Generation Smart Phone

We have generation Y, generation X, and I think the next set of kids should be called Generation Smart Phone. I don't have a clue how to use a smart phone; I'll just be honest and up front about this. If you handed me one right now, I would know that you touch the screen to navigate- I've got that much figured out. But beyond that I would just be guessing about how to find things on that phone, and I would probably guess wrong about half the time.

Then there's my nephew. His fingers whiz across the smart phone screen like he's a thirty-something workaholic who never leaves home without it, even on vacations. He's jumping around between apps, showing us pictures and video, playing some angry birds like a pro. All of his finger tapping and sliding across the screen confuses me; it's so fast! And he's just smiling and saying excitedly, "Look at this!"

Well, kind of. He doesn't actually say, look at this, at least not in proper adult English. He's only two and he still speaks in his own language that everyone but his parents needs a translator to understand. He speaks gibberish. He still poops in a diaper, eats in a high chair, rides in a car seat. He still has a long way to go before he learns all the basics of life. But smartphones? That's easy! That's baby stuff!

End Times

Somehow or other, I found myself having a conversation this morning with my husband about the end times. You know, the end of the world, the apocalypse. Randomly, it just came up. My husband feels as though the end times are coming soon, that we are living in the last days. However, I feel that the end times probably won't exist unless and until we physically blow up our planet with nuclear bombs.

So the argument we had is, (a very friendly and civil argument, no worries) is the world we live in worse now than it has ever been? Do we have more war, more upheaval, more economic distress, more natural catastrophes, more man-made destruction on our planet than we ever have before? His argument was yes, we are destroying the earth and ourselves in ways like no other civilization has. Look at our wars, our pollution, the disparity between rich and poor, the way that the world economy is collapsing before our very eyes.

My opinion was that no, we are not living in a world that is truly any different than any other time in human history. People are always the same; they are always destroying themselves and the world around them. It just looks different now, because we have different resources available with which to accomplish our destruction. I said, look back a thousand years at the dark ages, the Crusades, the Black Death.

My main argument was that we don't ever have an accurate perspective on history. We always feel so big and important and all-knowing in whatever place and time and civilization we are in, but we can never truly see and understand what came before us or what lies ahead. We have ideas about it, we have words that have been passed down, we have these vague history lessons that hit on all the key points, but can we really imagine what it would have been like to be alive a thousand years ago, two thousand years ago? If we could gain that kind of perspective, would we still believe that our world now is so dangerous? Would we be so upset about our hurricanes and earthquakes, our pollution, our economic turmoil, our climate change, our melting ice-caps, our current civilization's penchant for criminal activity, corruption, drug use and violence?

Would we really believe the end times were coming now if we could truly know what it had been like to live through the Dark Ages, seen people dying all around us from the Black Death (at least a third of Europe's population within six years), lived in fear of the Crusaders roaming the countryside looking for non-Catholics to convert or kill?

My husband could very well be right, and the current popular interpretation of the Bible prophesies could be accurate. Maybe the end of the world will occur during our lifetimes, but I'm just not sure. 

But maybe the end of the world happens over and over again on our planet, every time a generation or a culture decides to destroy itself. Perhaps every time a nation chooses war over peace, that is an end time. Maybe when the people of the world stand by and watch a genocide happening without stepping in to provide safe harbor, that is an end time. And maybe it's possible that every time a person dies on the street, in the slums, with nothing, that is an end time because someone, somewhere could have been there, could have chosen to love that person, could have chosen to help that person. 

Maybe the end times happen every day, every time a person forgets what being human means and slips back into behaving like an animal. So perhaps every time I am more important than you, I am creating an end time.

The hope in all this, if this is so, is that we can choose differently, each of us; we can choose whether we live in the end or whether we create beginnings. We can choose to tear down or to build. We can choose our own personal war or peace. We can choose between humanity or our own base animal instinct.

I choose to believe in this hope.

A Wise Man Once Said...

This passage is taken from the book, "State of Fear" by Michael Crichton.

Let's remember where we live, Kenner was saying. We live on the third planet from a medium-size sun. Our planet is five billion years old, and it has been changing constantly all during that time. The Earth is now on its third atmosphere.

The first atmosphere was helium and hydrogen. It dissipated early on, because the planet was so hot. Then, as the planet cooled, volcanic eruptions produced a second atmosphere of steam and carbon dioxide. Later the water vapor condensed, forming the oceans that cover most of the planet. Then, around three billion years ago, some bacteria evolved to consume carbon dioxide and excrete a higly toxic gas, oxygen. Other bacteria released nitrogen. The atmospheric concentration of these gases slowly increased. Organisms that could not adapt died out.


