tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12977950290206219202024-02-08T09:25:46.656-08:00To every season...To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-78776124969370803882015-11-08T13:54:00.004-08:002017-04-24T11:57:51.258-07:00Take...and remember me<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>349</o:Words>
<o:Characters>1991</o:Characters>
<o:Company>Office:Mac Home and Student</o:Company>
<o:Lines>16</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>2445</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pastor of my church called me onto stage this morning
and gave me a hundred dollars in cash. He actually gave me $111 dollars and
asked for $11 dollars back, as an illustration of how we should tithe and trust
the Lord with all of our finances. Walking off stage, my hand was sweating and heart
pulsing through my clenched fist holding the cash. As I took my seat, I quickly
placed the money on my friend’s lap sitting next to me. I kept wondering what
the congregation must have thought of the pastor inviting a well dressed,
mid-30s white woman onto the stage out of all of the people he must have known
in the congregation who could ‘really’ use that money to put food on the table,
pay the electricity bill, buy diapers for their newborn. The congregation didn’t
know that I’d spent the last 22 months applying for literally hundreds upon
hundreds of jobs and enrolled for unemployment benefits. For nearly two years, feelings
of worthlessness, helplessness, being forgotten, ashamed, and dismayed have
taunted my head and heart. I’ve prayed, even begged and pleaded, that God would
end my misery and take my life. Throughout the sermon this morning, I was reminded
of God’s steady presence in my life. There’s a powerful opportunity in the here
and now to trust that my life is not meaningless because I don’t have a job,
husband, or children, just as it is not meaningful because I hold a Masters
degree, have travelled the globe or once had dinner with Tom Cruise. In the
midst of being focused on fixing my unemployment status, I began to believe it
was ME who was solely responsible for getting myself into this pit and solely
ME who needed to pull myself up out of it. There are fabulous friends in my
life who adhere to this philosophy and believe that if we’d all visualize
ourselves in Utopia, we will manifest it. However, I have visualized myself as
a teacher, a wife, and a mother for years and no metamorphosis has occurred to
free me from my current cocoon. I now know that I did not get myself into this
rut and I cannot get myself out. Daniel had no chance in hell of escaping a
lion’s den on his own volition and it is time for me to recognize this for my
own life. When I do finally get a job, there will be no ounce of me, no power
in visualization, no <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">secret</i>, no voodoo
magic that has caused it to be so. It will be a miracle and I will boast of God’s
mercy, love, provision and care over my life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are struggling with depression, thoughts of suicide, worthlessness, hopelessness, or grief...I would love to talk with you, go for a walk with you, be beside you in this tough season. I have no easy answers, I will not throw scripture at you, I just don't want you to feel alone.</div>
To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-21866382579668051902013-08-10T09:44:00.001-07:002013-08-10T09:44:07.185-07:00Unattainable It’s meeting the man of my dreams
and then meeting his beautiful wife
Isn’t it ironic?
Alanis Morissette
As a Canadian-American singer-songwriter, Alanis Morisette swept the music scene of the 90s on a global scale. Particularly popular was Jagged Little Pill, which became the second-best-selling album of the entire decade. Morisette’s clear voice, unique sound, and eccentric personality were perhaps most apparent in her 1995 music video for Ironic. Naturally, many of us were quickly drawn in, rewinding the tape numerous times in order to learn every word so that we as well could belt the catchy toon out the windows of our 1995 Pontiac Grand Prix. However, in my adolescent years, I couldn’t wrap my head around the irony of Morisette’s lyrics written above. How could meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife possibly be ironic? Tragic? Yes. Cruel joke of the gods? Yes. But ironic just didn’t make sense. Perhaps the irony resided in the assumption that all the good men are taken and therefore how could I have ever been so naïve to assume this perfect man could still be available?
Most people who’ve known me for more than a nanosecond will have heard me say it’s either a good time, or a good story. I am convinced in years to come I will look back on my trek towards love with clearer understanding, the strength to laugh, and perhaps even see the irony in the story. However, at this particular season of life I look back and see a ridiculous romantic train wreck with The Kenyan Cheater, The South African Swinger, The Panamanian Pandemoniac, and The Faraway Fijian.
How is it possible that some people (my beloved brother and his wife) can make the process of finding love look effortless? It’s like those moms at the beach who perfectly park their expensive SUV in the one shady spot, gracefully exit in a pristine white flowing dress, take their happy child from the car seat, retrieve one small bag from the trunk, and saunter their way to the waves. Whereas my love life is more like a disheveled mother falling out of the car in a rush to retrieve the screaming child from the backseat, shirt already stained with vomit, Cheerios lodged in hair, attempting to grab the chairs, cooler, umbrella, diaper bag, and beach bag from the trunk, then limping my way to the beach for all to judge. This process of finding love has been anything but an effortless day on the beach.
Many people have dated someone who has cheated on them, or someone who finally gains the courage to admit they’re gay after being engaged for months, or someone who is financially, emotionally, mentally unstable. Though I’ve dated all of these men, the cruelest joke would have to be falling in love with the perfect man who I can never have. Unlike Morisette’s lyrics, this man does not have a beautiful wife, in fact, he is in love with me as well. But alas, it is a love that can never be. He’s the most honorable man I’ve met, simple, humble, hard-working, hilarious, loving, tender, forgiving, learner, and a complete anomaly amidst his culture. The very best of his culture embraces foreigners as family, raises each others’ children, supports one another through tragedy and triumphs. The aspects of his culture that’d keep me from ever residing there include stringent gender roles, lack of respect towards women, addiction to kava, language, and laziness. Can he move to the States? Well, apart from never wearing shoes, I could never ask him to leave. He is integral to his culture in a way that most westerners could never grasp.
