Inspired by Maggie over at MightyGirl, I have started a list of 100 things that I want to accomplish in my life. The inspiration probably also comes from the antidepressants that I recently began taking. Better living through more serotonin. I feel like myself for the first time in years, in ways that I hadn't even noticed had slipped away. Enough of my troubles..here's the list...
1. Travel to all 7 continents (3 down after this summer)
2. Set foot in all 50 states
3. Give birth to at least one child
4. Adopt at least one child
5. Live in an historic home (>100 years old)
6. Live outside the United States
7. Backcountry camp
8. Visit all the national parks
9. Start a not for profit
10. Write thank you notes to important people in my life (friends, teachers, relatives)
11. Make a quilt
12. Take my children on an international vacation
13. Go on a spiritual retreat once every five years
14. Spend a day in silence
15. Fast for more than a day
16. Write a book
17. Get published in a professional publication
18. Provide therapy for free
19. Raise an organic garden
20. Plant fruit trees and bushes
21. Visit Greece (AGAIN)
22. Learn another language
23. Tithe
24. Make a large stained glass window
25. Compete in a 5k or a triathlon
26. Read the entire Bible
27. Read a great novel every year
28. Have sex on the beach
29. Own a dog
30. Provide a home for a homeless person
31. Serve in some sort of ministry always
32. Take a road trip with my best friends every couple of years
33. Do something selfless for my husband
34. Create a new tradition for my family
35. Do a gift-free Christmas
36. Raise a cow for meat.
37. Own a goat, and milk it for all it’s worth.
38. Make goat cheese.
39. Slaughter a chicken
40. Raise chickens for their eggs
41. Lose 20 lbs. and keep it off.
42. Breastfeed a child (my own!)
43. Play softball competitively again
44. Coach a kids’ sports team
45. Anonymously pay for someone’s meal at a restaurant
46. Donate something meaningful to my tiny hometown.
47. Forgive those who have hurt me.
48. Keep a journal.
49. Go snow skiing.
50. Tell my story to whomever asks, without apologies.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Curmudgeonly
This is how I'm feeling. When one feels this way the only proper response is to talk about for what I am thankful. These days I feel so negative, jilted, and focused on the negative.
I am thankful:
•For the beautiful roses that I bought for myself sitting on the sideboard. Every time I pass them, I literally stop to see/smell/feel/experience the roses. It’s a fleeting moment of centering that I so need right now.
•The closet in our office is organized and neat.
•The exercise of climbing a hill over and over and over only for the joy of zooming down it on a sled with my husband this evening. The cold body, wet pants, snow in the face, tingling skin feeling of winter fun.
•Having so many good choices about internship that I can say no to some sites, and still feel like next year is a gift, with or without an internship.
•Two cats named Zuzu and Pippin who snuggle in my lap.
•For the opportunity to feed, change, burp, and put a baby to bed this week.
•That I have the luxury of having someone else clean my home during this crazy time in my life.
•For having so many friends whom I love and who love me.
•For a husband who does the taxes. And laundry. And the dishes.
•For new people, old people, happy people, sad people, and all types of people who are in our lives.
•For clients who are discovering themselves and who let me weep, cry, laugh, pray, and walk on this journey with them.
•For rain.
•That I get to study something I absolutely am passionate about.
•I have plenty of food, a warm home, clothing, and books.
•I am beloved.
•Travel.
•A moment’s peace, a family who loves me incompletely but adequately, and an existence that feels purposeful.
•For the words of God, that I have accessible to me, and that can speak regardless of my lack of understanding of theology.
•For my body.
•For faith in the midst of doubt.
•For rest, sleep, and surrender.
I am thankful:
•For the beautiful roses that I bought for myself sitting on the sideboard. Every time I pass them, I literally stop to see/smell/feel/experience the roses. It’s a fleeting moment of centering that I so need right now.
•The closet in our office is organized and neat.
•The exercise of climbing a hill over and over and over only for the joy of zooming down it on a sled with my husband this evening. The cold body, wet pants, snow in the face, tingling skin feeling of winter fun.
•Having so many good choices about internship that I can say no to some sites, and still feel like next year is a gift, with or without an internship.