Meanwhile, the planet's land masses, floating on huge tectonic plates, eventually came together in a configuration that interfered with the circulation of ocean currents. It began to get cold for the first time. The first ice appeared two billion years ago. 


And for the last seven hundred thousand years, our planet has been in a geological ice age, characterized by advancing and retreating glacial ice. No one is entirely sure why, but ice now covers the planet every hundred thousand years, with smaller advances every twenty thousand or so. The last advance was twenty thousand years ago, so we're due for the next one.


And even today, after five billion years, our planet remains amazingly active. We have five hundred volcanoes, and an eruption every two weeks. Earthquakes are continuous: a million and a half a year, a moderate Richter 5 quake every six hours, a big earthquake every ten days. Tsunamis race across the Pacific Ocean every three months.


Our atmosphere is as violent as the land beneath it. At any moment there are one thousand five hundred electrical storms across the planet. Eleven lightning bolts strike the ground each second. A tornado tears across the surface every six hours. And every four days, a giant cyclonic storm, hundreds of miles in diameter, spins over the ocean and wreaks havoc on the land.


The nasty little apes that call themselves human beings can do nothing except run and hide. For these same apes to imagine they can stabilize this atmosphere is arrogant beyond belief. They can't control the climate.


The reality is, they run from the storms.

This is just one example of why Michael Crichton has become one of my literary heroes. His words are like poetry to me, expressing the nature, the truth, the complexity of our beautiful universe with so few words. In the space of one page of a novel, Crichton gave me a whole new way of thinking about how I relate to the natural world and my role in it. And although some may disagree with what he has to say, the point is that he's not afraid to write words that inevitably make the reader think. And thinking, pondering, wondering, or contemplating can never be wrong.

I didn't realize...

I didn't realize that I was still mourning the loss of my job at the school district. I got laid off, what, like three months ago? I started missing my job then, wishing I could keep it, thinking of all the things I loved about it, everything that made it the perfect job for me.

But I did find another job, working at the bank. And even though I was in a funk one week at work, it has all smoothed over, and now I'm doing a lovely job. I enjoy my job; I like showing up each morning. I look forward to the things I'm going to learn and the people I'm going to see. It's a good job, and I know it is where I'm supposed to be right now, at this phase in life.

However, yesterday I went back to my old workplace to drop off a book that I had borrowed, and when I left, I found myself crying. I didn't know that I still had tears to shed for my old job three months after receiving my lay-off notice.

Then today, I got a message from the school district, and they have a job for me. I can go back and work at school if I want. But it's not the right time anymore; it's not what I need right now. But that doesn't stop the tears, wishing I could go back, wishing that it was the place I was supposed to be.

So I find myself crying yet again. I just didn't expect it to be like this. I didn't think that I still felt this sad about leaving my job at the school district. I guess when I call back to tell them I'm not available, that will be the final closure, the final goodbye to my coworkers at the school district and all the beautiful children that I've cared for so much.

It doesn't make any sense...

The ideal place in life has apparently alluded me. I've been so hopeful, so trusting, so sure that everything is coming out right, according to a plan, leading me to a place of security and comfort. But maybe we never really come to that place and only delude ourselves when we imagine we have or soon will.

My friends and family keep asking me how my new job is going, and it has been great. It really has, until this week. As a bank teller, your number one job is to balance every night. I have no problem doing that, until this week. I don't even know what's going on. I didn't change anything I was doing; I haven't been sloppy. I keep looking back at my work day, trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong, what I missed, which transaction I might have screwed up on. It just doesn't make any sense because I'm good at my job. I know I am; my supervisors tell me I am. I have complete confidence in my abilities to rock this job all the way.

People who are bad at balancing mess up on change. I'm not bad at balancing; I haven't ever been off by three cents, seven cents, twenty-five cents. Monday and Friday both I was off by one hundred dollars even. How the hell does that happen? Counting hundred dollar bills is not hard. Counting fifties is not hard. If it was any other denomination it wouldn't be exactly a hundred both times. It just doesn't make sense.

So, I have this great new job that I love, that I'm doing really well at; I've already been sent to a training that cost my employer $300. I've already started learning new accounts and feel like I'm picking it up really quickly. But on Monday, I'm going to have to ask my supervisor if I should start looking for a new job.

I just wish that I could tell if I was making some kind of mistake, so I could fix it. I can't figure out what's going on. I don't know how to fix it. I just don't know what to do.

Next Step!

Every thing in life is changing and morphing into something new that I don't even recognize. I guess that's just the stage of life that Craig and I are in right now. It started back in January when Craig decided it was time to quit his job. Then he started going to college, I got laid off from my job, and I now have a new job.