Isn’t it ironic?
No. It’s not ironic. It’s not even comparable to 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. It’s painful. It’s cruel. It hurts.
And yet in the very midst of this pain, I hope to someday look back and see the good time, the good story. I hope to laugh with purest joy and gratitude that I once knew a man on a faraway island who complemented my strengths and weaknesses, sharpened my mind, softened my heart, and ignited passion. There will forever be a place in my heart for this unattainable man.
To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-75986480478818386822011-12-15T08:47:00.001-08:002011-12-15T08:47:54.855-08:00Finding HomeHome is where the heart is. <br />Bloom where you’re planted. <br />It’s not about the place, it’s about the people.<br /><br />One scene I remember vividly from my childhood was a time when I was choreographing intricate dance moves to Belinda Carlisle’s Heaven is a Place on Earth. In the middle of my intense choreography my mother walked over to my Magnavox D8300 Yellow Boombox and shut Belinda off. “Heaven is not a place on earth,” said my mother sternly. She went on to say other words that I did not hear because I was utterly distraught that she’d had the nerve to shut off the tape I’d just spent hours recording off of 92 Moose WWME Maine’s #1 Hit Music Station. My mother was attempting to teach me that heaven could never be a place on earth because heaven is our home. In other words, we will never be fully satisfied or content here on earth because our hearts, hope, and home is in heaven. <br /><br />Fabulous. This is just great news. How hopeful would anyone feel to learn they will never feel at home, at peace, or content on earth? However, lately I have been wondering if perhaps this is reality.<br /><br />I have lived in Athens, Wenham, Gilroy, Santa Cruz, Pasadena, Beverly Hills, Jeffreys Bay, Cape Town, Brattleboro, and Spokane. Not one of these places have I considered home. When people ask “where’s home?” I don’t have an answer. When people ask “if you could live anywhere in the world where would you live?” I don’t have an answer. Ideally, I’d live near friends. However, they are spread throughout the world. Ideally, I’d live in a warm climate by the ocean. However, the 1% have cornered the market on any hope of living in such a place. Ideally, I’d live somewhere that had people from any and every season of life, rich in culture, socioeconomics, ideology, race, mentality, and spirituality. However, I’ve never found such a place. <br /><br />As a single, thirty-three year old, white, heterosexual, Jesus-emulating, sun-loving, eclectic, liberated, woman it has been the most challenging endeavor to find home in the midst of continually uprooting. Building community from square one is quite comparable to building a sand castle – it takes immeasurable time and effort, depends solely on the substance of the sand, and gets washed away with every new wave. Being single at 33 presents significant challenges in making friends who are similar in age, ideology, and season of life. My current living location is actually worse than rural Africa in this regard. People in my current big town/small city (or as I enjoy referring to it as a tity) tend to fall into one, some, or all of the following categories: have lived here for over ten years, all their friends have lived here for over ten years, have no need for new friends. This tity is predominantly homogeneous, monocultural, and white. It is depressing. <br /><br />Frankly, I’m at a loss. I don’t want to settle in the current tity where I reside which makes me not want to invest in community here. However, how am I every going to create community unless I stay in one place for a longer duration than a few years? So does one choose to stay, invest, hunker down and create a home or does one search for the environment they desire to live in and hope the community in that environment will share similar interests, values, etc? <br /><br />Heaven may not be a place on earth, but it seems that a home, a haven, should exist somewhere for everyone.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-87892039508125614802011-01-10T14:19:00.000-08:002011-01-10T14:37:08.390-08:0021 DaysA dear friend invited me to participate in an extended activity for 2011 - each month focusing on a particular thought/deed/action for 21 days. The schedule is as follows:<br /><br />January - 21 days of Self Care<br />February - 21 days of Gratitude<br />March - 21 days of Thinking Globally, Living Locally<br />April - 21 days of Walking with the Rabbi, Jesus<br />May - 21 days Loving One Person Well<br />June - 21 days Seeing Injustice<br />...still brainstorming ideas for the last 6 months of the year.<br /><br />In addition to simply acting, thinking, seeing, participating differently we decided to blog about what we were thinking, seeing, participating in, and/or acting upon.<br /><br />For January I am taking care of myself by joining Weight Watchers, getting my ass to the gym 5-6 days a week, and being more consistent with taking all my vitamins! I want these changes to be lifelong, habitual, routine, and necessary to my daily routine. I've already learned how to cook Quinoa, experimented with baking butternut squash and kale, and am perfecting split pea soup!<br /><br />The most immediate difference I have observed in conscientiously taking care of myself is that I am able to better give, provide, share my time and energy with others. I am operating at a fuller capacity and therefore can pour out more to others. Like most good and healthy things once put into practice we wonder why we hadn't made the change earlier. And yet it is a daily challenge to get up at 5:30am and make my way to the gym. A daily temptation to resist the food that is easy and accessible and take the time to cook something nourishing. It takes thought, care, and drive to persevere...take up one's cross, put on the sword, shield, thy daily bread. Daily. Moment by moment.<br /><br />It is a good reminder at how vulnerable and fragile we all are - susceptible at any point to the snares and lures of darkness. I want to give my best to others and therefore must give the best to myself. Out of the overflow of thy heart (and energy) shall thy mouth speak (and actions be taken).To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-88304232200006234702010-09-01T21:47:00.000-07:002010-09-01T22:29:07.947-07:00Living life through headlights"E.L. Doctorow said once said that 'Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard." <br />— Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life)<br /><br />I was asked the other day by a college student "so what do you want to do with your life?" For a college student I can see how that would be a common question. However, seeing as I have graduated from college, graduated from graduate school, and held a number of professional positions I find it odd that I should still be asked such a question.