that thing in the air, I'm going to break it off.
"What is so annoying?" you ask. "Is the hand raiser not simply being polite?"
No, the hand raiser is being a passive aggressive manipulator who wields power in the worst of ways. The hand raiser demands to be acknowledged by others, as if everyone else in the room isn't also holding in a thought that could be shared. The hand raiser is declaring to the whole class, "Instead of listening to whomever is speaking, I'm sitting here holding my thought and pondering it instead."
The hand raiser is waiting for everyone to pause and invite her to speak. Worse than the hand raiser, is the professor who calls on her. "Oh wait, Steve. Jenny has her hand raised." Nevermind that Steve is the introvert who speaks in class exactly twice a year, Jenny has her hand raised.
Being in psychology, I often wonder if the hand raiser raises her hand to speak at family functions. If in therapy sessions, she raises her hand while her clients pour out their pain, because she's waiting to be recognized. Hand raisers are at the same time arrogant and insecure. It's a passive power move hidden behind a demeanor of propriety that is actually an insidious form of obsequiousness. (Google it!)
I once was in an Advanced Psychodynamic Therapy class where we confronted the hand raiser. She didn't stop. When she raised her hand on the last day of class, during our termination session, I pointed it out. She didn't like that, and we all just talked over her until she gave in and said whatever the hell she had to say. I find that the greatest victory of my graduate career. Forget about the clients who have made great strides under my care, or my own personal journey of growth. An entire year later, I find so much more satisfaction in that moment where the hand raiser was conquered.
Well, except the hand raiser is in class with me once again, raising that damn hand. The hand raiser isn't so bad, but in class I just want to slowly break each of her fingers. But, if I did that people would probably feel more sorry for her deformed claw of a hand and professors would call on her more. Then it would be, "I'm sorry Steve, but Jenny has her misshapen handicapped claw raised." Grrr.
So, to the hand raisers of the world. Stop. It. We aren't five and neither are you. And if you start waving that thing in the air, I'm going to break it off.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Underachiever
Well, no one can accuse me of stellar writing around these parts. It's a crazy time in my life. I'm tired.
Evidently, I was disconnected to an extreme degree today. So much so that one of the scientific profs emailed me after class, afraid that he'd offended me during class due to my lack of engagement. I will write him back and let him know that wasn't the case. Wow, am I really that occupied right now? Yes.
Evidently, I was disconnected to an extreme degree today. So much so that one of the scientific profs emailed me after class, afraid that he'd offended me during class due to my lack of engagement. I will write him back and let him know that wasn't the case. Wow, am I really that occupied right now? Yes.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Better late that never.
My today isn't over yet, so this still counts right?
Today was an interesting day, one where I took no prisoners and asserted myself in new and unique ways. I hope to write more about it tomorrow or later in the week. But, for now, I'll give you an internship application update.
7 are completed, mailed, and received by the sites.
3 are ready go waiting to be compiled and mailed.
3 are in progress of being written and will be completed this weekend b/c they are due on the 16th.
5 more are due after the 16th and aren't being worked on right now, but a couple of sites are really present in my mind and I think might be a really awesome match for me.
That's how it is, yo. Check it.
Today was an interesting day, one where I took no prisoners and asserted myself in new and unique ways. I hope to write more about it tomorrow or later in the week. But, for now, I'll give you an internship application update.
7 are completed, mailed, and received by the sites.
3 are ready go waiting to be compiled and mailed.
3 are in progress of being written and will be completed this weekend b/c they are due on the 16th.
5 more are due after the 16th and aren't being worked on right now, but a couple of sites are really present in my mind and I think might be a really awesome match for me.
That's how it is, yo. Check it.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Random Insanity
On one of the women's dorm windows near where I work on campus the residents have posted a sign that reads "Serenades Welcomed." I wish I had thought of such an awesome thing to do when I was an undergrad. Then again, in my all girls dorm,where my window faced what used to be a courtyard but now was the roof of the cafeteria, it just wouldn't have been the same.
