Further reflections on my “You keep using that word…” post

Posted on June 24, 2013 by betsybeadhead | 1 Comment

Wow. Welcome to my page. I didn’t really expect this much attention when I posted one of my older posts (“You keep using that word…”) on the Facebook page of “Christians Tired of Being Misrepresented”. I’m grateful for the positive comments and support. I’m glad that people seem to understand where I’m coming from.

Some don’t, and I wanted to address that. I want to make very sure that the point of my post is understood.

There is a term that comes to mind. It is “jingoism”. It can be summed up with the phrase “My country, right or wrong.” It is a blind allegiance to an idea, even if that idea is going totally in the wrong direction. The same can be said of the church, and Christianity. Some people have said I’m attacking the church, and Christians, that I’m being judgmental. I’m not doing either. I’m pointing out that this idea of “my Church, or my Faith, right or wrong” is dangerous. Religious jingoism has gotten us in a lot of trouble.

Are we hanging on to our idea of church because we love church? Or are we ready to honestly examine how we think of church because we love church? I’m in the latter half. I’m not alone.

I want the church to be what Jesus meant for it to be. It often isn’t. It is because I love Jesus that I want the church to be alive, and flourish.

If the church can’t handle a little honest criticism, then it needs it all the more.

Church needs to be about action. We are Jesus’ body in this world. The healing of the world will come through our hands. We are the ones who will teach and nurture and encourage. We are the ones who will bring forth the Kingdom of Heaven.

I’m frustrated when church has become a place to hang out. I’m frustrated when church has become a social club. I’m frustrated when church isn’t about taking care of others more than it is about taking care of its own.

I would hate to think Jesus died for us to get together and sing a few songs on Sunday and then go on our way. I’d rather church be about doing something real with our time together.

When people think of Christians, they need to think of people who want to help. They need to think of people who love unconditionally. They need to think of people who give of their time and talents and treasure to bring forth the kingdom of heaven. Sadly, “church” and “Christian” is all to equated with judgment and exclusiveness. We only have ourselves to blame for that.

I wrote “You keep using that word…” as a wake-up call to Christians. It is to let us know that we have strayed from the path.

I also wrote it for non-Christians, to let them know that anyone who says they are Christian but they don’t act in a loving way, isn’t. That perhaps they should give us a second chance. I almost walked away from Jesus before I even got to know Him, and it was because of Christians.

Pointing out where we have made mistakes isn’t judgmental, in spite of what a few commenters said. It is pointing out hypocrisy. It is saying that our actions don’t match our creed. We just aren’t doing it right.

I want us to do it right. I want us to do it right so much that I write about it, for free, in my spare time. I’m passionate about this.

Keeping going the way we’ve always done it because we’ve always done it that way will be our death.

The church as we know it is dying. Many people have written far better and far more than I have on this. I’m not the first to point this out.

But this doesn’t mean the end of the church. It is just the end of the church as we know it.

And that is a wonderful thing.

We can start again.

We can have church that welcomes everyone, male, female, gay, straight, and from every race and culture and class. We can have church that encourages every person to be a minister, and to use their skills.

Or, this can go like the way of Martin Luther and John Wesley. They tried to reform the church, to make it line up closer to what Jesus meant, and they were ridiculed and ignored. Some listened, and separated off. This isn’t ideal.

I want us all to wake up.

Church isn’t about a building or a minister, or vestments or candles or stained glass windows.

Church is about us, the people of God, honestly serving God by serving His people. His people are everyone. Everyone. Not “the chosen”, not those people in church already, but everyone. Every single person.

I like the Gandhi quote about how he loves our Christ but not our Christians. Gandhi also said “To believe in something, and not to live it, is dishonest.” I’m not attacking church, or Christians. I’m pointing out how we are falling short as a body. I’m pointing out that we aren’t living up to what we believe. I want the church to indeed be the Body of Christ, rather than a building where we hang out for an hour once a week. I want the Church to do what Jesus did. Some congregations do, and that is awesome. Some people do, within congregations that don’t. I also want people who aren’t Christian to understand that the people who are the loudest about their Christianity are often what I have seen called “Christianist”. They like the idea of Christ more than Christ. I want better for us. I want the Church to be a force for good. I want to call to attention the Christians who would say Gandhi is burning in hell because he isn’t Christian.

Baby bird (there is more to being an adult than age)

Posted on June 23, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Just because someone is older doesn’t mean that they are mature. There is nothing about time that tempers a person. There is nothing about getting older that means you are an adult. There is nothing about producing children that makes you a good parent.

You know a tree by its fruit.

Children often wail when they don’t get their way. Adults either yell or sulk. It is the same thing. Sometimes with adults it translates to drinking or drugs. That is just resentment and anger and grief turned inwards. It is socially accepted self abuse.