<br /><br />In every single season of life I have felt pressure from friends, family, society, "clocks ticking", etc edging me forward in life. To begin life. Numerous times people have uttered the words "I really think (hope) something special will come of this next season/chapter/position for you". Truth be told the "something" often literally means "someone"...though lately less people have offered false hope of meeting my husband "just around the corner"…perhaps they’ve given up hope? Nevertheless, I finally had the sense to start telling people that I have been living my life to the absolute fullest and not waiting for a certain life to begin, waiting for a 30 year career to suck away my life, pining away in my bedroom waiting for a prince to rescue me from an affair with Ben&Jerry! Hell, I've traveled and lived around the world. Met the most incredible people. And I'm supposed to feel like life hasn't begun for me? That's just total bullshit. I've succumbed to feeling like I have sacrificed a lot in order to travel and floundered in my career path by taking the most amazing job opportunities. In interviewing for jobs I constantly have been put on trial to testify and justify my eclectic resume. And guess what? I’m over it. I’m over trying to justify my life…why I’m single and in my 30s, why I’ve moved around the globe, why I haven’t followed a particular career path. The above quote by Doctorow depicts my life so well – I’m moving forward and following the path that has been lit before me. Granted sometimes God has dimmed those lights and asked me to steer by faith, conviction, and heart. Even the most difficult and challenging paths have led me forward in my journey. In fact, it has been the rough roads that have broken me in, prepared me greater for the plethora of obstacles that continue to arise. I handle and maneuver rough terrain with a different ease than I once did. That’s growth I suppose and I’m thankful for it.<br /><br />My heart goes out to the millions of college students, recent graduates, and those “flounderers” around the world who are constantly grilled about where their life is heading. My suggestion…before asking your dumb questions, ask yourself first “what have I done and what am I doing with my own life?” Once you are satisfied completely with that answer…not by the standards of the world, your parents, your boss, your professors, your spouse…but truly by your own standards…once you’ve completely impressed yourself with your awesome adventurous, life-giving, life-enriched, selfless life…then and only then can you ask someone else what they are doing with theirs. And guess what? Once you’ve reached that awe-inspiring life that you love I guarantee that your question (or at least the tone of your question) will inspire instead of deflate the human being you are inquiring of.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-7072293773991408012010-01-26T06:08:00.000-08:002010-01-26T06:23:09.509-08:00Blind DateTonight I helped a good friend get ready for a blind date.<br /><br />To prepare for this occasion we went on a wondrous adventure to the land of Sephora. Now for all my <em>Sex & the City girlfriends </em>a trip to Sephora or the MAC counter is as common as a trip to the grocery store. But for my dear friend who, like my mother, had never worn a pinch of makeup in her life, this was quite a foreign concept. Such a foreign concept in fact that this lovely 35 year old when inquiring about which brush was used for which purpose asked if she could use a small eyelid brush to apply her foundation and blush. To which the oh so gay and fabulous makeup artist giggled and responded politely "Technically you could use that brush, it just may take a couple hours. And I'm not laughing at you, it's just that that's quite possibly the most adorable thing I've ever heard."<br /><br />Yet another classic moment in life. <br /><br />Here was this amazingly accomplished woman who I can barely keep up with in daily conversations, absolutely left in the dust conversing about politics, public policies, or anything anthropological (she holds a PhD from Yale in Anthro) and yet she was over the moon excited about me taking her to Sephora! Precious...just precious.<br /><br />When I think about having money I think about these moments and how I would spoil all of my friends. I know, I know, I'm trying desperately to consume less...but if you'd seen my friend's face as she left Sephora with her little black bag of beauty 101 essentials, dear god, you'd wish you were freakin' Santa! <br /><br />Thinking about this too much makes me despise money. I despise it because I don't have it. But I don't want it just for me - I want it to replay moments like the scenario I've just described. I want to go to dinner with friends and as we chat about the economy being in the shit hole and how work sucks I sneak my credit card to the waiter and tell him to inform my friends 'the bill is on us tonight'. I want to take my girlfriends who work so hard at being incredible mothers, wives, friends, and sisters out for manicures, pedicures, and a massage. I want send my parents on the trip to Italy they've been promising to go on for 20 years. I want to finally buy my Bed n' Breakfast and host fabulous dinners and parties for all the people I love.<br /><br />Giving is the greatest joy and it's my favorite expression of love. <br /><br />So Lord, since it's better to give than receive, would you mind taking care of my $50,000 of student loans and giving me a rich husband so I can spoil all my friends? Thanks Jesus, you're the best. xoxoTo every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-57650096118991744722010-01-22T15:04:00.000-08:002010-01-22T15:19:16.944-08:00An empty seat.Riding the subway yesterday I couldn't help noticing the perfectly feng shui placement of people sitting in every other seat. Granted the subway is a bit old school and the seats haven't been updated to accommodate our large luscious American booties, but would that really have made a difference? The seats in most airports around the US (and I've been in most) are pretty spacious and yet when choosing a seat people meander around looking for additional empty seats...often choosing in the end to stand.