•Two cats named Zuzu and Pippin who snuggle in my lap.
•For the opportunity to feed, change, burp, and put a baby to bed this week.
•That I have the luxury of having someone else clean my home during this crazy time in my life.
•For having so many friends whom I love and who love me.
•For a husband who does the taxes. And laundry. And the dishes.
•For new people, old people, happy people, sad people, and all types of people who are in our lives.
•For clients who are discovering themselves and who let me weep, cry, laugh, pray, and walk on this journey with them.
•For rain.
•That I get to study something I absolutely am passionate about.
•I have plenty of food, a warm home, clothing, and books.
•I am beloved.
•Travel.
•A moment’s peace, a family who loves me incompletely but adequately, and an existence that feels purposeful.
•For the words of God, that I have accessible to me, and that can speak regardless of my lack of understanding of theology.
•For my body.
•For faith in the midst of doubt.
•For rest, sleep, and surrender.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
We don't all have the same starting line...
I found this at a new blog that I'm reading as suggested to me by Google Reader. Bold the items that are true.
1. Father went to college
2. Father finished college
3. Mother went to college
4. Mother finished college
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
9. Were read children's books by a parent
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18 (I had dance lessons, piano lessons, swimming lessons, etc. My parents were all about the learnin')
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs
16. Went to a private high school
17. Went to summer camp
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home
25. You had your own room as a child
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16
31. Went on a cruise with your family
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family
1. Father went to college
2. Father finished college
3. Mother went to college
4. Mother finished college
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
9. Were read children's books by a parent
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18 (I had dance lessons, piano lessons, swimming lessons, etc. My parents were all about the learnin')
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs
16. Went to a private high school
17. Went to summer camp
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home
25. You had your own room as a child
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16
31. Went on a cruise with your family
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family
Friday, November 30, 2007
Growth or Dismal Regression?
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Things I hate...
Party invitations that say, "Unless I hear from you, I expect you'll be there." What? The fancy way of saying that is "Regrets only."
Schwa? Don't be putting things on my calendar for me.
Schwa? Don't be putting things on my calendar for me.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Celebration of Discipline
Saturday, I started a stained glass class. I've wanted to learn stained glass since I was a preteen reading a novel, its title long forgotten, about a misfit young girl who connected with her Gram over her stained glass hobby. Then her Gram dies and she finds a way to stay connected to her Gram by using her exposure to stained glass to create a masterful light design for her school play in order to save some dastardly sets.
I wanted to be that girl on the way to becoming her wizened grandmother, and I wanted to learn about the vividly described rich colors of the glass, the whirr of the grinder,and the snap of glass across the score line.
Of course, the process of cutting glass is difficult, breaks are uneven, and have you ever tried to cut a circle free hand? Stained glass is an art of preciseness, and my character and personality are very imprecise. It is a time-consuming endeavor, requiring cutting and recutting while trying to conserve expensive and beautiful colored glass. Completion of one step requires movement to another process and yet another, meaning my task oriented nature becomes fatigued, frustrated, and tired.
But there's a special blessing in the muffled crack of a run, the undulations of specialty glass under my fingers, and of hues reminding me of the sour balls that I used suck as a child. I need a hobby that is unable to be completed in one sitting, one Saturday, or one late night. I need a hobby that requires me to walk away because the runs aren't working that day, or because I broke my last piece of beloved glass.
I need a discipline that makes me plan ahead, consider design ahead of time, but to hold my plan loosely, ready to be inspired by an unexpected moment or an unanticipated break. In fact, this feels much like therapy without the constant worry about managing my self with intense focus on another. Rather, I am able to focus only on my experience of the glass, the pliers, the grozers, the grinder, and to adapt to the cuts and how they turn out.
Once you've committed to a cut, you can't stop or you'll ruin it. You must learn to work with your mistakes while cultivating accuracy. You can't fake stained glass. Under examination fakes look, well, fake. So this weekend, I'll return to a community college chemistry classroom to spend time with retired and disabled senior citizen Gary who "takes classes because without them I have no reason to get up in the morning," cockeyed middle-aged Rick whose children have left the nest and who seems to need conversation, lots of conversation, and Marie, a younger than me woman who speaks only when spoken to, but whose gentle features soften the room without any words. And we'll cut, grind, solder, and all of that, hoping to learn more about something and to have an experience.