Four or forty, if you haven’t figured out how to be around yourself, you aren’t very nice to be around. There has to be something in there about self-soothing, about self-control. There has to be something in there about being active and not passive about life.

Life is all about change. Plan for the bumps.

It helps to get into a regular habit of exercise and eating well. Save more money than you spend. Find some creative outlet. Learn about other cultures and ways of thinking.

Break out of your shell.

You are a baby bird, stuck in a shell. You have to break out of it on your own. If someone helps you with it you will die. If you are not strong enough to break out on your own then you aren’t strong enough to survive on your own.

Be an active force. Don’t let life happen to you. Don’t wake up five, ten, twenty years from now and wonder how you got here, sick and dying and your life wasted away.

Blogging about blogging

Posted on June 23, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

You have to be a little arrogant to write a blog. You have to honestly think that you have something to say that other people should read. You have to be a little brave and a little foolish and you have to not care what others think. You have to write for yourself. You have to write for your own sanity.

You have no way of knowing what your audience wants to hear. I’ve written about religion, creativity, getting healthy, women’s issues. I’ve written poetry and compiled lists of books. I’ve gotten new followers after each different thing and thought, if this is what you think this blog is about you are going to be very surprised.

Sometimes I think new people follow me because they have one of those blogs where they get money for each person who clicks on their page, and they want to lure me into doing that. I don’t have any respect for these people and their blogs. They aren’t using their blogs to inform or educate or inspire. They aren’t using their powers for good. I think they are wasting time and talent, and I think that is a shame.

I carry around a notebook all the time. I’m forever getting ideas for topics. If I am at a loss for what to write I just turn to a page and my outline is there. Sometimes I free-write and the ideas I’ve already jotted down are folded into the mix.

Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with ideas that seem so radical and revolutionary that I have to scribble them down before I lose them. Sometimes I’ll be interrupted as I’m writing and I’m concerned that I’ll forget what I was saying.

I started this blog to explain my jewelry. Sometimes I don’t think in words. Sometimes I try to express myself in beads. I can get harmony and rhythm and pattern with beads as well as words. But with beads I have to explain myself. People don’t know the background of the beads. They don’t know the history. So when I’m sharing the story of a necklace that is significant, it is important to give the background story.

I couldn’t figure out how to attach pictures at first. What is the point of talking about beads and jewelry if I can’t show pictures of beads or jewelry? So I just started writing. I planned on at least one post a week, with a goal of three times a week. When Lent came, I made posting a minimum of three times a week part of my discipline. In order to do that I had to make time. I realized I was spending about an hour every morning on Facebook. I was mindlessly using it the same way I used to mindlessly watch TV. So I now write before I open up Facebook, and I find it all works out.

Mindful use of time is really important to me. I don’t know if I would have found this so important if my parents hadn’t died so young, but they did, and I do, so there you are.

I now spend at least an hour writing every morning. I write at lunch. I write when my husband is driving us places. My Kindle is my favorite tool for this. It is terrible for editing but it is fabulous for raw writing. I can then email it to myself and edit appropriately at home.

I now post on average once a day, often more. I have a huge backlog of half-written ideas and even more jottings in my notebooks of other ideas. I feel that it would be nice to have the time to write up all that I have. I also realize that having actual life experiences gives more flavor to what I write. I also realize that if left to my own devices I rarely complete projects. I need deadlines and limits. I need to be yelled at for an hour at the Y to get in my exercise for the day.

Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll run out of ideas. Sometimes I’m concerned that I share the best things first, so if I were to be in an accident I wouldn’t have kept the best for myself.

Sometimes I think nobody is actually reading this and it isn’t going to make a difference at all.

I know that writing is helping me think more clearly.
I know that writing is an important part of my plan to make myself better.

I started posting as notes on Facebook. Then I realized that I wanted to share some of what I’d said with people who weren’t my friends there. I had to create a blog or remember to cut and paste and email each person each piece. Honestly I’m too lazy for that.

There has been a weird side effect of starting a blog. I’m actually surprised that strangers are interested in my words. I’m stunned to see the statistics here, of where everybody is reading from. Romania. Ghana. Zimbabwe. Qatar. The Philippines. Australia. My words are travelling the world.

This is weird and beautiful and amazing.

I hope you get something useful out of my words. I hope you are inspired and encouraged and comforted. I hope you share your talents, whatever they are, with the world. I hope you find you are not alone. I hope you start that project and keep on going until the end.

Parental Advisory

Posted on June 23, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I worked in a record store when the Parental Advisory Explicit Lyrics labels started being put on record albums. I could (and probably will) write a post just about that whole experience, but this is about a specific issue.

I owned two albums that illustrate the problem I have with these labels. One is an album from a band called Ministry. The album is called “The Land of Rape and Honey.” The other is from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. That album is called “Blood Sugar Sex Magik”.

