It's unfortunate, but I'm not apologizing

Where have I been? Well, it's been a draining semester of a myriad of events, many of them difficult. Because many of these events have been...well, difficult, I have hesitated to blog about them. Some have been too vulnerable while others have been about sensitive information that no online forum would be anonymous enough to divulge. But overall, I have been going from one emotionally draining event from another, and none of them are of my own making.

I do ask for prayers and thoughts and a $20 prayer gift, for which I will send you a prayer rug that I have blessed. (Just kidding..seeing if you were awake). But, I was serious about the prayers and thoughts.

I am not trying to be secretive, neither am I wanting to seek out the pity of others. However, I do think if I list all of these events, I may just feel sorry for myself.

My mentor, friend, and professor who is in his mid 40's had a stroke on Sunday afternoon. A severe one. Then there was emergency brain surgery for the swelling. And all of the people coming to see him, and the him being asleep, and me finally finally getting to see him today (which was so hard but such a blessing). This man has been a dear friend, supervisor, and mentor, and I am heartbroken for him right now and how hard it is for him to be dependent and the unknown nature of his recovery for him, and for his wife and son whom I also know and love. For four years I have been his teaching assistant, his "right hand" (his description). He is my "second dad" and I feel so bad for leaving in a week to go to Europe, for leaving in 7 weeks to move hundreds of miles away at a time when he really does need an extra hand, because his left side is paralyzed (but improving).

He is still himself, joking, talking, although more slowly and interspersed with naps. My heart breaks. I make myself get up early so that I get some time alone with him before the crowds come to visit him, so he can tell me the things that he wants me to know. The Wednesday before his stroke, we had a "goodbye" lunch, where tears were shed and how much we have meant to each other was spoken, where we said out loud what we had seen and experienced over 4 years of working, laughing, doing therapy, and learning together. I am so thankful for those 2 hours now, and for the hours I know we're going to have in the future. But for now, my heart breaks.

And, our department chair is in the same hospital, with artery issues and likely facing surgery in the coming week, as well. He is intensely private, but kind and gentle. So, although I by no means am as close to him, the intense upset to our department and my community is overwhelming.

All of this follows on the heels of the internship process and saying goodbye to everything that has been our life these past 5 years. My grandmother being seriously ill and near death (but she's recovering very well now, praise God!). A closest friend having some hard stuff, and then being very hurtful to the point I had to step away in a time when I should be clinging to her. The departure of a professor under dubious circumstance of which I was informed and that put me in a weird between faculty and students and friends/colleagues/coworkers/supervisors situation. A close professor having breast cancer, and the increased load this placed on the aforementioned prof. Excruciatingly painful end of the year, saying goodbye issues compounded by the painful things I was dealing with regarding the friend I mentioned before. Difficult situations with my practicum site and with a clinical training personnel that have resulted in my having to use my voice to speak up and give hard feedback to superiors (but that has been received well and that I have been supported in). And finally, sending my husband off to Europe this morning for work, to see him again in 9 days when we will meet in Brussels.

Contemplating Contemplation

Instead of fasting in some way during the Lenten season, I added a discipline. That discipline was attending liturgical services. I chose a local charismatic liturgical church that is part of the Anglican Mission in America. Over and over again, I was struck by the centeredness and closeness to God that I experienced, in large part due to the sensuousness of the services. The smell of the incense, the taste of real wine served as communion, the feel of oil on my head as I was being anointed and prayed for...

Having grown up in Evangelical traditions that largely focus on Scripture and less on history, tradition, and experience (to the point of being relatively suspicious of those aspects of faith), I was deeply impacted by the meaning in the rituals of liturgical worship. There is something about reciting creeds that were written and agreed upon by the Church centuries (and sometimes millenia) ago. I noticed that I had to draw more upon my theology training more often than I do in most other churches, engaging my mind to actually consider what it means to be part of "one holy, catholic Church." I had to think about God, "from whom no thing is hid." I thought more often about how I had sinned by "what we have done and what we have left undone."