<br /><br />Why?<br /><br />Why do we avoid the empty seat adjacent to a stranger? Seems we've become so accustomed to our personal space that we avoid infringing on others. In a world of connecting via electronics are we losing our ability to connect, to touch, to see, to be a part of one another's lives?<br /><br />Flying over the winter holidays is shear insanity - I do it every year with the promise of never doing it again. This last year I was held up in the DC airport with thousands of others due to weather conditions. As I walked around the airport, trying to pass the time away, I noticed a woman trying to place a call at the payphone. I actually had forgotten that payphones still existed. Seemed utterly unnecessary for this poor woman to pay for her call. I approached her and offered my cell phone. She explained in a familiar accent that the call was international. "Not a problem, I have Skype". <br /><br />As I set my computer up for her to access Skype (yes I realize if I had an iPhone this would've taken less steps) I started inquiring about her story. She was from South Africa - a place I knew fairly well as I'd lived there for a period of time. She'd been in America on business, was heading home when her flight was cancelled, and had been trying to reach her husband for hours to let him know she was stuck in DC. She was exhausted, sad, frazzled, and felt completely out of her element - helpless and losing hope.<br /><br />I love moments like these - simple human connection through a simple gesture.<br /><br />After making the call to her husband and sending a few emails to co-workers explaining her situation she thanked me profusely, offered to buy me coffee (to which I declined as I'd just filled my mug with tea), and parted ways.<br /><br />From this one seemingly insignificant moment my spirit was instantly lifted. I no longer cared about waiting in the airport. I began chatting with people around me and tried to ease their minds about being home for the holidays. I felt like skipping, throwing daisy peddles, dancing a jig - joy, pure joy, resounded through me.<br /><br />What do I make of all this?<br /><br />I'm not exactly sure. <br /><br />In simple terms I now see an empty seat as an opportunity - an opportunity to connect, to touch, to see, to be a part of another's life.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-58192721970260378282010-01-02T19:56:00.000-08:002010-02-05T05:38:14.376-08:00Ladies, Lets Go There!One of the most honoring aspects I've experienced in my friendships with women is their trust to disclose deep, personal, serious, hilarious, and/or embarrassing issues, struggles, and/or stories with me. Authenticity attracts authenticity! So, in the words of my girl Emily, 'lets go there'...and as we ring in this new year I'd like to dedicate this blog to all my ladies in hopes that this will start the conversation n' ya'all with add to it!<br /> <br />Topic #1 - Scary Hairy<br />The good Lawd giveth and taketh away…He gave me a great head of hair and then didn’t stop there. I have been in a constant battle/all out war with body hair since the third grade. I distinctly remember one day at YMCA day camp some lil’ jackass junior high boy attracting attention to the hair on my legs. Humiliated I was determined to rectify that issue by marching straight home, locking myself in the bathroom, and taking my mother’s old lady razor to my dry hairy legs. Needless to say, this was not my most brilliant moment. However, it was not the most brainless either. No, my most idiotic attempt at hair removal would be the day I bought an Epilady – I know, seriously who even remembers these horrible torture devices? After screaming my way through 5 seconds of Epilady’s vindictive agony I begged my mother to return the devil device that I’d spent my entire month’s allowance on! <br /><br />Since these futile days of vain conceit, I have shaved, plucked, waxed, and just recently underwent laser hair removal. I’m really in no financial position to keep up with these treatments but I will share that laser hair removal has been my most successful attempt and when I factor in the $70+ I spend each time waxing…well, it may be worth it to once and for all be finished with hair! <br /><br />Thoughts...stories...feedback...Feel free to weigh in…<br /><br />Topic #2 - The Glories of Being a Woman<br />Warning: information in this post may be TMI for those of the male species!<br /><br />Ask a woman about the first time she got her period and you will undoubtedly have some great material for a stand-up comedy set. <br /><br />"I thought I was dying"<br /><br />"My dad found my pad"<br /><br />"My mom made a special family dinner"<br /><br />Classic.<br /><br />My period has always a mind of her own. I 'started' when I was 12 and then Aunt Flo went on vacation for about eight years. Concerned that her extremely non-sexually active 20 year old daughter may have complications 'down-the-road' getting pregnant my mother urged me to go to the gyno. Dr. Pap, convinced that I was lying about being a virgin, recommended I go on birth control to regulate my periods. <br /><br />Bad, bad, bad advice! <br /><br />Doctors often seem to leave out nuggets of information...<br /><br />For instance, had I known about the excruciating pain I would have to endure getting my period for the first time after eight years I would have opted for the roller ball surgery (Hysteroscopic Endometrial Ablation). And why did no one warn me about the possibility of gaining 20lbs or having my boobs swell from a pleasant B to a painful and unruly C?!?!?!<br /><br />Needless to say, I changed my doctor and learned about getting second and third opinions.<br /><br />One fabulous invention I have grown to love is the Diva Cup (http://www.divacup.com/). After reading an article about how some tampons actually contain fibers that make women bleed more so that they need to use/BUY more tampons, I decided there had to be another solution. Completely eco-friendly, the Diva Cup may take a little getting used to and is probably not for the squeamish. Of course you should ask your doctor about it - but from my non-doctoral opinion, the Diva Cup is the greatest invention since peanut butter and chocolate!To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-22044587987702505192009-11-22T04:38:00.000-08:002009-11-22T07:10:33.507-08:00Waiting for PeaceBefore making the decision to go to grad school I remember having a few conversations with friends about 'waiting for peace' before making huge life-altering decisions vs. the methodology of weighing pros/cons. I had stood by 'waiting for peace' for my entire life and felt that's what the Divine would want me to do - wait for His peace. Now after stepping through two life-altering doors that didn't have 'Peace' written on their threshold I have to wonder - how does 'waiting for the peace of God' fit into making decisions?