At first, when I was looking at jobs, I really wanted to get a position in Salem, so we could move and be closer to our parents and siblings. But I am so glad that it didn't happen that way. Learning a new job is stressful enough. And I know I would be miserable right now if I was driving to Salem every day and looking for a new apartment also. I prayed really hard that I would get the job I was supposed to get, not necessarily the one I wanted to get, because I know from experience that sometimes what I want is not always what is actually best.

I really feel like I did get the job I was supposed to get, that this is the next right step on a path of faith and trust that my husband and I have been traveling on.

There are definitely things that will take getting used to with my new job. It's been about four years since I worked in banking, and there's a lot of details to remember and relearn. It's also been that long since I worked a full eight hours a day. And last year, I only worked four and a half hours a day, so my days feel pretty long, and my evenings at home feel really short. Oh well. I'll get used to it.

Honestly, one of the best things about getting this job was that I went shopping and bought myself a new set of clothes for work, so I actually get to feel cute every day! Yeah for new clothes!

I'm tired this week, but I'm happy and just feel so blessed that I have a job, I have benefits coming, I'll be able to accrue paid time off, and I have a position that will challenge me to grow and learn. What more can I ask?

Why Do I Get So Crazy?

Right now, my brain feels like mush. I've been so emotional this last week, so up and down, excited and depressed and anxious and happy. All of the sudden, I started getting calls left and right for job interviews. It had been a month since my last interview, so this was really exciting. But then, at the same time, I realized it felt really scary.

I knew I was coming upon yet another time of transition, but now it's so much closer. With multiple job interviews within just two weeks of each other, the chances that I get offered a job are increasing significantly. When I get offered a job, then we'll decide whether we're moving to Salem or staying in Albany. When I get offered a job, then I'll know whether I'm working part-time or full-time, whether we'll have health insurance or be uninsured, whether Craig will still need to work as much as possible to pay bills or whether he can concentrate more on school.

And I'm just not good at waiting to see what will be. I get myself so wound up, so excited and anxious at the same time. I keep finding myself changing my mind about what I want or what we need or what will work best for us right now. Because really, I just don't know. And I do keep praying and reminding myself to trust that whatever position I'm supposed to have is the one I will get. But that trust fades so fast! And then I have to remind myself again that I'm not controlling any of this, that I can't predict the result in any way, and that there's no point in getting myself all tied up in knots worrying about it.

But alas, I am tied up in knots. My brain doesn't want me to do anything but wait for the phone to ring so someone can offer me a job. I try to focus on getting things done, being active, planning my day, but I can't focus for long enough to get much done. So mostly I'm just sitting and waiting and worrying and hoping.

I feel like I have no energy because I'm letting myself be so stressed, letting myself worry. I keep crying over things I don't usually cry about; I keep getting stomach aches and indigestion no matter what I eat.

Why do I let myself get so crazy over things like this? Why does it have to involve so much emotional turmoil? Will I ever learn the art of letting life be as it is without wishing I could control every second of it?

Forever seeking, forever questioning, forever discovering

I have found myself, over the last few years, asking a lot of questions about everything. I need the questions to know that I am living my own life, thinking my own thoughts, finding the path that is meant for me and me alone. But some of the questions have been harder than others. I find myself questioning my religion, my faith, the things I've been taught about God my entire life. And those questions can be scary. They can sometimes even feel wrong. But I believe firmly that questions which are truly openly seeking truth can never be wrong.

I have found myself torn between my faith and my practicality. I'm an imaginative and creative person, yet I am also very pragmatic, realistic, often driven by logic. So on the one hand I believe in unicorns and multiple universes within multiple dimensions of space and time. But on the other hand, I can't find it within myself to place the full weight of my faith into a religion based on the belief that a book written thousands of years ago, by many different authors, compiled into its current form by a committee of powerful men, is in every way factual and true.

I realize that Christianity includes a huge spectrum of beliefs, but my view of the religion has been primarily informed by the churches I grew up in, the beliefs of my family, and the other Christians I have found myself surrounded with. And even though Christianity can be so broad, so varied, so diverse, I find that each individual group tends to look at the others with distaste and scorn, often believing that their own version of Christianity has captured the truth of the matter more completely and accurately than any of the other versions available. And so you find Christians preaching at other Christians and trying to convert people to the real form of Christianity and warning others who believe in God and Christ that they may still be in danger of hell because of their errant beliefs.