I was moved by the focus on the Eucharist. This, a sacred ritual given to us by our Saviour, was savored and focused upon. It was especially moving to be served communion by one of my best friends. Recieving "the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation" from someone from whom I have experienced love, grace, and friendship the past 5 years often brought me to tears. I loved the slow and steady pace, the cadence of the liturgy, and frequent silences allowed me space to breathe, pray, and listen to God.

Then there was the experience of Palm Sunday, with an actual processional and palm leaves. Everything seemed so tangible and real, the feel of the palm as I waved it, the cold of the March air in my lungs as we stood outside, hearing the music as the cross passed us by. As we recited the liturgy and as a memeber of the congregation, I had to also say, "Crucify him," it gave me chills.

The 40 days culminated with a 4 hour (yes, 4 hour) Easter Vigil. A somber service led into a joyous celebration. Banners unfurled, reading Alleluia. Lilies, tulips, and other spring flowers were brought out on stage. The congregation rang bells, the pastor danced on stage in his robes, the people danced in the aisles with ribbons, as we all shook our bells in jingling unison, singing hymns of celebration. One of my favorites...

Open up the doors and let the music play
Let the streets resound with singing
Songs that bring Your hope
Songs that bring Your joy
Dancers who dance upon injustice

I sang until I was hoarse, hundreds of people gathered in the name of Jesus Christ, celebrating until past 11pm on a Saturday night, keeping vigil. Celebrating that while we are sinful, while we continue to hurt and exploit others, while we all act out of selfishness, while we all hurt and are blind to the hurt around us, Christ has conquered death to bring us hope and to deliever us from our failings and bring us to God. Alleleuia. May we live out our hope and peace more and more every day.

Inspiration

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.

Glimmers of hope...

It has been a bleak and difficult time lately. I have more to do than humanly possible. There are classes that frustrate and leave me unfulfilled. Difficult and hurtful crappy situations permeate the lives of others whom I love. There are work relationships that make even simple tasks difficult. Clients have crises, push boundaries, or are doing good work that is still hard. My Granny is very very ill (she was in ICU on Monday until Tuesday morning) and in the hospital, while my parents, aunts, and uncles rally around her to combat her illness, unkind and neglectful hospital staff members, and their own struggles with the same brutal stomach flu. I am far away and feel helpless to support all of them.

My mother's church has the rumblings of discontent, some of it directed at her. In 10 days, my husband and I find out the fate of where we will be living next year, and then will have to face the losses associated with wherever we live. Marriage is rewarding but hard, and requires more work than not right now. I struggle with feelings of anxiety and depression amidst and seemingly endless winter that is more brutal and snow filled than I care to deal with.

But today, today was good. I am encouraged by how my family comes together during a time of crisis. How sacrificial and loving they all can be for the sake of a single member or the overall family. That my husband surprised me not only with a dozen roses, but with a card listing 100 reasons why he loves me, real reasons that one could only know after nearly 8 years together. Reasons that are idiosyncratic, intimate, and truthful. For friends who support and listen and laugh and love me, and let me do the same for them. Mentors and supervisors who invest in me and make time for supporting me amidst hard and difficult times. For making progress on dissertation and coming closer to closing a big chapter of my life in a way that feels rewarding and complete.

I am thankful for God, whose grace permeates even the darkest of places and the driest of deserts, and who knows of all types of suffering and sits well with me in it. A God who repeatedly welcomes me back, despite my continual betrayals and affairs. In this season of Lent, I am called to repentance and long long long for the joy of redemption and resurrection.

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.

It's a party. You're not invited.

Streak was inspired by his wife to write a post about who he'd host for his fantasy dinner party. What a great idea. However, all of Streak's guests seem to be living, and I couldn't decide whether to make my party in this life or the next, and it just didn't seem right to mix. So, I would have two parties--one of this world, and one of the next.

My living dinner party:

1.) Carol Gilligan-feminist, ethicist, and psychologist who has been influential in my own thinking. In my imagination she'd keep us all honest, vulnerable, and engaged. I hope she also has spectacular taste in wine, but that's my fantasy.