<br /><br />I struggled in grad school when shit hit the fan and I couldn't rest on the reassurance that God had given me peace about this decision. It was unnerving. I hated it. I kept wondering if I'd 'gone against His will', if perhaps He had a different plan and I moved forward because there literally were no other options. Well, that's not true, there were other options - but I strongly did not have peace about them - even a Personal Assistant position for $75000!<br /><br />Similarly, in deciding to accept my current position as the Traveling Student Advisor for the International Honors Program I fought like a two-year old temper tantrum against it. I'd applied for numerous positions at universities in the states - something stable, something long-term, something that would set my career on a path. Instead the only open door was IHP - 6 months of traveling, 6 months of a job and then back to square one, 6 months...the end. I wanted to settle down, find a community, a man, stability. Now as I near the end IHP has turned out to be the most incredible season - full of adventure and constant opportunities for growth and learning.<br /><br />What should I make of this?<br /><br />In hindsight, though neither decision 'felt' peaceful and I cried my way traveling across the country to SIT and cried after accepting the position with IHP, I think those tears were quite selfish. I wanted to stay in LA, I wanted stability, I wanted some fragment of a 'normal' life. I didn't want to go into $50,000 of debt, move to VT, take a position that only lasted 6 months, and travel out of a suitcase again. I wanted what I wanted so badly that perhaps I didn't allow myself to 'feel' peace or accept the out of the ordinary.<br /><br />As mentioned in my last post - my life has been anything but ordinary and it's been a struggle to not feel embarassed for not having a stable job, home, husband, kids, life. I've lept into the unknown so many times that I feel entitled to stability.<br /><br />Now that I'm back to looking for a job and wondering where/how my life will unfold I'm not sure how to proceed. Wait for peace? Weigh the pros/cons? Just see what unfolds and know it'll all work out in the end no matter what door I choose? At this point I have no option but to wait...To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-61334396207646162572009-11-15T17:22:00.000-08:002009-11-15T18:02:40.632-08:00Entitled to be ThankfulI went with my roommate from Jeffreys Bay to her 'Ladies Bible Study' where they're reading through a book called 'Lies women believe' - the chapter they were on spoke about 'Rights' - aka many women feel they have the right to have their husbands help with the chores, the right to a day off, the right to be listened to by their children. Well I didn't really resonante with the word 'Right' but the word that did come to mind was 'Entitled'.<br /><br />Since I was in high school my 'elders' have always told me that some day God would give me a wonderful husband - that if I'm patient, wait on His timing, and don't settle for anything less than His best that He will give me the 'desire of my heart'. The interesting thing is that for the millions of times people have used the 'desire of my heart' as a consultant agent for single and lonely hearts, it's actually not scripturally accurate.<br /><br />You see the verse is actually quite tricky - it says 'delight yourself in Him and He will give you the desires of your heart' - can you see it? Do you see the circular catch-22? If we delight in Him...meaning the promise is not that He will give us the desires of our heart...the promise is that He will give us Him! If we delight in Him than He WILL be our heart's desire.<br /><br />So clearly I understood that never has God actually promised that I'd have a husband or a family. He has always promised Himself and that He would be enough if I sought my identity and fulfillment in Him.<br /><br />With the scare of uterin cancer this last summer I was forced to accept that bearing children wouldn't be possible - and I actually came to peace with this. Though it has since been confirmed that the cancer is merely precancerous cells outside of my uteris, I've been left with a lot to think about. I used to write letters to my unborn children (yeah I know, it's a bit creepy!) What I once thought was always a choice and something I would definitely have, something I was entitled to have, something I was even supposed to have, I now have no idea about.<br /><br />How is it that I once believed I was entitled to children, entitled to a husband, entitled to some likeness of an easy-going life? None of it is true...none of us are actually 'entitled' to have these things...at least according to scripture.<br /><br />I told my mom the other day that my life has been one of coloring outside of the lines - nothing conventional - I've never had a full time job for more than a year, I didn't date til I was 26, I've moved from east to west coast countless times, I was completely debt free at 28 and then $50,000 in the hole by 30 when I decided to attend a no-name graduate school, I've traveled all over the world and still at nearly 31 am still traveling, and I'm still single. I've spent a lot of time thinking 'other' people will judge my life - will wonder why I move around so much, will judge why I'm single, etc, etc...but truth is I've come to love my life. It's been this incredible 'choose your own adventure' with tons of laughter, wonderful friends, lots of falling flat on my face, sticking my big foot in my mouth, falling off horses, and always having to get back on again and ride that damn thing into the sunset. It's been a wild ride and all I can do is be thankful.<br /><br />Thankful for my family, friends, acquaintances that I've met for brief moments and their faces remain ever present in my fondest memories...thankful to travel, thankful for seasons of ups and downs, thankful that so many people have touched my life and others so deeply. I am thankful for my unconventional, coloring out of the lines life, and I'm thankful that everything God has promised me has always come true.