So as I find myself questioning- not the existence of divinity, not the essence of faith, but rather the details of the religion I grew up with- I also find myself pushing back against the voices of those who have formed my religion, telling me it's dangerous to ask questions, telling me that those other churches are mistaken, telling me that I'm straying too far and am in danger of losing my way. I hear those voices, but I can't bring myself to believe them because in them I hear so much fear and sometimes ignorance. For I know, in the depths of my heart, that a faith that can't be questioned is no faith at all.

In the midst of this journey of faith, I sometimes find myself looking up at a cross hanging before me in a church sanctuary and ask myself what it means to me, ask God to guide my discovery, for I don't ever want to search on my own. I gaze up at this cross and can no longer say that I believe, for certain, that a man named Jesus, who was also God, died on a cross and rose again for the salvation of my sins. There is no way to know for certain that this happened, and I cannot insult my own intelligence by forcing myself to believe that. But I also cannot look at that cross and tell myself that it means nothing. And so I ask God- whatever, wherever, whomever God may be- to guide my search, to direct my heart, to give me peace about where I end up.

Sometimes I hear an answer, just a whisper inside my soul, that reminds me that anything is possible, and this is the essence of God. This voice reminds me that truth is not the same as facts. I come away from gazing at the cross with this feeling that the message of the cross can be true, can be the definition of God and of love, whether any of the words of the Bible are factually accurate or not. I come away with the realization that the definition of Christ- salvation, redemption, sacrificial love- is an accurate description of something that is out there in the universe, calling to us to share in the beauty and truth of this love, whether it was ever with us in the form of man or not. It's still there somewhere, somehow, in some form or other, for us to reach out to, become a part of, for us to find our true life within it and through it.

This is where my questions have led me so far. But for me, the beauty of asking questions, of seeking truth, is knowing that it doesn't stop here. I know that the questions will always lead me into new territory, into new understanding, into new leaps of faith. I know that the questions will never find an end, that the answers will never find an end, that there is no bounds for truth. And this is beautiful and exciting to me.

It's Normal, Right?

Skinny Kate

I guess right now I just feel like I’m failing at everything. One of the things that I feel is my biggest failure is my weight. I have been continuously gaining weight for the last five years. Yes, I started out really small, so I’m not morbidly obese, yet. But because I keep gaining weight, I keep needing new clothes that actually fit. Except that every time I go out to buy new clothes, I feel intensely guilty for wanting new clothes and for being too materialistic and caring about how I look. And that’s all a load of crap. I shouldn’t have to feel like that because I’m not materialistic; I simply want to wear clothes that fit me.

But I do feel like that, so I only let myself try on clothes that are used or on the clearance rack or at least less than ten dollars, because anything more than that would be a frivolous waste of my money. Except that because I don’t have a job, then it’s not my money; it’s my husband’s money. And he hates that I keep buying new clothes, so I try to tell him that I can’t help it because I keep gaining weight. He doesn’t say it, but he must be thinking, “So stop gaining weight!”

Sometimes I figure if I don’t buy myself new clothes that fit, then it will be a bigger motivation to lose weight so I can fit into my clothes again. But that just makes me feel ugly, which makes me depressed, which makes it very hard to eat healthy amounts of food. So that doesn’t work.

Not so skinny Kate

Then I tell myself that it will be much easier to have a healthy body if I work on convincing myself to love my body just the way it is because then I would be less stressed, and less stress makes weight loss much easier. So at that point, I go ahead and buy clothes that are a little bigger and actually fit so that I can feel comfortable and attractive. The problem with that plan is that even if I love my body, it doesn’t do anything to stop the weight gain. So I still gain weight and my clothes still get too small and I still have to go shopping again to buy new clothes.

This week, I decided that I do need to actively try to lose weight or to at least stop the weight gain. Since I don’t have a job right now, I should have plenty of time to exercise and think about what I’m eating. So the last couple of days, I got quite a bit of good exercise, and I’ve been trying to eat smaller portions and less carbs. Great… except that anytime that I eat less food or less carbs, my body freaks out. More specifically my hormones and chemistry freak out.

So all day today, I have been depressed and crying, sitting on my ass not wanting to do anything because I am depressed because I exercised and ate healthier than usual for two days. And when I’m depressed I majorly crave carbs covered with melted cheese. And I know, without a doubt, that I could instantly become un-depressed if I simply went down to a taco place and got a few items filled with white flour and cheese and saucy stuff. That would fix the problem, guaranteed.

But then, also guaranteed, I would feel like a disgusting slob for eating that crap when I am supposed to be working on losing weight. I would feel intensely guilty for eating to try to get rid of my depression which was caused by trying to diet so that I could lose weight so that I wouldn’t have to keep feeling guilty about buying new clothes every time I go up a size.