2.) Keith Olbermann-He's crazy intelligent, has a catalog memory only rivaled by my husband, and would give hubs someone to talk to when he got bored of all the psychology talk. Oh, and if there were a freak accident and my husband spontaneously combusted during dinner, leaving me suddenly widowed, I wouldn't object to a little romance with Keith. (Just ignore those pesky rumors that he's gay.)

3.) Like Streak, I would also invite Anne Lamott. Her writings have been influential to my own bridging of the gap between my faith and art and themes of freedom. Plus, I think that she'd be a spectacular dinner guest, and just a lot of good fun.

4.) Tony Campolo, yet another whole person who would be authentic and genuine, but not afraid to engage, argue, and commiserate. I so admire his work that integrates Evangelical faith with sociology (my first academic love affair).

5.)Karin and Linford from Over the Rhine. These soulful artists who live on a farm named Nowhere, drink wine, and sing songs about "sexy cocktail hour stubble" and "soothsayers," and making a song the president would be spectacular dinner guests. I don't think I could fully enjoy the dinner company of these two without also inviting the McCarty's and their daughter Harper. Every dinner party needs at least one child, and if you're going to have a kid around, she might as well come with some of my favorite people from the blogosphere whom I hope to one day meet. Heck, we gotta invite Streak and his wife, too. Just to make it all complete. I also would like to invite Derek Webb. His music's intersection of faith, social justice, and the political indicate a deep, complicated, faith, but he seems a bit of an introvert so we may have to ply him with a bit of wine before he opens up and performs with Karin and Linford for us.

6.) Frank Schaeffer, son of the late Francis. His recent memoirs, his works of fiction, and his non fiction books on art and faith have been instrumental in my own faith development. Plus, I'd like to meet anyone who will admit to deserving a nickname like "the little shit from Switzerland," helping found the religious right and regretting it, and who can write in what seems such an honest and healthy way about his family and his history.

I envision a tipsy Derek, angry Olbermann and impassioned Campolo arguing while Anne Lamott grills Franky over the sins of his family while praising Jesus between fbombs. In the meantime, Karin and Linford have broken out the guitar, Harper has drawn us all pictures of the Yellow Brick Road, Kristen is attending to Tony's somewhat elevated blood pressure that is making him dizzy while giving her opinions to Gilligan about how Christianity isn't inherently patriarchal, while Micah calls Wendell Berry on the phone to tell him he's gotta get over here, and Streak and the husband keep reminding us all of that annoying thing called historical context. ;)

As for my other worldly dinner party:

1.) Pope Gregory the Great, one of the first brilliant minds of pastoral care. I think he'd have a lot to talk about if I asked the right questions.

2.) My maternal Great Grandfather. He made millions in the textile business and lost by caring for and trusting others too much. He's the only man my mother ever mentions being formative to her life, and everyone who ever met him seems to remember him fondly. I never got that privilege. I'd throw my hard living, train hoboing, hitchiking Great Uncle Dub in here, too.

3.)Madeline L' Engle. I could spend the entire evening just talking about her character Meg Murray and what I can learn about being a woman of faith from that one fictional character alone.

4.)Chaim Potok, great Jewish writer. His writings are some of the best fiction I've ever read, and he seems to understand faith in a way that eludes me.

5.)Jesus. Isn't this one obvious? Why the heck not, if given the opportunity.

6.) A round robin of women from the Bible. Esther, Jael, Rahab, Mary, Elizabeth, etc. etc. I want to hear their story and their experience as told by them, outside of the patriarchal context of the Scriptures.

If you bring some good wine and some good food, I just might invite you, too.

It's Been Awhile...

Wow, I left my blog on a down note and went away for awhile. That's no good. So here's an update. I have 9 internship interviews in five different states and Canada. I have interviews at really awesome sites. However, I applied to 18 sites, so that means 9 sites weren't enticed by me. Predominantly college counseling centers and the uber competitive hospitals or community mental health sites in humongous cities. Oh, well, someone else will have to enjoy my awesomey goodness. All in all, 50% is a really high return rate for interviews, so I'm satisfied.