I wanted to be that girl on the way to becoming her wizened grandmother, and I wanted to learn about the vividly described rich colors of the glass, the whirr of the grinder,and the snap of glass across the score line.
Of course, the process of cutting glass is difficult, breaks are uneven, and have you ever tried to cut a circle free hand? Stained glass is an art of preciseness, and my character and personality are very imprecise. It is a time-consuming endeavor, requiring cutting and recutting while trying to conserve expensive and beautiful colored glass. Completion of one step requires movement to another process and yet another, meaning my task oriented nature becomes fatigued, frustrated, and tired.
But there's a special blessing in the muffled crack of a run, the undulations of specialty glass under my fingers, and of hues reminding me of the sour balls that I used suck as a child. I need a hobby that is unable to be completed in one sitting, one Saturday, or one late night. I need a hobby that requires me to walk away because the runs aren't working that day, or because I broke my last piece of beloved glass.
I need a discipline that makes me plan ahead, consider design ahead of time, but to hold my plan loosely, ready to be inspired by an unexpected moment or an unanticipated break. In fact, this feels much like therapy without the constant worry about managing my self with intense focus on another. Rather, I am able to focus only on my experience of the glass, the pliers, the grozers, the grinder, and to adapt to the cuts and how they turn out.
Once you've committed to a cut, you can't stop or you'll ruin it. You must learn to work with your mistakes while cultivating accuracy. You can't fake stained glass. Under examination fakes look, well, fake. So this weekend, I'll return to a community college chemistry classroom to spend time with retired and disabled senior citizen Gary who "takes classes because without them I have no reason to get up in the morning," cockeyed middle-aged Rick whose children have left the nest and who seems to need conversation, lots of conversation, and Marie, a younger than me woman who speaks only when spoken to, but whose gentle features soften the room without any words. And we'll cut, grind, solder, and all of that, hoping to learn more about something and to have an experience.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Restoration frees us here
How am I to be in the world?....How can I be a believer in today's world in such a way that it involves my whole self--my passion, my intelligence, and my allegiance? My question always invites me to return to the desert. Alan Jones in Soul Making
Have you ever had a day that was so encouraging, and where you felt as if everything was coming together in some cosmic God-driven way, and the goodness and sweetness of it overwhelmed you? Your everyday annoyances, the things that grate, irritate, and wound seem less uncomfortable for a moment, and you find yourself in a moment where you felt truly alive.
I think that happened today.
It wasn't anything monumental, if you look from the outside. It was a women's professional development group where approximately ten women in my field talked about finding our voices and this distinct gifting and calling we have as psychology professionals. It was a conversation about being relational, authentic, and uniquely who we are as the beloved of God, dispensing grace to others, in the same way it has been dispensed to us.
It was feeling at home in the therapist's chair and feeling such overwhelming love for my clients that I felt for a moment I was seeing each of them through God's eyes. Of feeling so excited about the even smallest glimmers of possibility and potential in their lives, that I cannot wait for each client to find the small glimmers of hope that you see and she has yet to uncover for herself.
It was two friends show up to work out with me after work. It was coming home to a husband who had half of dinner cooking on the stove. It was the snuggle of kitties and the comfort of having nothing that HAD to be done.
They are rare, but needed, and I am thankful for today.
Have you ever had a day that was so encouraging, and where you felt as if everything was coming together in some cosmic God-driven way, and the goodness and sweetness of it overwhelmed you? Your everyday annoyances, the things that grate, irritate, and wound seem less uncomfortable for a moment, and you find yourself in a moment where you felt truly alive.
I think that happened today.
It wasn't anything monumental, if you look from the outside. It was a women's professional development group where approximately ten women in my field talked about finding our voices and this distinct gifting and calling we have as psychology professionals. It was a conversation about being relational, authentic, and uniquely who we are as the beloved of God, dispensing grace to others, in the same way it has been dispensed to us.
