Home » 2013 (Page 42)

Yearly Archives: 2013

Snake handler 3 (Jonah and the tornado)

Posted on by | 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.
storm1
It was a very dense storm.
storm2

Dress (modesty as a safety issue)

Posted on by | 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 by | 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 by | 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 by | 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 by | 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.

Rain

Posted on by | Leave a comment

We have heard often that “it rains on the just and unjust alike.” It isn’t that bad things only happen to good people. Bad things just happen. Being good is no shield against pain and loss.

Nobody “deserves” for something bad to happen to them. People may make bad choices and they have to deal with the repercussions. That isn’t what I’m thinking of when I say “bad things” That is an expected event. It isn’t “unfortunate” when a man gets heart disease after a lifetime where his only exercise consisted of making yet another trip through the buffet line. “Unfortunate” has at its root “fortune.” There is nothing about luck going on here.

I’m thinking about when an accident occurs or a mistake. When you go in for a tonsillectomy and the surgeon cuts your foot off instead. Or when a tornado comes to town and reduces your just-paid-off house to toothpicks. That “something bad” is what I’m talking about here.

Yelling at God won’t help. Wondering if you are guilty of some unknown sin won’t help. You aren’t being punished. It just happened. Now what? What do you do with your one-foot-having, no-house-having self?

Accept it and move on. Deal with your new reality.

Don’t cheer about the “bad guy” when “bad things” happen to him either. That is gloating. It wasn’t polite or pretty when you were five and did it. It is even uglier now.

So what do you do?

Practice with the idea of loss and disappointment just being a part of life. You can’t always get what you want, and sometimes that is a real blessing. Sometimes what we want isn’t very good for us.

Some parents will get their child a hamster as a gentle way to warm them up to the reality of death. Hamsters don’t live very long. So the child has the hamster as a way to brace themselves against the time when Grandpa is going to die.

Learn acceptance of what is, and forget about what was, and what might be coming. The past is gone, and the future is always changing. All you have is right now. Fighting against it only makes it harder.

Remember the Serenity Prayer by Reinhold Niebuhr?

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

It isn’t just for people in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction. It is for everybody. We are all addicts. We are all recovering. We are all returning to our roots, to our source.

We had it all figured out when we were babies. Then things got harder, and we got given a lot of rules and ways of thinking that weighed us down.

It isn’t easy to do this, this recovery. I think there is something in first acknowledging that we are broken. I think there is some healing in that.

I think there is some healing in knowing that the “bad stuff” isn’t personal. That it just happens.

You still get wet when it rains, but you don’t have to feel guilty about it.

Well, unless you are constantly forgetting your umbrella or hat, then that is all on you.

The story of Samuel

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I love the story of Samuel in the Old Testament. There is so much in it that I find really meaningful that I’d like to share it with you. All verses are from the New Revised Standard Version.

The story starts with Samuel’s mother, Hannah. Hannah is a woman who is unable to conceive a child, and her husband’s other wife has many children and constantly berates her for her lack of children. Hannah is deeply upset and goes to the temple to pray for a child.

I Samuel 1:9-16
“9 After they had eaten and drunk at Shiloh, Hannah rose and presented herself before the LORD. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the LORD. 10 She was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD, and wept bitterly. 11 She made this vow:”O LORD of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants, and no razor shall touch his head.” 12 As she continued praying before the LORD, Eli observed her mouth. 13Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore Eli thought she was drunk. 14 So Eli said to her, “How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine.” 15But Hannah answered, “No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the LORD. 16 Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.”

The priest doesn’t even know what a praying person looks like. This is really amazing to me. A priest should be acquainted with the idea of a praying people. He should know the difference between holy and crazy.

Here’s another interesting part. She is upset and pouring out her heart to the Lord. She is making a vow that if she is able to have a child, she will give him up to God. She is asking God for something that she is then going to give back to God. This is amazing. She isn’t asking for something for herself. She wants a child, but then she isn’t going to keep him.

When he was weaned, she took him back to the Temple and put him in the service of God. He was a child. She didn’t have him for very long. She kept him just long enough to wean him so that he didn’t need her any more. She honored her promise. How many of us make promises to God in a time of distress and then we go back on them or forget them when everything is fine? I know I do.

Samuel first heard the voice of God in the middle of the night.

1 Samuel 3:1-9
“Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the LORD under Eli. The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. 2 At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; 3 the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the LORD, where the ark of God was. 4 Then the LORD called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” 5 and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. 6 The LORD called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” 7 Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, and the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him. 8 The LORD called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the LORD was calling the boy. 9 Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.”

Eli, the priest, hadn’t ever heard the voice of God.

Here is a person set aside to serve the Lord and he hasn’t heard from the Lord. Ever. He is following the rules and regulations. He is following along with tradition. But he has no real connection with God. He is doing the way they’ve always done it because they’ve always done it that way. But he’s never heard from God. He is just following along in the book.

He also is squandering the offering. He had been using the offerings for himself and for his children.