The next three weeks are jam packed, with a New Year's Eve 50th birthday party for my parents that I am hosting with my brother, an interview tour of the Southeast, an interview tour of the Midwest, a trip to Canada for another interview, and this semester I also have a full load of classes, a dissertation to finish, and a life to live. I try not to think about possibly having to leave my friends. I love them so.

The past two days have been spent organizing and cleaning. It makes me happy, and my husband cranky. He sees no point when there are Gameboy Advance games to be played, XFiles Season 7 to watch, and new sweat pants to wear.

I have packing and such to do, so I'm off. I don't know how much time I'll have to post, but I will do my best to keep you updated on what it's like to go through interviews. Let's see how well I manage the transition between very rural sites and major metropolitan ones. Should be interesting.

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.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

Why I Don't Miss It...

Tonight, perusing the Internet, I came across a relatively new collaborative blog focusing on issues "important to members of the SBC (Southern Baptist Convention) and all Christians."

Then I proceeded to read a post about how "getting saved" means cutting your hair and no longer cursing, with a lot of implications that a man is somewhat holier for having shorter hair, and that dropping a few meaningful and powerful curses (Shit and Damn are in the Bible, so I guess God is guilty)is a big issue facing all of us Christians. The discussion degraded into someone calling another's theology 'defective.'

There was an implication that having your nose pierced is associated with a particular 'lifestyle' (it was clearly implied that this was not a 'good' lifestyle). Education was referred to with suspicion. One mother's response to her sons telling a 'dirty' joke was to make their father have a sex discussion with them. This response was described as "characteristic" of a woman.

I guess this is why a tattoo wearing female doctor with training in theology and whose research is all about sex sex sex just didn't feel at home in the SBC. When all of those pesky problems with the poor are solved, when wars are ended and peace reigns, and the Church no longer needs my services as a soul care giver, then I will be able to worry about the really big problems. Like how much someone does or does not 'cuss' and the length of someone's hair, or what holes they may have in their head.

The Bonds of Matrimony

Lately, I've been enjoying the minutiae of marriage. The way in which my partner, who rises much earlier than I, covers up the cat vomit with a paper towel so that I won't step in it. Remembering laughing in bed last night, but not remembering what about. The way he always does the laundry, scoops the cat litter box, and manages our Netflix queue and library requests. How he's so quiet in public, but thinks and write deeply and shares those things with me at home.

How he calls me "smokin' hot wife" even when I've only worn various combinations of pajamas, workout clothes, and non descript tshirts in this final week of breathing before school begins again. How he tells me to "take a nap" when I'm tired, or to "stop cleaning already, we won't die if there's water spots on the sink." How he finds obscure music, books, movies, and television shows that make me grow and think outside of myself. How his desk looks neat, but I know the hoarding mess that's within its drawers (well, maybe I'm not loving that...but amusedly smirking how some things never change). How he will fight with me when I become too big for my britches, and make me mix cd's full of angry songs when I'm processing through a needed angry time.

I love the joy on his face about our new DVD recorder, and his insatiable committment to watching "Countdown," "The Daily Show," and "The Colbert Report" although it annoys me at times. How when he comes home from work today, me in my ratty clothes with no dinner made, he'll be just as in love with me as the days when I tart myself up and cook a real dinner. That he notices when I tart myself up and cook a real dinner.

And its all these small things that make marriage a joy worth fighting for during those times when marriage isn't easy. When you're on each other's last nerve, the checking account is overdrawn, and your single friends seem to have a freedom that you gave up years ago. When he did this or she did that, it's hard to see or remember the covered up cat vomit and the sweetness in it. So, right now I'm enjoying the details, and thanking my partner for them.