It was feeling at home in the therapist's chair and feeling such overwhelming love for my clients that I felt for a moment I was seeing each of them through God's eyes. Of feeling so excited about the even smallest glimmers of possibility and potential in their lives, that I cannot wait for each client to find the small glimmers of hope that you see and she has yet to uncover for herself.
It was two friends show up to work out with me after work. It was coming home to a husband who had half of dinner cooking on the stove. It was the snuggle of kitties and the comfort of having nothing that HAD to be done.
They are rare, but needed, and I am thankful for today.
Friday, September 07, 2007
The Story of My Discontent
When I was 18, my body went on strike. I became lethargic. Somehow, making it to my 11:15 A.M. Calculus class became impossible. I was just too tired. I got up around noon, made it to a course or two, took an afternoon nap, had some dinner and then played basketball in the evenings with my guy friends, outside in the Tennessee heat. Then I’d go to bed, and sleep 10 or 12 hours, waking up again exhausted.
I was constantly hungry. The bigger the meal, the sooner afterward I was starving. My middle grew mushy with extra weight that my athletic (but never petite) frame had not seen before. My acne grew worse than I had ever seen in my years in high school.
Suddenly, my periods became unpredictable. The punctuality my body had displayed since I was 11 years old (!) disappeared. My less than ample breasts stopped growing, defying my genetic heritage. I went to doctors, gynecologists, and others who told me I was likely just “stressed.” I protested. I was having the time of my life. I was pulling down A’s even if I did skip Calculus. I was just too tired to feel present.
The symptoms continued, and I noticed extra hairiness on my arms and face. And my luxurious curly hair seemed to be thinning and changing on me. Doctors dismissed me and my concerns. I failed to assert myself, being young and trusting in their care. Finally, my mother saw a special on the health channel on something called PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. A new doctor and some medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.
Since that time, my struggle with PCOS has been a struggle to hold onto my femininity, as this world has defined it. I am no hourglass, I’m an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My luxurious curly hair is no longer thick and often unattractive these days. I sweep piles of dark curly hair from my drain and the bathroom floor. Despite high quality treatment, my periods remain sporadic, and I spend many anxious moments worrying that miscarriages and infertility will delay my strong desire to carry a child, or many children. My friends have lithe bodies that they can still abuse, but my attempts to lose weight must be deliberate, slow, and frustrating.
On occasion, I am overwhelmed at the grief of the loss of my physically feminine self. I don’t get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, the soft ringlets of my once thick hair wrapping around my face. I take two pills everyday and pay two hundred dollars a month that both remind me that I am deficient, inadequate, and possess few of the attributes of a woman as society tells me I should.
Yet, amidst all suffering, there is hope and a deepness of faith that develops. I am unbelievably grateful that medications manage my appetite, insulin, and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe. There is meaning in a disease that can make me feel a false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual needs and hungers from my own yearnings has been meaningful.
I have grown to place my identity in Christ. I have begrudgingly accepted that my worth, and value as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and God delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from hands unwillingly. Yet, I have began to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Somehow my womanhood is tied to my gift of feeling deeply, being passionate and courageous. Being a woman is part of me because of the way in which I can love and nurture that is distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but it has come painfully in grief.
When I am crying about my receding hairline, I must admit that I do not think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. Nor does it mean that I don’t repeatedly yell at God and ask him to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my sanity and blame myself for being too fat, too ugly, too hairy, too bald. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get unbearably angry about it all. Tomorrow I have blood work to be done. I don’t know what I hope it finds. An elevation somewhere so I can take another medication but find relief from some of my symptoms? That everything be within normal limits and I find I must accept my symptoms as they are now? I don’t really know.
I do hope desperately that my body maintains its fertility, so that this burning desire to have a child that has been so long deferred can be realized in a couple of years. I hope that I am not so desperate for it that it too must be stripped from me. These are the fears we all hold and never fully understand.
Resources on PCOS:
Celebrities with PCOS
Web MD
Support Groups Online
I was constantly hungry. The bigger the meal, the sooner afterward I was starving. My middle grew mushy with extra weight that my athletic (but never petite) frame had not seen before. My acne grew worse than I had ever seen in my years in high school.