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-59386503618109513722009-11-01T08:05:00.000-08:002009-11-01T08:09:54.679-08:00India through the lens of an auto-rick<div align="center">How many people can fit in an auto-rick?</div><div align="left"><br />This question became quite a laughing matter for our group as we piled people on top of people, bargained, maneuvered, and navigated India by way of the popular yellow and green auto-rickshaw. Beyond a good laugh, however, the auto-rick became a fitting metaphor for the city of Delhi. Who operates an auto-rick and who utilizes it? Where can one catch an auto-rick and where are they scarcely to be seen? What does it mean to bargain and what does it mean to get ripped off? Delhi through the lens of an auto-rickshaw illustrated the choreographed chaos and the rhythm, the interconnection and the individual, and the unseen stories that we experienced throughout India.<br /></div><div align="left">One inspiring thought that propelled our group through India was that ‘chaos can be structured’ - in fact, often chaos is merely another form of order. At first glance, Delhi seemed completely and utterly disorganized, dirty, and disjointed. We were convinced that none of the roads had been built for six lanes and yet auto-rickshaws, bicycle-rickshaws, motorcycles, buses, and private cars consistently manipulated their way through traffic creating entirely new lanes. Pedestrians crossing these six-lane masses of insanity had better move quickly, have keen peripheral vision, and advanced street wit. We soon learned that locals rarely batted an eye at having to make their way on foot through traffic. There was a rhythm, a balance, a place, a time to make one’s break across the road and once we were able to read the beat, we were able to cross the street.</div><div align="right"><br />Delhi, what’s to say? I got off the plane exhausted and completely disoriented…It was nice to get out and walk around today. The colors are beautiful and the market is full of life…the modes of transportation are numerous and looking down on the street it just looks like confusion with no structure. On the plane ride to India I had the chance to watch a traditional Bollywood film.<br />The opening scene took place in Delhi – brilliantly depicting the everyday hustle and bustle of the city. The main character quickly stated,<br /> “Everything here is happening at the same time, yet there is some kind of balance”.<br />I would have to agree after having my first ride in an auto-rick.<br />I kept joking that it was like a rollercoaster with no safety precautions…<br />lanes are completely disregarded by drivers and I didn’t understand the relentless and ever constant honking between drivers. It just made no sense to me why anyone would want to honk a horn that much. Over the past few days, and several auto rides, I’ve come to learn why the drivers honk: that’s how they audibly communicate with each other to ensure that they don’t crash.<br />The honks are our versions of blinkers!<br />IHP Cities Fall ’09 Student</div><div align="left"><br />Making our way through traffic was obviously quite a mission but making our way through the city during monsoon weather was an entirely new story. Monsoon season was supposed to be over by the time we arrived in Delhi, but apparently it held off long enough for us to experience it as well. Though we hated the rain for drenching us as we braved our first auto-rick journeys from our homestays, we learned a great deal about its effect on the city. For starters, it was nearly impossible to catch an auto-rick when it rained. The city itself seemed to halt to a standstill. It was explained to us that street sweepers were paid daily to sweep garbage out of sight (and consequently that meant into gutters). Needless to say, when it rained all the gutters, which had been clogged with garbage, became futile. Rickshaws and other autos were forced to navigate back roads and alternative routes – making everyone late to their destinations. As sopping wet students we were willing to pay any amount for an auto-rick’s haven away from the rain. However, most people in Delhi weren’t so fortunate to have such an escape.<br /><br />The entire east periphery of Delhi (housing the slums) was created on a lower plateau than the city’s center. The slums became the city’s drainage and wasteland. What it must do to the human psyche to not only be part of society’s lowest caste, the ‘untouchables’, but to also physically live lower than upper-class society. It was a constant struggle to witness, and grapple with the poverty and caste segregation of India. At every traffic jam and traffic light our green and yellow auto-rick would draw a crowd of children. Encountering children begging on the street was one of the most difficult challenges we faced in India. We were told to ignore the children and to never give them money. We were warned that any money given to children would most likely be taken away by the adult who controlled, managed, monitored, and manipulated the child.<br /><br />How could we ignore children?<br /><br />Many of us started disliking who we were becoming – cold, callous, and unwilling to humanize or face the inescapable poverty which encroached around us. Then on one hot and humid afternoon we visited an organization which was operated by and for street children. Over 50,000 children in India take to the street to earn an income. Chetna is an organization with about 5,000 members - solely run by street kids who advocate for their rights, safety, and education. Suddenly, the vague faces of street children had names, stories, wisdom, joy, and life. We sang with, danced with, listened to, loved on, and were loved by some of the most intelligent and strong children we’d ever met. The children left us with a bit of advice when encountering beggars – don’t give money, but don’t ignore; acknowledge them as human, after all, each of ‘them’ has an individual story.<br /><br />Meeting the street children of Chetna was a real turning point for many of us. We now had more peace of mind and confidence to embrace and interact with the overwhelming amount of marginalized and displaced people all around us. We started learning how to bargain, interview, and interact with street vendors and auto-rick drivers more respectfully. As we began to ‘suspend judgment’, individuals’ faces and stories emerged right before our eyes.