The Ministry album does not have a Parental Advisory sticker on it, but the RHCP album does.

The Ministry album has a song with lyrics about extreme violence – about ripping someone’s head off and defecating on them, because they hate them. There are many uses of the F word.

The RHCP album has nothing of the sort. There is no violence. I listened to the album very carefully and the only thing I can see that might have been the issue is a song about having consensual sex with a female police officer on the hood of her patrol car.

Murder isn’t legal. Talking about murder in a song is legal.

Sex is legal. Talking about sex in a song is illegal.

Do you see the problem with this?

If we want to protect children from learning about things they aren’t ready to handle, I’d think glorifying murder would be tops on the list.

Both involve activities between two people. I can understand putting a label on an album that has a song that glorifies rape. But consensual sex? That is illegal to sing about.

Now, to be really honest, I think that the labels aren’t the issue. I think that parents need to parent their children. I think that parents need to be aware of what their children are reading and watching and be willing and able to help them understand what they are consuming. In the same way a parent should make sure a child eats healthy food and doesn’t consume poison, a parent should make sure their child is able to process music and literature in a healthy way.

I don’t think that the government or the record store or the library should be the teacher. That is the role of the parent.

Snake handler 3 (Jonah and the tornado)

Posted on June 23, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Consider this Post Secret for weird people. This is a tale of Jonah in the whale, except I was Jonah and a tornado was the whale.

A few months ago a huge storm was coming. It was so big that the National Weather Service had sent out alerts a day beforehand. Now, I live in Tennessee, so severe thunderstorms that can produce tornadoes are normal. They are a fact of life, and just part of the tradeoff for living here. So for the local NWS to issue a strong alert about this the day before was concerning.

When I came home from work the day before it was late. The moon had risen, and a gentle darkness had covered my town. I felt a strong need to pray, right then, in my driveway. I didn’t feel like it could wait until I got inside. Also, I’m a little private about my prayers. Even though my husband has some inkling of my prayer life, he hasn’t seen it in action.

Now, you’d think that praying outside would be more public, but it isn’t. This is the South. It is hot. It is humid. We generally stay inside in air conditioned splendor. I’m honestly not sure how people survived before central air. Perhaps we have gotten soft with our modern machines, but I digress.

I was standing outside on my driveway, in the dark, praying to God. I prayed harder than I have prayed in a long time. I prayed for the safety of everyone in the path of the storm. I prayed that nobody lose their life. I felt after each request that it would be granted. I decided to push harder, and pray that there be no property damage, but I got a push back on that one and felt that was answered “no”. I prayed for about 20 minutes, fervently, earnestly, tearfully. This was a big storm. I was afraid.

The next day came and the storm was predicted for around 4 or 5. This gave me plenty of time to do errands. This too is normal in the South. We can’t let the fear of tornados stop us from living our lives. If we did, we’d never leave our houses in the Spring or Fall, when tornados are most likely to develop.

I had the day off the day of the storm. I met up with a friend and went to an art supply store. On the way I saw a guy who essentially lives at the library. He is homeless, and spends his days there. But on Fridays, we are closed. I saw him near the library and advised him about the big storm and asked if he had a place to go. He did. I went looking for another homeless person who lives near the post office but didn’t see him.

I finished my errands and went home. I prepared. I brought a camp chair into the area we use for tornados. There is a section in the basement that realtors refer to as “unfinished.” It is glorified crawl space. You can stand up in an area that is about 2 feet by 3 feet, and the rest is rock and dirt and conduit and pipes and wiring. There is an interior door and no windows. It is the best place to be in a bad storm – low, no windows. It is also really boring and a little smelly. I brought a flashlight. I brought my cell phone, with the Weather Channel application on.

Now, about now in this story you might be thinking where is my faith? I prayed to God. Yet I’m preparing for a tornado. Yes. There is no contradiction. There is an Arabic saying – “Trust God, but tie your camel”. I’m pretty sure that has a deeper meaning, but to me it means that you can’t be stupid. God will do what God will do, and it is up to us to do the rest. I also remember the story of the guy and the two boats and the helicopter. It is an old story that is told as a cautionary tale about not waiting for divine intervention to appear in miraculous ways. Often God works through simple everyday means. Perhaps I’ll transcribe it for another post, just in case you haven’t heard it.

I put on my long coat. I put on my bicycle helmet. I did both of these things to protect myself from potential flying debris. Sometimes it isn’t the tornado that kills you, but the stuff that gets flung around by the tornado. I looked outside and told my next-door neighbor who was just then noticing the storm coming that he should get inside and close his garage door. I suspect my wearing a coat and a bicycle helmet drove the message home that I was serious. I called my neighbor across the street to let him know about the storm as well.

I’m an Advanced Certified Storm Spotter. I’m certified by the National Weather Service. I’ve taken two classes for this, totaling 7 hours. I’ve got a certificate. I’ve got a non-public 1-800 number stored in my speed dial to call in reports. I know what bad weather looks like.