Multiple wings had been built onto the building over the years so that it ended up shaped like an H. Our room looked right into the rooms on the other side of the H. Not that it wasn't interesting. We came to refer to my neighbors as naked dancing girl and naked foreign exchange student girl for their penchant for fully undressing and lowering the shade only to cover their faces and then dancing or being foreign. My brother and I ate dinner together once a week and then he'd come over "to use my computer," but I know it was for the regularity that he got to see those well-endowed women provide his own personal picture show from the vantage point of my desk chair more than it was for the high speed Internet.
In other news, my mother now has a "ring back tone." Her phone now not only assaults the people around her with uninvited music, but now when you call her an inviting woman's voice says, "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached." That's exactly right I'm trying to reach a party! It's kinda hard to dance to Cookie Monster singing "C is for Cookie" though. It's a play on my maiden name, and is a bit too cute...maybe just because my mom thought of it before I did.
My husband had a doctors appointment to day for his yearly physical. I called him out on our way to dinner. "I totally know that you wore special boxer shorts today." "Yeah, I didn't want the ones that incessantly ask "please?" all over them or the ones that have a big smiley face over my crotch. The doctor would think I was sending a message to her. So I wore the rubber ducks."
Add to my to do list: Buy my husband totally typical, non-weird underwear, especially since his mother bought him the please and smiley one's and my mother bought him the rubber ducks. What is up with the moms being all up in our boxer short issues?
Yesterday we put an new collar on our younger kitty, Zuzu. Before, she had always managed to turn each collar into a suicide mission or a torture device. There's nothing like the concurrent pity and hilarity of watching a cat tear ass through the apartment with a collar stuck in her mouth like a horse's bridle. Of course, the break-away type were always off in seconds.
But, on a random impulse, I came across one of our breakaway collars and slapped it on her. She has apparently forgotten how to get the collar off, but she spent the whole freaking day yesterday skulking around the house looking for the big animal with a bell that kept following her. Her eyes stayed in a permanently alert dilated state, while she looked at us like, "Dude, do you see the animal with the bell that WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE?" Every time we would pet her, the sound of her own bell would startle her. By this time, it appears she's accepted that ringing is just a part of who she is, and she's out cold next to me on the couch accepting the ringiness of her bellness.
Back to internship essays. :)
*The way I butchered and misuse commas throughout this post frustrates me, but, MEH deal with it. Internship sites are getting all my comma editing mojo right now.
Multiple wings had been built onto the building over the years so that it ended up shaped like an H. Our room looked right into the rooms on the other side of the H. Not that it wasn't interesting. We came to refer to my neighbors as naked dancing girl and naked foreign exchange student girl for their penchant for fully undressing and lowering the shade only to cover their faces and then dancing or being foreign. My brother and I ate dinner together once a week and then he'd come over "to use my computer," but I know it was for the regularity that he got to see those well-endowed women provide his own personal picture show from the vantage point of my desk chair more than it was for the high speed Internet.
In other news, my mother now has a "ring back tone." Her phone now not only assaults the people around her with uninvited music, but now when you call her an inviting woman's voice says, "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached." That's exactly right I'm trying to reach a party! It's kinda hard to dance to Cookie Monster singing "C is for Cookie" though. It's a play on my maiden name, and is a bit too cute...maybe just because my mom thought of it before I did.
My husband had a doctors appointment to day for his yearly physical. I called him out on our way to dinner. "I totally know that you wore special boxer shorts today." "Yeah, I didn't want the ones that incessantly ask "please?" all over them or the ones that have a big smiley face over my crotch. The doctor would think I was sending a message to her. So I wore the rubber ducks."
Add to my to do list: Buy my husband totally typical, non-weird underwear, especially since his mother bought him the please and smiley one's and my mother bought him the rubber ducks. What is up with the moms being all up in our boxer short issues?