So just because someone is ordained, it doesn’t mean that they are holy. Sometimes it is just a job to them.

Be careful of who you trust. Be careful of who you follow.

The Lord told Samuel that Eli was about to get punished, along with his children, because of their iniquity.

1 Samuel 3:10-18
10 Now the LORD came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” 11 Then the LORD said to Samuel, “See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. 12 On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. 13 For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God,[b] and he did not restrain them. 14 Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.”
15 Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the LORD. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. 16 But Eli called Samuel and said, “Samuel, my son.” He said, “Here I am.” 17 Eli said, “What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.” 18 So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him.”

I’m actually amazed that Eli listened to Samuel, that he believed that the Lord was speaking to him. But then that amazement is cancelled out with the last line “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him.”

As if it is some random thing the Lord is about to do to him. As if he doesn’t deserve what is about to happen to him. The Lord doesn’t strike down Eli and his sons on a whim. They intentionally didn’t do what was right. They got what was coming to them. It wasn’t random.

There is a lot that goes on in this little story, and I’m sure there is a lot more that I’m missing. Samuel grows up to be a great prophet and leader, and Samuel is the person who is lead by the Lord to find and anoint David as king.

I miss my Dad.

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I miss my Dad.

He’s been dead since 1994. He died of a heart attack while living in his old room at his Mom’s house. He and my Mom were separated. They couldn’t see eye to eye.

There hadn’t been a lot of real communication all along anyway.

In a way I could say he was never really alive.

He was abused by his parents. He was never good enough for them. They treated him like a stupid child. He was sullen as a father, and greedy as a person. I was embarrassed to bring boyfriends home.

But I miss him.

Do I miss what could have been? Do I miss the Dad of my imagination? Would I feel an opposite amount of joy for my sadness if he were still alive today?

I can’t know.

I know that when I saw a picture of him today, laughing, joyful, I was struck with sadness. I am sad for what never was. I am sad for a life not lived fully. I am sad that I never saw him live up to his potential. I am sad that he was crushed by life, by other’s demands on him. I’m sad that he didn’t live at a time where mental health professionals had better tools in their kits.

He taught college English anywhere and any place he could. He did distance learning before anybody had a word for it. He would teach people the joys of writing and reading fine authors in the evening in high schools, in the afternoon in prisons, wherever a class could be formed. Teaching was his life.

It has been nearly twenty years since he has died. I think he would be very proud of the person I’ve become.

I know that he loved me more than he had words to tell me.

I know that he tried his best.

I don’t know if I’m crying more for me, or for him.

“The Natural Look”

Posted on by | Leave a comment

There is something very radical about hair and makeup.

If you go natural, people look at you funny.

I celebrate black women who don’t straighten their hair. I celebrate white women who let their hair go grey. I actually cheer them on. I want to counteract society telling them that they aren’t quite good enough unless they conform to the norm.

Why are we told that we aren’t beautiful unless we change ourselves? We are asked to lay ourselves down at the altar of Avon. We are asked to grind ourselves up in the crucible of Clairol.

What is the motto of L’Oreal? “Because we’re worth it”.

Something sounds very backwards about that, now that I think about it.

Like we don’t deserve respect for looking exactly the way that God made us.

You want that natural look? Go natural. Get some natural sunlight and drink some natural water and eat some natural food. You’ll look great.

When you have to buy your “natural look” in a bottle from Walgreen`s, then you know something is wrong.

Our society is telling women that they aren’t beautiful unless they alter themselves.

Shave your legs and armpits. This is reducing our appearance to that of a prepubescent girl. This is really creepy. We are telling women to stop looking like adult women.

High heels are the modern equivalent of foot binding. Uncomfortable shoes cause damage to women’s feet that can only be fixed surgically.

It takes a lot of energy to escape the gravity of this cultural training. It takes a high level of self-esteem to achieve escape velocity.

Look at all the women getting plastic surgery to “fix” something that isn’t broken.

Do you want to have a radiant smile? Take the money you were going to spend on that plastic surgery and give it to a charity.

Mother Theresa was far more beautiful than Paris Hilton will ever be.

Our society tells women constantly that they aren’t good enough. Too fat. Too thin. Hair too stringy. Hair too dark. Skin too pale – get a tan. Skin too dark – bleach it.

No matter what we look like, it isn’t good enough. We have to learn to see through this deception.

We are never “just right”, according to the media and the marketers. We need to remember that the media and the marketers make money on feeding us poison.

Our goal needs to not be beauty but health. I exercise and eat well not to be thinner but to be stronger.

I go to the Y out of a sense of rebellion. I eat vegetables as a political statement. I skip deserts and fried foods to show that I can.

I don’t want to be ruled by autopilot.

Each act is a stone I’m adding to my wall that I’m building to shore myself up against this wave of collective insanity that we call modern society.

My goal is to become fully awake, and to inspire others to do the same.

My goal is to let you know you are beautiful, and you are loved. That you matter. That you are important.