So today I feel like there’s no way for me to win. I’m not making any money right now; I feel fat and unattractive; I can’t find any clothes that fit that are used or really cheap; I’ve been crying off and on all day; and I really just want to stuff my face to make it all go away. But I can’t because then I would have to hate myself.

Has anyone else had a day like this before? It’s normal, right?

Working on Patience

I’m working on patience this week—in a major way. I’m ready to know what I’m doing next with work, start deciding where I’m going to live, start living life in a more predictable, planned out way. Because that’s how I like life—planned out ahead of time, no surprises, everything under control.

Last Friday I had an interview for a job I really want, and now I’m working on patience. All weekend I told myself, “I’ll bet they’ll call me on Monday.” No call Monday. So then I waited on Tuesday. No call Tuesday. So then I waited on Wednesday. Guess what? No. Call. Wednesday. Imagine that!

But I have to stop waiting for their call because it’s driving me bonkers. I want to put everything else on hold until I find out if I got this job or not. I just need to start pretending like they’re never going to call me, so I can relax a little each day instead of checking my phone every half hour to make sure I didn’t somehow miss the call.

And part of pretending like they’re not going to call me is actually finishing the process for collecting unemployment and searching for more positions to apply for. Part of accepting that they’re not going to call until they’re darn well ready is realizing that I may not be moving to Salem anytime soon, and that I may even get recalled to the school district in the meantime. Part of practicing patience this week is just starting to let life be whatever it is going to be right now without having to control every moment of every day. Sometimes life is just going to do what it wants to do, and I just have to hang on for the ride.

Part of being realistic about how my life is going right now is realizing that I might get a call any day now letting me know that they are not hiring me, and that I still have to look for a job.

In Moments Like These...

Nothing Comes Out

I have these moments

When I feel my words pushing,

Digging at my skin,

Begging to come out,

So I can know,

So I can feel,

So I can see a little more

Of what is real.

I feel these words

Just underneath my skin,

But all too often

They won’t flow out,

They simply won’t begin.

Maybe it’s kind of like

These words are in a language

I haven’t learned yet,

So I feel them,

I know they are there,

But I can’t reach them,

I can’t release them,

I can’t let them

Fall onto the paper

Lying in front of me,

Pen at the ready.

Nothing comes out;

They just crawl through

My muscles and bones

Waiting, pushing, wanting.

In these moments,

Words all stopped up,

When my heart is aching to be heard,

I have to find another way

To hear, to see, to understand.

Can I be still enough

To hear anything

Beyond my own meager words?

Can I be present enough

To hear what’s already

Being spoken all around me,

The poetry, the dance, the music

In all that I see?

Can I let it all speak to me,

Let go of my need

To find my own words,

Set aside my paper and pen

To let all that is outside

Become part of my inside,

Learn a new language

So I can hear,

So I can see,

So I can understand

These words that are pushing,

Begging to come out?

Can I find it in myself

To partake fully of these moments,

To transform the truth

That lives around me

Into the witness

That flows out through me

So I can know,

So I can feel,

So I can see a little more

Of what is real?

At the Close of a Peaceful Day

Rippling white ribbons

Of seawater rolling in

To lap up cold and still,

Gray night sands-

The tall, proud

Lighthouse on the head

Taking another leisurely spin-

A dozen fishing boats

Spread across the expanse

From here to the horizon,

Twinkling and flashing

Like a family of shy fireflies,

Hiding, then peeking out

For a moment or two-

The last, lingering rays

Of the setting sun

Painting a golden green backdrop

For the ever-darkening clouds

That float effortlessly

Above an endless indigo sea-

And I stand here,

Take it all in,

Breathe a little deeper

Of the gentle salt sea air

On a mild and mellow

Night in May

At the close

Of a peaceful day.

My Husband

As you may know, life has been kind of stressful around our house the last few months. Craig decided it was time to quit his job. Then he realized he wanted to go back to school. After he left his full-time job, started classes, and found a new part-time job, I found out that I've been laid off from my job as of June 16th. So now, I too, am looking for a new job, which may result in us moving back to the Salem area.

So, I've been kind of stressing about all of this. I'm not someone who is very good at flying by the seat of my pants; I want things planned, organized, listed, detailed, structured... you get the idea. Feeling unsure about jobs and income and where we're going to live really throws me for a loop most days. My husband noticed that I'm about to crack. 

My husband, Craig, is caring, kind, and thoughtful, and realizing that I needed some rest and relaxation, he got us a room at the beach for one night this weekend. But he didn't just get us any room; he reserved the same room that we stayed in for our honeymoon! He keeps telling me, "We can just do anything at the beach that you want to. This is your weekend."