Yesterday we put an new collar on our younger kitty, Zuzu. Before, she had always managed to turn each collar into a suicide mission or a torture device. There's nothing like the concurrent pity and hilarity of watching a cat tear ass through the apartment with a collar stuck in her mouth like a horse's bridle. Of course, the break-away type were always off in seconds.
But, on a random impulse, I came across one of our breakaway collars and slapped it on her. She has apparently forgotten how to get the collar off, but she spent the whole freaking day yesterday skulking around the house looking for the big animal with a bell that kept following her. Her eyes stayed in a permanently alert dilated state, while she looked at us like, "Dude, do you see the animal with the bell that WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE?" Every time we would pet her, the sound of her own bell would startle her. By this time, it appears she's accepted that ringing is just a part of who she is, and she's out cold next to me on the couch accepting the ringiness of her bellness.
Back to internship essays. :)
*The way I butchered and misuse commas throughout this post frustrates me, but, MEH deal with it. Internship sites are getting all my comma editing mojo right now.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire.
Yesterday, while out on a walk, hubby and I walked by a house and heard the smoke alarm going off. We stood for a couple of minutes, as the alarm continued to go off. The windows were all open on a cool day, but no one appeared to be home. There didn't seem to be any smoke or flames. Living in the anonymity of the suburbs, we didn't know any of the neighbors, so we noted the address walked 3 blocks back home to get one of our cell phones and call 911.
But we felt all funny and weird about it. We walked back to the scene, but didn't stick around. A fire truck came, neighbors came out of the wood work and started calling the home owners, someone procured a garage door opener and let in the firemen. Soon after the firemen dispersed from the home.
What struck me was this drastic shift that has occurred in me the past 5 years that we've lived here. My rural upbringing that engendered community concern with out fear of embarrassment or shame about our concern has waned drastically. I actually had a crazy moment of thinking that the fire department might be suspicious of us as strangers just calling in something out of the ordinary. I hope that this part of me is one that isn't too hard to reclaim when I leave suburbia. I also want to challenge myself to continue to feel less weirdness about getting to know my neighbors and to feel a sense of communal ownership and concern.
But we felt all funny and weird about it. We walked back to the scene, but didn't stick around. A fire truck came, neighbors came out of the wood work and started calling the home owners, someone procured a garage door opener and let in the firemen. Soon after the firemen dispersed from the home.
What struck me was this drastic shift that has occurred in me the past 5 years that we've lived here. My rural upbringing that engendered community concern with out fear of embarrassment or shame about our concern has waned drastically. I actually had a crazy moment of thinking that the fire department might be suspicious of us as strangers just calling in something out of the ordinary. I hope that this part of me is one that isn't too hard to reclaim when I leave suburbia. I also want to challenge myself to continue to feel less weirdness about getting to know my neighbors and to feel a sense of communal ownership and concern.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Stocking Your Therapist's Stocking
The holiday season is quickly approaching. There may be a good chance that you're actually around this year because of some wonderful mental health professional. Or maybe you just want to drown the children, kick the dog, and hoard all the candy canes a little less than you used to because of some good but hard therapy. It could be that your family hates you slightly less than they used to. This is a good thing that warrants a thank you gift for the person responsible.
During this season of joy, remember the person who sat with you when you were less than joyful, who listened to your entire life story (over and over and over again), who spent his or her weekend watching that movie just because you mentioned it in session, who spent many hours writing session notes when you simply had to write a check and make your way home, and who actually turned that story about how your sister got the better Barbie doll that one Christmas into a meaningful metaphor for your life.
Below are some gifts highly reccommended for that important therapist in your life.
1. www.knockknock.biz
The Self-Hurt Series from It has such great titles as How to Get Fat and How to Traumatize Your Children. These books contain such gem advice as:
2.