This looked bad.

The storm was huge, at least 6 miles wide. The center of it on the radar was purple. Red is bad enough. When it gets to purple you are in real trouble. The purple area was at least 2 miles wide. And it was headed straight for my neighborhood. There were reports of hail. Hail is an indicator of tornadic activity. We were under a tornado warning, not a watch. Warnings are worse. Warnings mean that it looks on the radar like a tornado could be forming, but the NWS has no way of knowing one has actually touched down unless it is called in by a spotter. So there could be a tornado happening and the NWS wouldn’t know. Best to prepare as if there is one.

I sat inside my safe place and waited. I could hear the storm howling around the house. I could hear what sounded like hail. I was alone, because my husband was stuck at work waiting out the storm there. I prayed. I prayed hard. I prayed like Jonah. I prayed in a different way than I’d prayed the night before. I was stuck in the middle of a bad thing, and instead of praying to get out of it I prayed prayers of thanks. I praised God. I gave thanks to God, praising Him for his mercy and kindness. I thought of everything that I had and everything that I am and I gave thanks to God for it. Instead of asking for more, I gave thanks for what was right now.

Meanwhile that huge blob of purple was headed straight for my house. There was no way it was going to miss me. If it didn’t have a tornado in it, it had wind strong enough to knock down the trees in my yard and flatten my house. You don’t need a tornado to destroy your home. A strong enough wind will do the job.

And I prayed.

And God listened. God always listens. God always answers prayers, but not always the way you want them to go. This is an important point. It is important to be OK with “No” being an answer. It is important to know that God isn’t your waiter.

The storm eased. It grew quiet outside. Was this the eye of the storm? I looked at the weather radar and it looked clear. The blob had moved on faster than I expected. It is as if this huge freight train of a storm had just hopped over my neighborhood.

I went upstairs to look out the front door. I braced myself for the sight. I expected to see several trees down, or power lines across the road. I steeled myself against the inevitable results of storms in the South, and especially one so ferocious sounding.

I opened the door and was greeted by bright sunshine and the songs of birds. The only thing that had come down in my neighborhood were leaves. No limbs. No trees. No power lines. It looked like a standard spring rain had happened. As I took all of this in, I heard very clearly in my head this voice – “And now you know that I am your God.”

I laughed. I laughed with relief and amazement. I had tears coming down my face as I laughed. I said in reply “And I am your girl.”

I checked the news reports the next day, and found that “miraculously”, no one was killed in this storm.

I’m telling you this story to tell you that God is real.
I’m telling you this story to tell you that God listens to prayers.
I’m telling you this story to tell you that it is OK to pray big.

I’m telling you that our God is an awesome God.
I’m telling you that even if you don’t believe in God, God believes in you.

This is the God of Abraham, and of Isaac and of Israel. This is the God who is the father of Jesus. This is the God who created the world and everything in it. This is the God who created you and me.

I’m telling you that it is comforting to pray to God. It is comforting to know that there is a power greater than you who is in charge and who cares about you. It is comforting to know that you aren’t alone. It is comforting to know that this power, this force, wants to connect with you.

I wish you peace on your journey.

Namaste.

(Edit – I’ve located the pictures from my phone of the radar picture from that storm)
I was right in the path.

It was a very dense storm.

Dress (modesty as a safety issue)

Posted on June 22, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I dress modestly. I don’t think people need to see the shape of my body. And while doing think it is fair for people to say that “she was asking for it” when a woman gets raped and was showing a lot of skin and curves, I think a little discretion is wise.

You can’t wave raw meat in front of a dog and not expect it to react.

I have no desire to have women cover themselves up from head to toe. But I also am grateful that the fashion trend of wearing short shirts and showing off your belly button piercing is over. There has to be a middle ground.

I’ve seen girls wear shorts that barely covered their butts. I’ve seen more cleavage than I ever need to see.

Take whatever fashion it is and think – would this amount of visible skin be OK on a guy?

If we want women to not been seen as sex objects, we need to stop presenting them as sex objects.

In the summer I wear loose skirts, and if they are not floor-length, they stop at least an inch below my knee. In the winter I wear loose jeans. They aren’t really baggy, just loose. They don’t hug my curves.

I think it is about respecting myself, others around me, and my husband.

I don’t think it is kind to others to strut your stuff like you are at a strip club.

I think it is insane for a woman who dresses with revealing clothing to be surprised that she gets hit on. Guys are like that. They can’t help it. They should have better control of themselves, but they don’t. Until they collectively do act in a civil manner, it is safer to dress modestly.