Our honeymoon at Newport, OR- February 2007

Could he be any sweeter? I am so looking forward to this wonderful time with my husband-- going out to dinner, walking on the beach, snuggling in front of the fireplace...

Feeling Things...

I’ve been trying to write for the last few weeks, 

but I keep feeling stuck; 

I keep feeling numb; 

I keep starting and then stopping, 

not knowing what comes next, 

not being able to find the next word in the sentence. 

I know there is so much to put down on paper, 

so many feelings to pull out of my heart 

and put out in front of my eyes, 

so I can know them, 

face them, 

heal them.

But my heart hangs on so tight.

When I found out I got laid off from my job, I cried for two days, mourning my loss, wishing it could be different. Then I was done. That was over a week ago, and I haven’t felt anything since. I should feel scared. I should feel angry. I should feel anxious about what comes next. Why don’t I feel it? I keep telling myself I’ll start feeling sad again at the end of the school year. Of course I will. But what about the entire month in between? What do I feel for a month while I look at job postings each day and think about possibly moving? Why don’t I feel the enormity of these changes, these inevitably hard and risky changes?

Instead of feeling, I often find myself making lists, usually mental lists. If I can make myself a list each day of things I need to do-- mundane, trivial things that have to be done-- then maybe I can feel as though I hold my own fate in my hands. Maybe this makes me feel more powerful, more in control, more able to predict what’s going to happen in my life, even if the prediction only stretches to the next twelve hours and no further. At least for a few hours or perhaps a few days, I have a plan, I have a direction, I know where I am, and what I’m doing, even if it's nothing that actually matters.

But when my list-making fails, I start to feel anxious about anything that slips free of my grip—when the papers in the filing cabinet start overflowing, when I get behind on writing up the monthly budget or recording the receipts, when there’s a pile of anything forming on the floor, on the desk, pushed away in a corner. That’s not okay with me because if these things escape me, they may begin to overwhelm me, they may beat me, they may never come back under my control again.

If I can have this kind of anxiety about piles of paper that aren’t in the right place, that don’t know their place in the order of life, obviously losing my job is a much more serious crisis. I don’t know my own place. A month from now, it is possible that I won’t have a place to work, and I’m not very comfortable with not being able to predict when or where my place will appear. Until I find my place in a job, then I am unable to predict my place to call home. I can handle the idea of moving, but I can’t handle the idea of maybe moving or maybe not moving. How do I relate to my coworkers, friends, apartment, my town, the streets I’m driving on, right now, when I don’t know if I will be here for much longer? How do I keep feeling like this is home if it may not be home in the not-too-distant future? But if I begin to disconnect myself now, pull away from the things that feel like home right now, then won't I feel lost, disconnected, like I'm floating away?

It takes all types...

There are so many events going on out there in the world that so many of us don't know about, but should.

One such event is the yearly competition sponsored by American Mothers Inc. for Young Mother of the Year. It's kind of like a beauty pageant except that most of the contestants are overweight, dress like they're still living in the early nineties, and have special talents like crock-pot cooking and saving money by making home-made stain remover. So really, it's not anything like a beauty pageant at all.

To qualify to be nominated for the Young Mother of your state, you must have children under the age of 18, be married to a man (I believe he's supposed to be the father of your children), and be an active member of a faith-based organization. As I looked at a list of Young Mother contenders for 2011, I realized it also helps to be Mormon, as over half the women on the list appeared to be. Things that would disqualify you from being able to compete for best mother ever include the following: being a single mom who raises children all by herself, being a lesbian whose children have two moms, or being a mother who doesn't take her children to church at least once a week.

I learned about this esteemed group of women while watching a documentary on Hulu called "The Good Mother." The filmmaker followed the daily lives of several of the women who had won the title in their state and were preparing to go to the national level to compete with each other for the title of Young Mother of the Year. At this event, they got to dress up for dinner; listen to speeches encouraging them to put all their hearts into mothering and make a difference in the lives of those around them; make their own speeches to convince the anonymous judges that they had what it took to win the title; talk to each other about their children; and most exciting of all, they got to watch entertaining acts like a a group of eighty-year old women wearing shimmery blue leotards and silver dance shoes do the Can-Can.

At the end, only one woman could take home the title. The mother who won had been a successful professional who felt confident and respected in her job. When she gave birth to her first son, she gave all that up for her new job as mother, admitting that she felt completely unqualified for this new task in front of her. Out of all the women who were highlighted in the documentary, she certainly made an impression on me. She displayed her amazing mothering skills on video as her young daughter cried and cried over nothing while her mother stood watching her, waiting for her to stop. Even more impressive was the part in the video when her son came up to show her something, and she looked up at him for a moment with complete disinterest, then turned back to what she was doing without saying a single word to her son. She showed that she had the tired, stressed, I-just-don't-even-care-anymore attitude down, and sometimes that's what it takes to be Top Mom.