Suddenly, my periods became unpredictable. The punctuality my body had displayed since I was 11 years old (!) disappeared. My less than ample breasts stopped growing, defying my genetic heritage. I went to doctors, gynecologists, and others who told me I was likely just “stressed.” I protested. I was having the time of my life. I was pulling down A’s even if I did skip Calculus. I was just too tired to feel present.
The symptoms continued, and I noticed extra hairiness on my arms and face. And my luxurious curly hair seemed to be thinning and changing on me. Doctors dismissed me and my concerns. I failed to assert myself, being young and trusting in their care. Finally, my mother saw a special on the health channel on something called PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. A new doctor and some medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.
Since that time, my struggle with PCOS has been a struggle to hold onto my femininity, as this world has defined it. I am no hourglass, I’m an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My luxurious curly hair is no longer thick and often unattractive these days. I sweep piles of dark curly hair from my drain and the bathroom floor. Despite high quality treatment, my periods remain sporadic, and I spend many anxious moments worrying that miscarriages and infertility will delay my strong desire to carry a child, or many children. My friends have lithe bodies that they can still abuse, but my attempts to lose weight must be deliberate, slow, and frustrating.
On occasion, I am overwhelmed at the grief of the loss of my physically feminine self. I don’t get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, the soft ringlets of my once thick hair wrapping around my face. I take two pills everyday and pay two hundred dollars a month that both remind me that I am deficient, inadequate, and possess few of the attributes of a woman as society tells me I should.
Yet, amidst all suffering, there is hope and a deepness of faith that develops. I am unbelievably grateful that medications manage my appetite, insulin, and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe. There is meaning in a disease that can make me feel a false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual needs and hungers from my own yearnings has been meaningful.
I have grown to place my identity in Christ. I have begrudgingly accepted that my worth, and value as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and God delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from hands unwillingly. Yet, I have began to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Somehow my womanhood is tied to my gift of feeling deeply, being passionate and courageous. Being a woman is part of me because of the way in which I can love and nurture that is distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but it has come painfully in grief.
When I am crying about my receding hairline, I must admit that I do not think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. Nor does it mean that I don’t repeatedly yell at God and ask him to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my sanity and blame myself for being too fat, too ugly, too hairy, too bald. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get unbearably angry about it all. Tomorrow I have blood work to be done. I don’t know what I hope it finds. An elevation somewhere so I can take another medication but find relief from some of my symptoms? That everything be within normal limits and I find I must accept my symptoms as they are now? I don’t really know.
I do hope desperately that my body maintains its fertility, so that this burning desire to have a child that has been so long deferred can be realized in a couple of years. I hope that I am not so desperate for it that it too must be stripped from me. These are the fears we all hold and never fully understand.
Resources on PCOS:
Celebrities with PCOS
Web MD
Support Groups Online
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Update
Today, I received the results of my written comprehensive exam. I passed! Praise God, my closest friends and I all passed, despite many worries and concerns.
Unfortunately, I am sick, and any celebrating must wait until I feel better. But, I'm one step closer to being done. Now...I must move on to my dissertation proposal defense on September 7th. Oh, and that oral statistics exam. Sigh. No rest for the wicked, and the righteous don't need none.
Unfortunately, I am sick, and any celebrating must wait until I feel better. But, I'm one step closer to being done. Now...I must move on to my dissertation proposal defense on September 7th. Oh, and that oral statistics exam. Sigh. No rest for the wicked, and the righteous don't need none.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Rocking the Suburbs
This year marks the beginning of my fifth year living in the Chicago suburbs. In that time, I have changed a lot. I do find it ironic that God brought me to graduate school in the suburbs to teach me about diversity, justice, and suffering. It just seems so bizarre.
What is evident to me, now, is that I am rather easily seduced into the standard of living that the suburbs provide. I enjoy the pedicures, shopping trips, and pervasive belief that my life is all about satisfying me. I want to believe that my life will be better, safer, and more enjoyable if I have that Crate and Barrel couch, a carefully designed home, and that down comforter.