<br /> </div><div align="right">Yesterday was our Market Day…if anything, this visit taught me that looks can be deceiving. The somewhat shabby looking store was actually several decades old and full of history. The owner himself had opened the shop and had created his line all on his own. He sat us down and showed us pictures of when he first began selling the rickshaws. We learned of the chain of events for how a rickshaw ultimately comes into being. He gives materials to a ‘wheel and spokes’ man who builds the wheels…then puts in a request for the wooden box to be built.<br />When these parts arrive, he gets the men in his factory to assemble the bike together.<br />When all of this is through, the man is able to sell the requested rickshaw.<br />IHP Cities Fall ’09 Student</div><div align="left"><br />From the very creation of a rickshaw we experienced the web of interconnection among individuals. The creation and planning for the city of Chandigarh was similarly designed to intersect individuals, as well as their body, mind, and souls. <br /></div><div align="right">In Chandigarh we observed and analyzed how one of the most planned cities in the world was fulfilling its original vision. Le Corbusier created a very specific plan for Chandigarh before it was built and then built the area to become the capital region for the state...we learnt about Le Corbusier’s vision and design and investigated how this was carried out into the reality of the city. How had things followed the plan? What was different? How has current development adjusted to these plans? What works? <br />IHP Cities Fall ’09 Student<br /></div><div align="left">What we found was that despite Le Corbusier’s efforts to design a holistic and unified city, Chandigarh predominantly catered to the wealthy, to those owning and operating autos, and displaced the poor to the periphery of the city and out of main sight. As many of us began thinking ahead to our own careers as urban planners, anthropologists, professors, social workers, advocates, and activists we realized how imperative it will be to know fully the history, the culture, and to work alongside locals in order for efforts to be sustainable and equitable to all. As we experienced India’s inequalities of caste, class, race, beauty, and gender we then had to face and question our own ideologies of equality, safety, and privilege.<br /></div><div align="right">The most difficult experience I faced in India was finding bed bugs in my hotel bed in Agra. It was the first time I’d ever had anything crawling in my bed. I am so picky about my bed back home that I really flipped out and didn’t know how to react. This was a hotel and I was a paying customer - I had the right to complain about the service…right? The front desk was really nice and apologetic but then the next room I went into also had bed bugs!<br />The guy who helped me move from room A to B wanted me to stay in room B.<br />My response was ‘No. Would you sleep in this?’<br />(pointing to one of the bugs on the bed).<br />He replied ‘yes’.<br />Whether he actually understood me or not wasn’t the point…<br />it was his answer that I’ve reflected on.<br />I have come to realize that the idea of having a bed is a blessing…<br />shelter itself is a luxury that not everyone has.<br />The ‘right to complain and demand service’ was rooted in privilege.<br />IHP Cities Fall ’09 Student<br /></div><div align="left">Undoubtedly we will spend a lifetime reflecting on and shaping our ideologies of equality and privilege. India forced us to redefine poverty and opened our eyes more to the inequalities that exist throughout the world. In the words of Kalyani Menon (our esteemed and brilliant country coordinator) “the reason ‘they’ are poor is that we are not”. Now we must try to understand how we fit contribute and respond to the displaced, marginalized, and overall injustice which exists in the world. From all we have heard about South Africa we expect that we will continue to analyze and deconstruct our own and others’ ideologies of power, equality, race, gender, justice, privilege, and freedom.<br /> </div>To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-9899407260371051092009-09-26T00:02:00.000-07:002009-09-26T00:24:27.286-07:00The simplest of things...It is amazing how the simplest of things like placing a food order over the phone, asking for directions, taking a shower, or crossing a street can completely unnerve and dishevel ones' graspe of adapting to a new place.<br /><br />India in so many ways will be the most 'unknown' destination of our trip around the world. I hear from so many students their desire for the familiar of space, moments, feelings, tastes, sounds, or surroundings. It is quite difficult to find any of the familiar here in India. To some extent it is refreshing to know the west has not completely penetrated and annhilated all of India's pride for India. How do we move and exist in this space which is not our turf? How can we soak in the completely 'other' and 'unknown' and embrace it for what it is?<br /><br />Our time here is so short that it seems insensitive to desire familiar sensations of home - and yet even with all the traveling I've done I understand that desire (dare I say the need) to have a bit of familiar to catch one's footing in order to embrace all the other unknowns.<br /><br />The simplest of things can unnerve...and yet the simplest of things can recapture steadiness...like google chatting with friends, having skype dates, have a coffee at a lovely cafe, or finding common ground with the unknowns which surround us...there are more than we think.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-31989280026582345452009-09-18T04:13:00.000-07:002009-09-18T04:18:45.943-07:00PrabeenPrabeen is my host 'mom' in Delhi.<br />She turns 60 tomorrow.<br />She was the first feminist in India.<br />She is defies anything Indian one could imagine.<br />She speaks her mind.<br />She is proper and vulgar and completely authentic and genuine at the same time.<br />Prabeen is one of the most wonderful people I've ever met.<br /><br />Two days ago Prabeen's nephew died. He was 24. He collapsed while exercising. His father committed suicide in 1997. Still through this grief Prabeen has found time to laugh, joke with me about being American, and drink a few spirits with her girlfriends.<br />As I said, Prabeen is wonderful.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-18373858685930131182009-09-18T03:33:00.000-07:002009-09-18T04:13:27.025-07:00Detroit to DelhiMoving from an abandoned and shrinking city of about one million to an overcrowed city of over 13 million is bound to present a bit of culture shock. India is truly like no other place on earth. I have always said that one most redefine poverty when traveling beyond the borders of the western world. India redefines not only poverty but transportation, class, caste, race, sexuality, gender, urbanization, water usage, usage of space, and spicy tastebuds!