I'm just glad that I watched this documentary so that if I become a mother someday, I'll know how not to get nominated for Young Mother of Oregon, so I won't feel compelled to go to a national gathering to listen to people talk about motherhood. And hopefully, if I'm a bad enough mother, I'll be saved from ever having to personally witness a leotard-clad eighty-year old woman dancing.

*Important Disclaimer: I love my mother!

Racism? Here? Now?

It is incredible to me as I become more aware, more connected, and more informed about what's going on in the world around me, to see how alive racism is in the United States of America. As a child, as a teenager, as a college student, it didn't touch me; it didn't cross my radar screen in the slightest. I didn't see what was going on.

But all around me now, I see examples of racism rising strong among the American people. African Americans are reminded that they aren't ever truly citizens in this nation by the birth certificate issue raised to prominence by Donald Trump. We see racism against Hispanic Americans being pushed to the forefront in Arizona in state laws and school boards aimed at discrimination against native Spanish speakers and the Hispanic culture. The September 11th attacks gave us the opportunity to start expressing our racist views about people who are, or only look like, Arabs. And somehow, the idea has gotten around that Chinese-made products are more dangerous than those from other countries; we all know the Chinese are out to get us. We have stereotypes, put-downs, generalizations, and fears about every race and nationality that isn't our own.

But throughout all of these issues runs the incredibly disappointing thread of ignorance-- ignorance that says that this land with our man-made borders belongs to us, the white people, and no one else has the right to claim it. 

But it never was ours to begin with. It belonged to natives who lived here for generation upon generation until we crossed the ocean looking for new lands and peoples to conquer. The original inhabitants of this land were not white, did not speak English, and did not practice Christianity; they didn't fit into our ideal vision for this land. But just because we were able to kill and exile the Native Americans doesn't mean that any of this belongs to us. Just because we were strong enough to take the land and resources that belonged to them doesn't mean we have a God-given right to be here.

The nation that we did build on the land we stole from the natives was a land of immigrants. Every white person who set foot on this ground in the beginning came from someplace else, was born someplace else, and brought with them a culture and a heritage and a language from another land. 

We all came from someplace un-American. 

And we brought all of our cultures and religious beliefs and family traditions and melded them into a new thing, into a complicated, multi-faceted, new, American culture, American life, American experience.

So how do we come away from all that as a nation that continues to demean and dehumanize people we see as different from us, as less than us, as a threat to us? 

How did we get here? 

And how do we get out?

I Want Sleep!

Right now, I am exhausted. I haven't had a decent night of sleep in four days. I'm starting to feel very tired, was so tired this morning after tossing and turning all night that I took the day off of work. My brain is starting to go into melt-down mode. 

I tried to take a nap this morning and couldn't because my stomach was all tied up in knots. Why can't I just relax, why can't I unwind and let it go? 

Could this be the worst PMS ever? Could it be the stress of waiting to see if I'm going to be laid off from my job? Have I just taken on too much responsibility and stress since my husband went back to college, and now I'm experiencing the consequences? Perhaps all three at once, a triple-whammy of hormones, stress, and perfectionism?

Whatever it is, I'm ready for it to be done, so I can sleep tight and be a nice person and wake up each morning happy and functional.

When I wait before the divine...

Sometimes I run into things that remind me just how helpless I am, just how little control I have over everything that is going on around me. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I think about things and try to be wise and brave and good, there will always be problems I can't solve, people I can't help, debates I can't win.

And I really need those reminders, not to bring me down or make me feel like my life is falling apart, but rather because it is just those very situations that remind me why I have faith in something bigger than me. Because when I can't solve problems, that doesn't mean they aren't going to be solved. And when I don't know how help the people I love, that doesn't mean they won't find help. And when my words of wisdom just won't cut it, just don't seem to mean anything, I can turn off the words and wait before the divine, knowing that there is an infinite wisdom and knowledge and grace in the universe that will step in when I am willing to step out of the way.

God grant me the courage to step out of the way more often, in more ways, with greater trust in Your provision.

I MUST HAVE ONE HUGE ASS!

Actually my butt is the perfect size for me. It's one of my favorite parts of me. But I'm getting the message loud and clear, once again, that there is something wrong with the shape and size of my body. Yesterday, my favorite pair of jeans succumbed to loving wear and tear and developed a significant hole right near the crotch. In an attempt to replace them (observing that my other two pairs of jeans will soon have holes themselves), I have been to five different stores and tried on at least thirty different pairs of jeans.