I read a story about a TSA guard who commented to a 15 year old girl that she needed to cover herself up. She was travelling on a school trip without her parents. She was wearing tight jeans and a top that was low cut. She was shocked that he said this to her. Her father was livid when he found out. In my opinion, the way she was dressed would be more appropriate for a lady in her 20s. In my opinion, I’m surprised that her parents let her own such clothes.

I agree with the TSA officer’s assessment. He was trying to protect her. Yes, it wasn’t part of his job. But if we are all part of a village together, responsible for the raising of our collective children, then he was doing her a favor, indignant though she was. It is a safety issue, simply said.

There are parents who dress their little girls in dresses that are really short. Again, how would it look if a boy were to wear clothes that short? There is no reason for anybody to wear a dress that is above their knees. You can’t sit down without showing everybody your business. And if your business isn’t being a hooker, nobody needs to see it.

Until guys and men can control their animal nature, girls and women would be safer if they dressed in less revealing ways.

Snake handling 2 (how memorizing some Irish saved the day)

Posted on June 22, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

About twenty years ago I was walking at night in downtown Chattanooga with a friend named John and came to a restaurant/bar called the Pickle Barrel. This was a common place among my friends to hang out. It was/is a ramshackle building set in a triangle bit of property at an odd intersection. They serve sandwiches that go well with beer, which is their main trade.

We saw another friend, named Malcolm there, who was with a stranger. I don’t remember much about how the stranger looked. I think he was skinny and had stringy hair. I think he was wearing the standard college student uniform of a worn t-shirt and Goodwill-bought pants. I probably wouldn’t even have looked at him twice if he wasn’t sitting with a friend of mine.

The stranger was sitting across from me at the round wooden table and we started talking. I got a sense from him that he wasn’t exactly what he appeared to be. I can’t explain how I came to this conclusion. Suffice it to say my “spidey sense” was tingling. He then started talking about magic. I don’t know what got in to me, but I “pushed” a little and said “Don’t talk about magic unless you talk about real, true magic.”

I’ll back up a little, here. We have in my family something I call “the push.” It isn’t something we talk about. If you have it, you know, and if you don’t, you’ll never know. The only time it is mentioned is if you figure out you have it and you start asking around. It makes it very confusing, because you feel like you are alone and strange. I’ve discovered other people who have it who aren’t in my family. People who have it generate a sort of magnetism. The idea of The Force also resonates with this concept.

I call it “the push” because that is what it feels like. It has the same feeling that a physical push has, but no muscles are used. It is mental/spiritual. Just like the Force, it can be used for good or bad. I use it when assisting others when there are language or processing problems. It can be a way to bridge communication gaps. It is helpful when communicating with people who are mentally disabled, or very young. However, I’ve seen one family member use it to get people to do what he wants them to do, rather than what is best for them. I’ve seen people use it to play people like puppets. I’ve seen people think that they are special, and the power goes to their heads.

So, back to the story. The stranger took my hands and started chanting something, in some language I don’t know. This may sound strange but it felt as if time slowed down and everything centered around us. It appeared that the lights and colors got much brighter and more intense. No – I wasn’t high or drunk. I asked Malcolm and John later if they saw him take my hands and start chanting and they both said no. Nothing different happened for them.

Everything different happened for me. I felt trapped. I felt that this guy meant nothing but harm for me. I felt the same kind of terror I would suspect I’d feel if a person had a gun up against my head and I was forced up against a wall. I was alone. I didn’t know what to do.

Fortunately I have a habit of memorizing things. I’d memorized the bit of Irish from Sinead O’Connor’s first album, from the song “Never Get Old”. Enya speaks it. It starts with the sounds “oh rourk she or du dein, gol et toe hue.” This is as close as I can approximate it. It takes about a minute to say. It sounds pretty cool. I’d memorized it pretty well, and can still recite it today.

He dropped my hands, stopped chanting, and cowered.

Everything went back to normal, of a sort. Time resumed its normal pace, and the lights and colors stopped being so intense. Our friends rejoined the conversation, and I looked at the guy warily. Not long later I got up to go to the bathroom and he followed me. He crouched down and held out his hand in supplication, and asked me to teach him what I knew.

I refused to touch his hand, partly in fear for what that contact would do this time.

I replied that how dare he attack me. I had not done anything to him. I had not provoked an attack. I had not deserved such behavior.

I replied that I am a servant of God, and that any of my power comes from serving God. I assured him that God is more powerful than anything he could dream up. I advised he follow God, and know that true power comes from being in His service.

Later I reflected on the words I’d used. I realized that the words were from Psalm 91, lines 11-13. I’ve Included 9-10 for background.

9 Because you have made the LORD your refuge,
the Most High your dwelling place,
10 no evil shall befall you,
no scourge come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways.
12 On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.
13 You will tread on the lion and the adder,
the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot.