Does your therapist have cold feet? Afraid she suffers at home on cold winter mornings? Do you feel he sometimes "slips" and says things accidentally on purpose? Like that time he claims to have said, "Would you like to suck on a mint?" But you swear that's not what you heard. Well, then your therapist buddy needs some Freudian Slippers. I can personally testify that these are therapist tested and Freudian approved.
3. Maybe your therapist seems a little rusty in the therapy room after several years of practice, or he is a new therapist with that big licensing exam coming up. Maybe you just know that you know more than her. Showcase your knowledge and affinity for psychology based jokes by giving her Therapy Flashcards.
4.Sometimes the therapy relationship has boundaries that feel constrictive. Have you ever want to reach out and tickle your therapist? That concerned head nod make you want to break the tension of a deep moment? Fulfill all your unfulfilled fantasies and phantasies with this Tickle Me Freud plush doll. And have a laugh at your own expense.
5.Maybe you want to be a therapist. The thought of being in control of the therapy session, a wise old sage dressed in a sweater cardigan while fingering your beard, appeals to you. Instead of graduate school try fingering these puppets.Choose from your psychological menagerie of Carl Jung, Sigmund Freud, or Anna Freud. Couch included.
6.
When starting that new therapy practice, you may have times when you just don't know what to say to clients. For your budding psychology driven desires or to help out the favorite therapist in your treatment team, purchase Dr. Freud's Therapy Ball. It will provide 20 questions or phrases, Magic 8 Ball style, for those moments when the silence is awkward and must be filled.
7.Last, but certainly not least, if you want to tell your therapist to suck it, or if you'd like to suck your therapist, buy and share these watermelon flavored Freud Lollipops.
During this season of joy, remember the person who sat with you when you were less than joyful, who listened to your entire life story (over and over and over again), who spent his or her weekend watching that movie just because you mentioned it in session, who spent many hours writing session notes when you simply had to write a check and make your way home, and who actually turned that story about how your sister got the better Barbie doll that one Christmas into a meaningful metaphor for your life.
Below are some gifts highly reccommended for that important therapist in your life.
1. www.knockknock.biz
The Self-Hurt Series from It has such great titles as How to Get Fat and How to Traumatize Your Children. These books contain such gem advice as:
As a controlling parent, you know what’s right. You know what your child should fear and what she should believe. You have the final say in what your child should wear every day, what friends she should have, and how much food she should put in her mouth. Because when there is not room in your universe for your child’s ideas or opinions, you save money on art supplies.
We are our successes and failures—after all what else is there?
Life is tough, and the sooner your child figures out he’s nothing special, the better.
2.
Does your therapist have cold feet? Afraid she suffers at home on cold winter mornings? Do you feel he sometimes "slips" and says things accidentally on purpose? Like that time he claims to have said, "Would you like to suck on a mint?" But you swear that's not what you heard. Well, then your therapist buddy needs some Freudian Slippers. I can personally testify that these are therapist tested and Freudian approved.
3. Maybe your therapist seems a little rusty in the therapy room after several years of practice, or he is a new therapist with that big licensing exam coming up. Maybe you just know that you know more than her. Showcase your knowledge and affinity for psychology based jokes by giving her Therapy Flashcards.
4.Sometimes the therapy relationship has boundaries that feel constrictive. Have you ever want to reach out and tickle your therapist? That concerned head nod make you want to break the tension of a deep moment? Fulfill all your unfulfilled fantasies and phantasies with this Tickle Me Freud plush doll. And have a laugh at your own expense.
5.Maybe you want to be a therapist. The thought of being in control of the therapy session, a wise old sage dressed in a sweater cardigan while fingering your beard, appeals to you. Instead of graduate school try fingering these puppets.Choose from your psychological menagerie of Carl Jung, Sigmund Freud, or Anna Freud. Couch included.6.
When starting that new therapy practice, you may have times when you just don't know what to say to clients. For your budding psychology driven desires or to help out the favorite therapist in your treatment team, purchase Dr. Freud's Therapy Ball. It will provide 20 questions or phrases, Magic 8 Ball style, for those moments when the silence is awkward and must be filled.