Unless I am willing to wear mom-jeans that come all the way up to my belly button, or let half my butt hang out the back of my jeans when I bend over, then I am out of luck. So apparently I have to choose between two very uncomfortable and unattractive styles if I am going to continue wearing pants. The only pair of jeans that I tried on that were even close to being comfortable were relaxed fit which means absolutely no shape or style, also translated totally not sexy. Oh yeah, and the waist line came all the way up to my belly button.

I'm twenty-six years old. I'm not going to give up and start dressing like a seventy year old woman. If I can help it, I won't ever dress like a seventy year old woman.

And no, I'm not going to use this shopping setback as an opportunity to berate myself for letting my ass get so huge because that simply isn't the truth. I'm not going to solve this problem by starving myself or getting a membership at the gym. I'm not going to buy books about how to shrink my butt because I don't need to. My body is beautiful exactly the way it is. My butt is amazing and perfect and sexy.

But I have come to realize that the clothing industry, like everything else in our culture, doesn't celebrate me and my body. Our culture does everything it can to convince women they should hate their bodies, but I'm not buying it. I will not hate myself because those damn jeans don't fit!

Look in the mirror, and what do you see?

Sometimes it’s hard to look at myself in the mirror. I think most women have experienced that feeling: at just a glance, you can see all the flaws that you know stand out like a sore thumb, that you feel for sure are the only things other people see when they look at you.

We have so many images thrown at us of what we are supposed to look like, of what we are supposed to want for ourselves, of what people should admire when they see it in others. And I don’t know who wrote those rules, but those rules are very powerful and persuasive and relentless. And when I look at myself, either briefly or deeply, I don’t see those prized characteristics that I’m supposed to be striving for.

It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about—hair, skin, body shape, style—I don’t have it, not like I’m supposed to. And I know I don’t have what I’m supposed to have because I’ve been told so loud and clear. There are a million different products that have been invented to fix me, and I hear and see how much of me truly needs fixing on the commercials, in magazines, on billboards, just walking through the aisles of the grocery store. I can’t escape the pictures, the messages, the marketing campaigns aimed at educating me about my flaws and how I can and should correct them.

And the most pervasive message of all seems to be that I need to lose weight. If I’m chunky, I probably need to lose thirty to forty pounds. If I’m thin, I just need to lose that little lump of fat on my belly that no one can even see except me. If I’m a young adult woman, I just need to get back to my high school weight, and if I’m a new mother, I can aim for my pre-pregnancy weight. And when I am an older woman going gray and experiencing menopause, the goal will be to look or feel more like my younger self in any way possible, even if it’s just losing that extra five pounds.

So I know, instinctively, without even having to give it a second thought, that I should be eating differently, eating less, dieting, portion-controlling, and for sure keeping track of every bite of food that goes into my mouth. And I have to exercise, not to feel healthy or strong or more alive, but to help me lose the extra weight because being fat feels ugly. And the thing I hate most is feeling ugly. And I’ve already been thoroughly convinced that I am probably at least a little bit ugly. That’s why I have to fix myself.

Or do I? Because more and more often when I look in the mirror, I feel really different. I see other characteristics in myself that I didn’t used to notice so much. Like I’ve realized that I actually like my body better with round, squeezable curves than with bony, stick-like limbs.

And lately I’ve realized that when I wear make-up, I don’t really recognize myself, and I don’t look better, really. Maybe I’m just really bad at putting on make-up, but why do I actually need it? My real face is growing on me, and I think I want to keep it.

And then on days when I have a lot of extra energy, I find myself wanting to exercise, not to make me skinny, but because it makes me feel strong and powerful and alive. And on days when I’m worn out and tired, I don’t have to make myself exercise because it doesn’t actually matter that much.

And when I choose what to eat each day, I’m finding myself asking myself more and more what sounds good instead of what should I be eating? And I eat things that make me feel happy from the inside out because they nourish me and fulfill me and make me feel beautiful and content. And it really is okay that these foods that are filling have some fat in them because my body knows what to do with that.

Maybe that’s the main thing I’m learning, slowly, day by day, is that my body can be trusted. It’s not my enemy; it’s not out to get me. If I love it and cherish it, it will love me back. I don’t gain anything by demeaning or punishing or depriving my body. Hating my body will never make me feel happier or more content, no matter how hard I work to fix it. My body doesn’t need fixing. My body, my self, my whole being is beautiful just the way it is, no matter what anyone else says. And I’m going to fight every day to keep believing that.