Yes, money does indeed make life easier. I know this. I have not forgotten our early years here when my husband struggled to find full time work, piecing together low paying part time jobs to make the rent, as I worked three jobs while attending graduate school in order to be able to simply replace those items that wore out or we used up. I remember when we could not afford a $3.00 hamburger, so we left a 4th of July celebration to go buy cheaper food somewhere else. During those two years, a $3.50 gallon of gas would have killed us.
All of this comes to mind because I was having a conversation with a good friend from Tennessee. She has never left the state, and so our life here in the suburbs and close to Chicago looks beautifully alluring. The perfect yards, the huge park, the library nearby...it all makes where we live look incredibly idyllic. In lots of ways, it is. But my friend was shocked when she asked if I would ever want to live here following graduate school. My answer: "I don't say never. But the suburbs would be my last choice of a place to live and raise children."
She was shocked, taken aback. But, to me, the suburbs represent many lies. First, the lie is that having, buying, and consuming are the essence of life. It's all about buying a home, buying that car, buying that furniture, those clothes, that dog, and on and on. Bigger is better, and better is best. I just do not trust myself to be seduced into that way of living and thinking, were I to live here longterm. That's not to say that others cannot do it successfully. However, I see no way in which a Christian could reconcile embracing the values of a suburban culture with a vibrant faith in Christ. The focus on appearance, personal comfort, and consuming are antithetical to the message of Christ.
The next lie that the suburbs are built on is safety. Safety of the individual and his or her children and family. In the suburbs, we are safe from people who are not like "us," whoever "we" are. They are more homogenized by age, ethnicity, income, and value system. Okay, so my neighbors may be different from myself. But, in actuality, I have so many resources, I never need interact with them. I don't have to confront what I don't like about my church, because I can choose another one. I don't have to reconcile with that friend who I hurt/hurt me, because I won't see her unless I choose to take her calls/respond to her emails.
On a larger level, safety in the suburbs seems to apply to keeping one's children safe. Safe from crime, low SAT scores, and from becoming (gasp) less than "successful." Safe from suffering of any kind. Yet, the Christian faith is one of suffering. One of sacrifice to the good of others and the apparent detriment of self. This is a hard etic from which to live when your kids would have to give up an unimaginable amount of things to even invoke the slightest true sense of suffering. In the suburbs we build up 401ks and ROTH IRA's to protect ourselves for the future. We seek to alleviate the pangs of our discontent with medications, and by surrounding ourselves with people and things that tell us that we are "okay" enough, that we do not need to change.
This is an illusion, for tragedy and pain break through, and if not exposed in appropriate ways from a young age, our children will not know how to make meaning of the suffering in their lives, or in the lives of others. There is meaning in suffering in this fallen world, and the triumph of Christ is the redemption of all of the pain. When we protect ourselves and our children to avoid pain, hardship, and suffering to the point that we have no contact with suffering of small and large kinds on a daily basis, then we neuter the Gospel. For, if I have resources enough to bear most of life's bruises, why do I need Christ? Never mind, if we, as Christians do not see these things on a daily basis, why are we hiding ourselves from those who need so badly?
Finally, living in the suburbs is a way of life that consumes more than its fair share of resources. Living in the suburbs, I must drive everywhere. I do not have reliable public transport, and walking is a death wish. If the world lived as I do in the suburbs, consuming the resources I use (and I live much more frugally and cleanly than most of my peers), then we would need 4.5 worlds to support all 6 billion people. If I want there to be equity of resources for those who are truly suffering and in poverty, then I will need to sacrifice greatly of the resources that I have. I only have access to them because of my position of privilege, in the first place. So, I must sacrifice that privilege. Yet, the suburbs are configured in many ways that do not allow me to give up and sacrifice for others and still be able to meet basic needs. That sounds like crazy making, to me.
So, I do not find myself faithful enough to live in the suburbs and not be beckoned to living with a sense of entitlement that I would pass on to my children. Maybe you find yourself up to the job, and I hope some people do, because there is a great need for voices like that in the suburbs. But, my call is not here, and the way it binds my heart at times makes me feel like I might explode in order to get loose.