Jesus was a Bleeding Heart Liberal Jew

Spending time in Europe with conservative Evangelical Christians is always a bit of a paradigm shift for me. For three years now, I've had the privilege to serve for a week some of the top academics in Europe who are also Christians. Part of the agreement of being a servant volunteer is that we absolutely cannot, without a doubt, discuss politics with these people. This policy, born out of the typical Europe/U.S. divide on political issues, is a great one. Those who volunteer are there to serve, not to be served, make their piece known, or to find some sort of camaraderie. However, it is so hard to remain quiet among my Christian siblings and not hug them, kiss their cheeks, and say..Yes! Yes, exactly!"

It always blows my mind the things I hear in the conversations among the theologically conservative (often bordering on fundamentalist) Evangelical leaders. A dinner conversation where the U.S. is described as a bully, Bush with a foreign policy likened to Hitler's, and the desperate state of affairs in Iraq, is the type of conversation I'd like to be a part of. It's so compelling to encounter Christians who have not tied their partriotism to their faith.

One of my Hungarian friends even said, "Yeah, nationalism is good. We can all cheer "Go my country!", and it is good for morale. But, a Christian, a Christian must think beyond what country he lives in. Because I am not first a Hungarian, but a person, a person loved by God. He doesn't care what country I'm from, or that guy's from. So my country cannot come first. God must, so there is no keep out or you don't deserve this because you are not Hungarian or American or whatever...because as Christians we are all people, all the same." And I watched the jaws clench among the other volunteers from the States who were sitting nearby. I wonder why this is so upsetting to my fellow citizens. Why are so many American Christians threatened by such sentiments? I cannot imagine any other way to view ourselves that is Biblically sound or in keeping with the life of Christ.

Or why is it that the other volunteers all assume that we're not allowed to talk about politics only for the benefit of the the attendees? How do you think I learned of so many of these dinner conversations? Well, because of the complaints of my fellow volunteers, of course. One particular volunteer started to complain about the "horrible" conversation her husband had to sit through that negatively cast U.S.'s foreign policy. I mentioned that we don't talk about politics with anyone when serving because we cannot assume that we all agree on anything, regardless of our citizenship or theology, although this hint was evidently not strong enough because she continued to go on and on.

My thoughts, personally, were that if I were sitting at a table having dinner with some of Europe's top theologians, and they felt this way....then maybe I might have something to learn. I'm just sayin'...

Regardless, my point is that Christians who are U.S. citizens are in grave danger of confusing patriotism with faith. I know this because 9 times out of 10, when spending more than an hour with a group of Christians Stateside, something is said that infers that we all hold some universal Republican based political ideology that I happen to not hold. It's become so inferential and assumed that such sentiments creep in nearly continuously and without notice from most people. And these are sentiments held only by Christians in the U.S. I have yet to meet a Christian from another country who has such convoluted ideas about their faith and their country. It makes me sad, and it makes me want to move.

So, my fellow Americans, just remember that what may be best for you, for me, for the United States, may very likely not be what God wants you to do. And the rest of our Christian brothers and sisters seem to see that much more clearly than we, we could learn from them.

Of memes and (wo)men...

I was tagged in this meme (twice in fact...here and here), so here goes. But first, the rules:

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.


Ah, 8 random facts or habits about me. I'm going to try to make these all new and not repeats of previous ones. If I get caught up in the enthusiasm, I might do 16 because I was tagged twice.

1.) I've been chased by angry goat-guarding dogs in Greece.
2.) I've scarily flown in a plane at midnight from Hungary to Athens, Greece in a thunderstorm.
3.) When I am absolutely bone tired, I snore. Loudly, and a lot. (My husband seems to think the solution to this is poking me awake, leading to further fatigue, and making conditions right for more snoring during my next occasion to rest.)
4.) I'm allergic to watermelon. In an upset stomach spend the evening in the bathroom kind of way.
6.) I currently desire 4 things: to finish school, own a home, have a dog, and to have a baby. And those four things are some of the only reasons I can seem to make myself study for written comps.
5.) I'm not a details person (see above omission of #5, and its insertion here).
7.) I want to own a restored historic home (leaning toward craftsmen style).
8.) I have an unnatural love for apes, primates, and the like. I could watch them for hours at the zoo.