<br /><br />It truly is a vibrant place.<br /><br />Traffic is comparable to an intense game of Tetris - weaving ones way through spaces (on or off roads)...absolutely insane. Walking in the Old City consists of sweaty pits, dirty feet, cows meandering about, dogs and people laying in the street median, men groping, shop keepers yelling and using any and every persuasive tactic to lure buyers, spitting, traffic, basically a clusterf$%^ of craziness!<br /><br />Peace and quiet is a state which is hard to come by here...there are just so many people.<br /><br />What is an interesting thought I've had is that I am not fully emersed here...my focus (my job) is caring for the wellbeing of 33 college students. Daily doctor visits, coffee dates, and attending lectures have been more the norm than breathing in the complexity and depth of Delhi. Though poverty prevails all around me I feel disconnected from it. What scares me about this is that this is precisely what stratification of caste intends to do...it lures the higher class to discredit and function independently from the lower class. Of course this is impossible. It is impossible everywhere in the world. The lure is an absolute lie. We have situated societies in that from top to bottom and bottom to top there's a reliance and a strategic balance to keep top top and bottom bottom - it's complex.<br /><br />Wrestling with this complexity is merely a backdrop to my presence in India. If I were here on my own accord I believe conversations and interactions with people would be different...at least I think it could be different.To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1297795029020621920.post-28957359017293456712009-09-18T03:26:00.000-07:002009-09-18T03:30:18.586-07:00Detroit<div align="left">If you close your eyes and picture a city what would you see? </div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:85%;">Movement and diversity - of people, cars, trucks, trains, and buses<br />Dichotomy of affluence and privilege against abject poverty<br />Flashing lights of billboards and traffic signals<br />Skyscrapers? Businesses? Restaurant rows<br />More people<br /></span></div><div align="left">What would you hear?</div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:85%;">Voices on top of voices<br />A myriad of languages and dialects<br />The quick steps of busy people<br />Engines revving? Honking horns<br />More voices</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><div align="left"><br />Cities around the world are filled with all of these sights and sounds and so much more. After all, it is the movement, mobility, construction, and masses which define cities…or is it? Webster defines a city as ‘an inhabited place of greater size, population, or importance than a town or village’.<br /><br />Where does such a definition leave the city of Detroit - a city which has been deemed dying, abandoned, shrinking, lost, segregated, and hopeless? Detroit certainly matches Webster’s definition in regards to size as the land area spans 6,657 square miles. Jerry Herron, a key note speaker for IHP Cities in the 21st Century Program, said of this complex city “Detroit's the city everybody likes to look at as a place that's dangerous, abandoned and economically no longer viable. It's the most famous failed city in the United States.”<br /><br />Detroit is a city which exploded its population by 170% in just a 20 year span (1910-1930). By the mid 1950’s auto production surged through the city’s pulse. Business was booming and Ford’s $5 a day guaranteed salary had secured thousands of jobs. Soon after this peak in the late 50’s foreign and domestic competition grew and auto companies began merging with one another or closing completely. By 1958 nearly a forth of the entire city's work force was unemployed. The wrecking ball strike to the auto industry caused Detroit’s population to decrease at an astronomical rate and over one million people abandoned the city. Meanwhile the suburbs surrounding Detroit continued to increase at a steady pace.<br /><br />Needless to say, a city which once had the highest rate of home ownership in the United Stated and now leads the nation in its highest foreclosure rates makes for an ideal city to kick off IHP’s Fall 2009 Cities in the 21st Century Program!<br /><br />Students have entered Detroit not arrogantly presuming solutions and quick fixes but rather humbly and inquisitively absorbing the myriad of the city’s issues from various vantage points. Transportation, taxing, poverty, foreclosure, welfare, racism, abandonment, crime, and willowing pride and hope for Detroit are in part issues which students have been introduced to. Observing city life students have been astonished by the amount of unused space, empty streets, and segregation between suburbia and the downtown area.<br /><br />In the midst of great complexity there are people who remain steadfast and committed to the wellbeing of Detroit. Students interacted with key people from Ford Motor Company, local housing, transportation, and urban planning organizations. The city was explored by bus, bike, feet, and even public transport (which most locals claim is nonexistent). Hundreds of people are moving to the city in order to connect with local organizations in efforts to restore economic, educational, and political justice and hope. Alas there is hope, despite vehement opposition and cynicism, in redeeming this dynamic city – a city that in actuality possesses more brazenly the reality which exists in much of America.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">“Americans don't like poverty. Americans don't like things old. Americans don't like urban violence. We have all the problems everyone else has that people like to pretend exist only in Detroit.” Jerry Herron</span></div><div align="left"><br />So we go forward from Detroit taking new understanding of what makes a city a city, how issues stem deeper than what may appear on the surface, and the complexity of solutions and stakeholders wanting change for the good of individual, institution, city and/or society. We move forward gaining greater insight into our home cities. We move forward from this shrinking city of under a million to Delhi, India. We move forward as a group of learners, explorers, students, and teachers. We move forward.</div>To every season...http://www.blogger.com/profile/12586669302600745521noreply@blogger.com0