I’ve since found a version of it in Irish. It looks like this –

11 Óir thug sé ordú da aingil i do thaobh
tú a chosaint i do shlite go léir:
12 Iompróidh siad thú lena lámha
sula mbuailfí do chos in aghaidh chloiche.
13 Satlóidh tú ar an leon is ar an nathair:
gheobhaidh tú de chosa sa leon óg is a dragan.*

This was the most appropriate thing I could have said at the moment. I give thanks to God that He gave me the mind and the will to memorize something so useful, and the ability to recall it at the right time.

We may not be able to see the angels God sends us, but they are still there.
It is also helpful to know that sometimes we are the angels. God works through us to help others.
Our calling is to align ourselves with God, and let the healing of the world happen through us. We are the bridge for God’s love.

We are told that we are the ones we have been waiting for. We are told that we are Christ’s hands and feet in this world.

Perhaps I read fantasy and science fiction because I want to find similar stories to explain these kinds of experiences I’ve had. Perhaps I’m sharing these stories to tell you that you aren’t alone. This sounds like a crazy story, but it is true. May it be of help to you.

Teach about character, not cosmetics.

Posted on June 21, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I have so much to say on this topic that I’m not sure how to unpack it. I’m concerned I’m going to ramble on all over the place. I’ve started this a few times. I’m just going to plunge in and go where it leads.

I’m deeply concerned with what women are taught. On a bigger level I’m also concerned with what men are taught, but I’m not as immersed in it. I think it is best to speak from your own experience. As I am a woman, I will start there.

We are teaching our girls to be empty objects. The teen magazines teach girls that their image is more important than their character.

They are taught more about makeup than mercy. They are taught more about cosmetics than compassion. Plastic surgery is more important than being a good person.

Everyone needs to learn about the beauty that comes from kindness, volunteering, and service.

Girls are also taught to put themselves last. While it is important to consider others needs, but they also need to consider their own. We are taught to please and placate. We make the peace at own expense. Perhaps this is training for becoming a Mom, where you have to put the needs of your children first for their survival.

But what about afterwards, when their children are grown? What about when you aren’t with your children? This training goes deep. This training shows up at work. It shows up in friendships. A woman will spend her whole life making sure that other people are happy. Meanwhile she is quietly miserable.

This comes out in depression and anxiety. It comes out as alcoholism.

We have to change the focus from surface to substance.

We need to teach women that their value is to be found in the work they do to make the world better, not on the work they get done on their bodies. Boob jobs and facelifts don’t make you or the world happier in a true and lasting way.

Have you noticed there are no “Teen Vogue” or “Teen Cosmo” type magazines for guys? Guy’s magazines are about how to fix things and how to explore and learn. Popular women’s magazines are about how to make yourself or your house more beautiful.

How empty. How vapid. How sad.

I’m not saying women have to dress like men or act like men. You can be a feminist and be beautifully made up and wear jewelry. But it is about being conscious of it. It is about it being a choice.

If you are beautiful on the outside and empty on the inside, you aren’t really real. You are a shell. You have been sold a one-way ticket to insignificance.

News? No thanks.

Posted on June 20, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I no longer watch or read the news.

Hearing about yet another war or earthquake or tsunami or murder or kidnapping overwhelms me. I feel helpless. Perhaps I take things too personally. Perhaps I feel things too deeply. But hearing about tragedy, whether man-made or nature-made only wears me out.

I can’t do anything about it. I can’t fix it. I can’t make it right. I can’t save people.

I want to be a part of the change in this world. I want to let God work through me. But I’m only one person. I advocate for us all working together, but how can we make the world happier and safer when we are up against wave after wave of bad things happening?

Perhaps my problem is “news” really only means “bad news”.

Look at any news site. Every single article is bad news. Somebody killed somebody. Somebody died in some tragic way. A thousand people died in natural disaster. Flood or famine, it makes no difference whether the event is fast or slow, the result is the same. Yet another person died that I couldn’t help.

Yet another person got caught doing something wrong. Another person went to jail for stealing. Another virus was discovered that can’t be defeated and we are all going to die.

How come the news isn’t more balanced? It would help to hear about the discoveries that are being made. It would help to know about the good deeds that are done every day. These things don’t sell. Bad news sells. And I’m not buying anymore.

We don’t need to hear about the latest celebrity misadventure or adventure. I feel bad for celebrities, where their every move is watched by paparazzi. If we didn’t gobble up what the paparazzi are feeding us, perhaps it would go away. Making a movie or being a football star should be enough. They are famous for enough as is. Let them live their lives in peace.

Turn on the TV and it is either “reality show” or cop drama. These shows feed us an unhealthy idea of what is real with a side dish of paranoia. If you want reality, open up your front door and go outside. Talk to your neighbors. You won’t get reality on your TV.

Several years ago we had to get a second mortgage on our house. The air conditioner and the roof and the water heater all needed replacing in the same year. We cut expenses to afford it. Cable television was one of the things that went. The first week I was a little freaked out. Watching television was an essential part of how I defined myself. What would I do with my time?