After I spoke of these things, my friend looked at me like I was crazy. Then she asked to go to Filene's Basement. I nodded, smiled, said, "Of course." But, it stung to know that my friend wouldn't really tell me how she felt about all I had just said. What about you? What do you think?
What is evident to me, now, is that I am rather easily seduced into the standard of living that the suburbs provide. I enjoy the pedicures, shopping trips, and pervasive belief that my life is all about satisfying me. I want to believe that my life will be better, safer, and more enjoyable if I have that Crate and Barrel couch, a carefully designed home, and that down comforter.
Yes, money does indeed make life easier. I know this. I have not forgotten our early years here when my husband struggled to find full time work, piecing together low paying part time jobs to make the rent, as I worked three jobs while attending graduate school in order to be able to simply replace those items that wore out or we used up. I remember when we could not afford a $3.00 hamburger, so we left a 4th of July celebration to go buy cheaper food somewhere else. During those two years, a $3.50 gallon of gas would have killed us.
All of this comes to mind because I was having a conversation with a good friend from Tennessee. She has never left the state, and so our life here in the suburbs and close to Chicago looks beautifully alluring. The perfect yards, the huge park, the library nearby...it all makes where we live look incredibly idyllic. In lots of ways, it is. But my friend was shocked when she asked if I would ever want to live here following graduate school. My answer: "I don't say never. But the suburbs would be my last choice of a place to live and raise children."
She was shocked, taken aback. But, to me, the suburbs represent many lies. First, the lie is that having, buying, and consuming are the essence of life. It's all about buying a home, buying that car, buying that furniture, those clothes, that dog, and on and on. Bigger is better, and better is best. I just do not trust myself to be seduced into that way of living and thinking, were I to live here longterm. That's not to say that others cannot do it successfully. However, I see no way in which a Christian could reconcile embracing the values of a suburban culture with a vibrant faith in Christ. The focus on appearance, personal comfort, and consuming are antithetical to the message of Christ.
The next lie that the suburbs are built on is safety. Safety of the individual and his or her children and family. In the suburbs, we are safe from people who are not like "us," whoever "we" are. They are more homogenized by age, ethnicity, income, and value system. Okay, so my neighbors may be different from myself. But, in actuality, I have so many resources, I never need interact with them. I don't have to confront what I don't like about my church, because I can choose another one. I don't have to reconcile with that friend who I hurt/hurt me, because I won't see her unless I choose to take her calls/respond to her emails.
On a larger level, safety in the suburbs seems to apply to keeping one's children safe. Safe from crime, low SAT scores, and from becoming (gasp) less than "successful." Safe from suffering of any kind. Yet, the Christian faith is one of suffering. One of sacrifice to the good of others and the apparent detriment of self. This is a hard etic from which to live when your kids would have to give up an unimaginable amount of things to even invoke the slightest true sense of suffering. In the suburbs we build up 401ks and ROTH IRA's to protect ourselves for the future. We seek to alleviate the pangs of our discontent with medications, and by surrounding ourselves with people and things that tell us that we are "okay" enough, that we do not need to change.
This is an illusion, for tragedy and pain break through, and if not exposed in appropriate ways from a young age, our children will not know how to make meaning of the suffering in their lives, or in the lives of others. There is meaning in suffering in this fallen world, and the triumph of Christ is the redemption of all of the pain. When we protect ourselves and our children to avoid pain, hardship, and suffering to the point that we have no contact with suffering of small and large kinds on a daily basis, then we neuter the Gospel. For, if I have resources enough to bear most of life's bruises, why do I need Christ? Never mind, if we, as Christians do not see these things on a daily basis, why are we hiding ourselves from those who need so badly?
Finally, living in the suburbs is a way of life that consumes more than its fair share of resources. Living in the suburbs, I must drive everywhere. I do not have reliable public transport, and walking is a death wish. If the world lived as I do in the suburbs, consuming the resources I use (and I live much more frugally and cleanly than most of my peers), then we would need 4.5 worlds to support all 6 billion people. If I want there to be equity of resources for those who are truly suffering and in poverty, then I will need to sacrifice greatly of the resources that I have. I only have access to them because of my position of privilege, in the first place. So, I must sacrifice that privilege. Yet, the suburbs are configured in many ways that do not allow me to give up and sacrifice for others and still be able to meet basic needs. That sounds like crazy making, to me.