Okay, that's all I have in me. I don't tag people, really. I just don't feel I post enough these days to warrant it. If you want to, consider yourself tagged.

Definite signs of old age

You know that you've watched too many episodes of Scrubs on your 27th birthday when you dream that John C. McGinley (Dr. Cox, but in my dream he was the actor, not his character) is teaching one of your religion courses. And during that dream, John C. McGinley develops a crush on you. And your friend R talks to him about it and you overhear John C. saying "She's just so young. If only she were three years older." But your friend R convinces him 3 years isn't that much, and he should let you make that decision. So he asks you out. And the alarm goes off, and you wake up really happy.

So, yeah.

The World Conspiring Against Me

The world, the Fates, God, or whomever is conspiring against me lately. A couple of weeks ago, I had some weird pains in my back on the left side. The pains struck me the early morning (3am!) that we departed for our trip to Philly/New York. It was uncomfortable, but I drank a lot of water and felt fine after awhile.

Then, Easter morning, I woke up with those same pains, only multiplied. It felt like someone was sticking a flaming poker in my lower back. I fought off the pain with water and ibuprofen, but yesterday, the pain migrated to my lady bits. Hot searing pain! By now some of you experienced people know, it was a kidney stone. I go me to an urgent care around 7:30pm. The pain! The xrays! The bloodwork! The peeing in a cup! I left at 9:15 with some paper urine filters and two prescriptions: cipro and vicodin (hello, good friend!).

By this point, I was dying. Or was wishing to die from the pain. But, I had yet to eat dinner. I drove to Wendy's. But the people in front of me were taking FOREVER at the drive thru. I seriously contemplated rolling down my window and yelling to get on with it. Then, then....it became clear that this truckload of young men were in the drive thru only to flirt with the ladies on duty. ARGGGGH. Overwhelming hunger, searing pain...I will kill you!!

Then, I drove to Walgreens. I was told the wait would be 1/2 an hour. I looked at the tech incredulously, mumbled something about pain oh the pain, and went to sit in the fetal position in one of the uncomfortable chairs. I paid $40 for Cipro..which at Meier Pharmacy is free. Why did I do this? Because Meier Pharmacy closed at 9pm. Then, I also paid $179.99 for my monthly prescription for my endocrine disorder that I had called in earlier in the day. Thanks, Walgreens, for raising that price $10. I'm sure you really really needed to do so. After repeating for the umpteenth time that I. Have. No. Prescription. Benefits. Yes. I'm. Certain. I finally got to come home. (Oh, and the Vicodin, nectar of the gods? $11).

Sweet Vicodin, thank you for the 16 hour pain-free stupor. Thank you for the grunting responses I made to our insurance agent who must be really confused after calling today. Thank you for everything.

It's now been 12.5 hours and counting since the last pain meds. So far, so good. Here's praying for a fast recovery. Otherwise, that History of Pastoral Care paper might be quite entertaining if written while on Vicodin.

More Ephemera

I'm officially an old married woman. Today I got 2...TWO!...calls from friends who are newly married or in long term relationships. One was the standard bladder infection what to do. One was an inquiry into how to fix it when you're the one who has screwed up relationally. What a wise old fat crone I am.

Today a friend reminded me of how old I'm starting to feel. Our telephone shocked me with an electrical current. Friend asked if the phone was old. After thinking, I had to admit the phone is nearly 5 years old. It was a wedding gift. I'm no longer a newlywed. This is happy and sad all at once.

I spoke with both my father and brother today. Both of them are pretty down on life, and I don't think they even realize it. I hoped talking to each of them would help me feel reconnected to home, and encouraged that life after graduate school is somewhat more cheery and bright and enjoyable than now. But, they did not provide this for me. I guess I might have to ask that God guy to teach me about hope and joy, rather than looking to others to provide it.

Yes, I have spent most of the day on the phone. I've been catching up with friends and family. It's a smashing way to avoid writing psych reports, as well.