It turned out to be the best thing ever. I had more time to read what I wanted to read. I was no longer being bombarded with ads for things I didn’t need. I was no longer mindlessly clicking through channels.

I’ve not watched broadcast TV for at least 5 years. Now I’ve decided to not read the news. I’d limited myself to only reading the news on applications on my phone such as Time, Huffington Post, the local news outlets, or I’d check Google’s news page. I’d limited myself to these because I could choose what I read. I didn’t have to be held hostage listening to a lot of news I wasn’t interested in before I got to the bits I was.

But even that is too much. It is all too much. It is all bad, and I can’t do anything about it, and I feel helpless.

Am I an ostrich? Am I putting my head in the sand? Or am I becoming awake to a mindless thing that is damaging?

In the Western, overly-connected, over stimulated, over saturated world we suffer from depression and anxiety at unmanageable levels. I propose that part of the cause is that we watch too much TV, and most of it is bad. I propose that part of that is that we are inundated with bad news.

We are wearing ourselves out. We are being worn away, drip by drip, by the endless Chinese water torture that is the “news”.

It isn’t willpower. It is work.

Posted on June 19, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

People think it is easy for me to stick with my plan to stay healthy.
They are wrong. It is very hard.

I’d love to eat all the chocolate and cupcakes I want. But I know how much they cost. Every calorie has to be accounted for somehow. I know what happens when I allow myself a snack or a break from exercise. I don’t want to get back on track. I lose my momentum.

I’d love to have the time back for reading. Instead I go to the Y. This is a sacrifice. The gym isn’t on the way to anywhere I want to go. Getting there, getting changed, being in the pool – that is about 2 hours. I go about three times a week. I have a theory now that for every hour you work out, you get two more hours of life. So, really, I’m earning more time to read later.

I fall off the path all the time. And I pay for it. I feel bad. I get cranky. My head doesn’t work right. And I want to fall back into the old ways even more. I want to “fix” my problems with food. I want to skip going to the Y. I have celebrated weight loss with treats. I’ll get to my goal weight and allow myself to eat a bag of chips or some cake. Then I am over my goal by 5 pounds. Then I have to return to the path. I’ll go on vacation and skip all my rules and gain 10 pounds in a week. It takes me two months to lose it again.

It isn’t right that we are wired backwards. The stuff that we are programmed to like is bad for us. We get a perverse sense of glee when we “cheat” on our diet or exercise.

I’ve finally realized the hard way that I can’t buy health. I have to create it. Modern western medicine and cosmetics will try to tell you otherwise but they are lying. Putting a new coat of paint on an old car is cheating. The car still runs the same. Getting liposuction to remove fat does nothing for your heart and your muscles. You may look fit, but it is a facade.

I came up with my own work arounds. Nobody helped me figure out how to afford the Y, from the consideration of time and money. Nobody figured out how to wedge in more walking by changing how I do things at work. Nobody figured out how to adjust my lunch schedule so I could walk and write. Nobody helped me quit smoking. I figured out a lot of tricks that worked. I’ve written about some of them in this blog.

When I suggest such changes to others who say they want to get healthy, they come up with excuses for why they can’t. I’ve given up. I don’t know what to say to them anymore. I’ve tried to point out different ways to get healthy, and to lead by example. They get mad.

It is like coming across someone in a hole and she says she wants to get out, and I see a handhold that she has missed. I say – grab it! And she says, I can’t, my arms are too short. I say, step on that rock so you can reach it, and she says I can’t, my shoes are too slippery.

It is so frustrating. I’ve been in that hole. I know how hard it is. And I know how much better it is to be out of it. I can’t pull them out. They have to do the work.

Perhaps part of it is you have to want it badly enough that you have to get there on your own.

Then I’m reminded of these words from Buddha – “No one saves us but ourselves…We ourselves must walk the path”

Some people say that they don’t have the willpower I do. Is it really willpower? Or “won’t” power. I decided what I’m NOT going to do. There is a lot of stuff that I’d used to define myself that I just don’t do anymore. Laying on the couch reading for hours every evening was part of how I defined myself. But the result was that I was getting well-read, but also well-rounded.

I used to define myself by what I ate. I think there is something better about not allowing my animal nature to take over. Every time I eat on impulse, I’m not being conscious. By being intentional about what I eat, I’m raising my consciousness. It isn’t about denying myself – it is about being awake to what I really want. I’m denying the inner 5 year old that wants what it wants right now. I’m nurturing my real self that wants to be nourished with real nutrients. I celebrate a plate full of colorful vegetables.