So, I do not find myself faithful enough to live in the suburbs and not be beckoned to living with a sense of entitlement that I would pass on to my children. Maybe you find yourself up to the job, and I hope some people do, because there is a great need for voices like that in the suburbs. But, my call is not here, and the way it binds my heart at times makes me feel like I might explode in order to get loose.
After I spoke of these things, my friend looked at me like I was crazy. Then she asked to go to Filene's Basement. I nodded, smiled, said, "Of course." But, it stung to know that my friend wouldn't really tell me how she felt about all I had just said. What about you? What do you think?
Friday, July 27, 2007
Public Behavior
When working in Panera, be careful where you sit. Because, you just might sit between a group of mom's who are meeting to discuss school bake sales and PTA matters with such vicious gossip about the absent moms that it will curl your toes, and the loudest women in the world who let their children run circles around the tables while they discuss "the girl who gives them pedicures," "the girl who watches their kids", and "the girl who took them to Mexico."
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Random Insanity
I am about 250 pages into the last installment of the Harry Potter series. That's not so bad, considering I had a guest over the weekend, my comprehensive exams before that, and that I'm busy finishing up my (hopefully!) final draft of my dissertation proposal.
But, I've had several near misses.
WGN news on in the living room, while I am brushing teeth and what not. They started talking about the ending of the book. I stuck my fingers in my ears and sang out loud until the segment was over. The cats think I'm nuttier than they are.
Very annoying, self-entitled man having a loud cell phone conversation in Ogilvie Train Station in the city. We missed the train by 10 seconds, literally. Sigh. But, the man starts talking about the Malfoys and such and I about lose it. I ask him to please talk less loudly or to not talk about that. He acts all put out, so we leave the waiting area to find a safer place to wait.
Today, Panera Bread. Working on the dissertation, because I can't make myself work at home with the computer(s), the TV, the book in question, 2 cats, and free food to distract me. Two young women sit down and start discussing loudly the book. Loudly. Did I say loudly? I stick my fingers in my ears, afraid to move or to interrupt them because I might hear something other than random snatches of Harry, and something about someone getting married, and some celebrity gossip thrown in for good measure. Finally, someone interrupts to share their love of the book. I speak up and ask for agreed upon moratorium on discussing the novel. All agree. Probably because these teenagers see me as old. That, and I had 3 allies who supported my request...a very intimidating looking group of nurses.
Also, this guy is wearing a shirt that says in BIG BOLD LETTERS..."EFFORT UNDER GRACE." Because Tshirt theology is veracious and effective, I'm sure.
But, I've had several near misses.
WGN news on in the living room, while I am brushing teeth and what not. They started talking about the ending of the book. I stuck my fingers in my ears and sang out loud until the segment was over. The cats think I'm nuttier than they are.
Very annoying, self-entitled man having a loud cell phone conversation in Ogilvie Train Station in the city. We missed the train by 10 seconds, literally. Sigh. But, the man starts talking about the Malfoys and such and I about lose it. I ask him to please talk less loudly or to not talk about that. He acts all put out, so we leave the waiting area to find a safer place to wait.
Today, Panera Bread. Working on the dissertation, because I can't make myself work at home with the computer(s), the TV, the book in question, 2 cats, and free food to distract me. Two young women sit down and start discussing loudly the book. Loudly. Did I say loudly? I stick my fingers in my ears, afraid to move or to interrupt them because I might hear something other than random snatches of Harry, and something about someone getting married, and some celebrity gossip thrown in for good measure. Finally, someone interrupts to share their love of the book. I speak up and ask for agreed upon moratorium on discussing the novel. All agree. Probably because these teenagers see me as old. That, and I had 3 allies who supported my request...a very intimidating looking group of nurses.
Also, this guy is wearing a shirt that says in BIG BOLD LETTERS..."EFFORT UNDER GRACE." Because Tshirt theology is veracious and effective, I'm sure.
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