7.Last, but certainly not least, if you want to tell your therapist to suck it, or if you'd like to suck your therapist, buy and share these watermelon flavored Freud Lollipops.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Why The Internet is Communal, but Rarely a Community.
I am currently in the process of helping the professor with whom I work with his book that will be published in October of 2008. This quote on community really struck me...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[i] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (New York: Harper, 1954).
[ii] Proverbs 27:17, TNIV
Years ago, I read Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book, “Life Together.” It influenced me deeply in my thoughts about what the Church can, and can’t, be.[i] Bonhoeffer points out that true Christian community is nothing like the fantasies and illusions we have of a wonderful, welcoming family. It is like that, sometimes, of course. But community is really more like a crucible. We have to live in close proximity with people that we really don’t like. Or, if we did like them in the beginning, we will discover many annoying qualities as well. The crucible of a community heats us up and holds us in so that we can’t get away. In the process, it refines us, bringing the impurities to the surface where they can be skimmed away.
Communities are necessary for spiritual purification. Even the desert fathers and mothers, many of whom lived as hermits in caves, settled in proximity to each other and created the first model for the communal life of monasteries. On our own we too easily avoid noticing where our sharp edges are. When we live in close proximity to others we are constantly bumping up against each other with those unfinished edges. It is much more difficult to hide. As the Proverbs remind us, “as iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”[ii] (Proverbs 27:17, TNIV ). Any who are serious about confronting their own signature sins, then, should seek to be part of a community where this kind of sharpening can take place.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[i] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (New York: Harper, 1954).
[ii] Proverbs 27:17, TNIV
Thursday, November 01, 2007
A People's History of My Life
1980: I was born in a stable…ha! just kidding. I was born by traveling down a mysterious tunnel. I was one week late. My mother said this set a precedent for the rest of my life.
1984: My first tee ball game. I like pulling the hat down far over my eyes and playing catcher because I get to stand in the shade.
1985: I start school. My kindergarten teacher tells my parents, “Nicole is a great reader and writer. Most people don’t think that grammar matters at this age, but it do. It do!”
1988: On a family vacation to visit my uncle and his family, I ride 1000 miles in the back seat of a 2 door Chevy Spectrum from Tennessee to Texas with my older brother. Remarkable because I remember it being miserable.
1990: I have my first “boyfriend.” I hold his hand and think that I’m going to marry him.
1991: My awkward stage begins.
1992: I stop perming my naturally curly hair, making for a much less awkward awkward stage.
1993: I graduate from what was 9 years at my elementary school.
1994: High School begins, I am born. First goal: be kissed.
1995: I give up on straightening my curly hair.
1996: I buy a Ford Tempo, and the horn doesn’t work
1997: I stop catching on the fast pitch softball team because of continuing knee problems.
1998: I give a cheesy valedictory speech.
1984: My first tee ball game. I like pulling the hat down far over my eyes and playing catcher because I get to stand in the shade.
1985: I start school. My kindergarten teacher tells my parents, “Nicole is a great reader and writer. Most people don’t think that grammar matters at this age, but it do. It do!”
1988: On a family vacation to visit my uncle and his family, I ride 1000 miles in the back seat of a 2 door Chevy Spectrum from Tennessee to Texas with my older brother. Remarkable because I remember it being miserable.
1990: I have my first “boyfriend.” I hold his hand and think that I’m going to marry him.
1991: My awkward stage begins.
1992: I stop perming my naturally curly hair, making for a much less awkward awkward stage.
1993: I graduate from what was 9 years at my elementary school.
1994: High School begins, I am born. First goal: be kissed.
1995: I give up on straightening my curly hair.
1996: I buy a Ford Tempo, and the horn doesn’t work
1997: I stop catching on the fast pitch softball team because of continuing knee problems.
1998: I give a cheesy valedictory speech.
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