I’ve decided recently I’m not going to eat beef or chicken anymore. I can’t quite switch to being vegetarian totally. It is a process. So I’m eating more vegetables. And I’m allowing fish (especially salmon) and turkey, partly because those are both recommended for other health conditions I have as a perimenopausal woman. Ultimately, I’d like to eat only fresh vegetables, but that is going to take a lot of work to get there. It is a goal. I’m on a path. I don’t plan on getting from A to B in one jump.

I’m trying to be patient with this process. I’m redefining myself.

I’ve finally realized that eating well and exercising isn’t an option. I have to keep doing it. It isn’t like taking a course of antibiotics. Take one of these every 6 hours for 10 days and then you’ll be fine. Nope. Do this every day for the rest of your life.

Life is a chronic condition.

It can’t be treated like a passing thing. Do you want to live? Then take care of yourself. You can do anything you want – just do something. And everything counts. You don’t have to run a marathon first thing, or ever. Walk a mile every day for a month and you’ve already gone the distance for a marathon. Sometimes it is about adjusting your perspective more than anything.

I remember when I moved to Nashville I felt like I couldn’t go walking. I knew the area around my home in Chattanooga, and I felt safe to walk. There wasn’t much traffic, and there wasn’t much crime. I didn’t know the area I moved to, and I was too scared and overwhelmed to try. So I went from walking at least three miles a day to nothing. I was processing delayed grief from my parents. I was sad that I’d moved from my big house to a tiny apartment. I didn’t know where anything was. So I ate. A lot. In two years I went from 120 pounds to 180. I was smoking clove cigarettes and pot several times a day. This continued for a few years.

Not long after I got married I ended up being close to 200 pounds. I dealt with it by buying bigger clothes. I was in a group with very large people, so I was considered petite in comparison. I knew something was up when I realized that I could no longer find underwear that fit at Target. I also had to look in the “women’s” section at Walmart for clothes. I didn’t want to be stigmatized by having to shop in a different section. Plus, all those clothes looked like flimsy tents.

What turned it around?

I woke up in the middle of the night with my heart racing. I couldn’t slow it down by breathing evenly. I went to the ER. While there, I was talked down to by the doctor. What a jerk. He talked down to me and made fun of me for coming in, like I was wasting his time. Fortunately he finally saw my heart rate jump from 100 to 180 and he thought maybe there was something going on. Maybe I wasn’t making this up. I went to my regular doctor in the morning and he sent me to a cardiologist. Nothing was wrong, per se, but I am now on a beta blocker.

I decided that I got off pretty easy on this one, but what about the next time? Did I want to hear that I had cancer? What about heart problems? My parents had both died young, one from cancer and one from a heart attack.

Fear motivates me, a little. But I had to turn around what I do when I feel fear. Normally fear causes me to retreat. Normally fear causes me to seek comfort food. But that is what caused the problem in the first place. So I stopped smoking, and stopped drinking caffeine. No more Mountain Dew. I’d switched to drinking Sprite and fruit juice. Then something clicked and I realized there were a lot of calories in that, and I started drinking water. I lost 20 pounds in a few weeks this way. This was pretty encouraging.

Here’s another motivator. I don’t have children. I don’t have someone who can take care of me when I get older. So I have to do it now. I don’t want to get so out of shape that I need help from someone every time I need to go to the bathroom.

Pain was also a problem. I’d gotten to the point that my knees hurt when I walked up or down stairs. I was 40. I figured I was too young to feel this old, but if that was the way it was, then that was it. Fortunately my husband had been going to the Y for a while and knew I liked to swim. We went to the Y and there was a water aerobics class going on at the same time. I stayed in the back and just joined in. I didn’t know if I had to sign up or ask. I just did it. The teacher was enthusiastic and inspiring. The moves were fun. I was sore the next morning but I was happy. I’d found it. I’d found something that I enjoyed doing. I thought water aerobics was for little old ladies with arthritis. Now I tell everybody to take it.

It is hard to see people suffer. I want everybody to be well.

There is a Buddhist Metta Meditation that speaks to this.

May all beings be peaceful.
May all beings be happy.
May all beings be well.
May all beings be safe.
May all beings be free from suffering.

But they have to do it. I can’t wish them to be well and then they are magically well. I can’t drag them to the gym. I can’t make them eat healthy food. I can’t throw away their cigarettes.

I can pray that they wake up to the harm that they are doing to themselves. I hope that telling my story helps.

When I started going to water aerobics, it was only once a week. I’ve added in things slowly. When I started I thought I was going to die. It hurt. I was exhausted. The workouts were tough. So I’d slow down. I’d kind of do things half way. Then I got my breath back and started to feel better. I’d do a little more. I stayed through the first class and was proud of myself for going.

It isn’t fair that it hurts to exercise when you start. That makes you not want to keep up with it. But it gets easier. Now I feel a lot better. It doesn’t hurt, and I can see muscles in my legs and arms and belly that I’ve never noticed before. I’m in the best shape of my life.

I wish the same for you.