Kindness for myself

I've been feeling particularly impatient with myself this last couple months, wishing I could simply power through my struggles and get over it- over the pain, over the weight, over the fear, over the medical expenses, over the infections.
Then, I read this website which deeply moved me and I realized that many people who have been abused like I have never heal. At all. But I have. I am not remedial; I am miraculous. And this has given rise to deepening kindness for myself and deepening gratitude for those who've made it possible.
I am anticipating writing about my journey and my faithful companions in my 40th Birthday Art Show blog soon. I never tire of recounting this goodness.

Getting what I wanted for Christmas

Last Sunday at church the choir was singing Every Valley Shall Be Exalted from Handel's Messiah and I was wishing I could hear the Halleluia Chorus which wasn't in the program. I started wondering if I'd have some time to go in the next week and hear it before Christmas and concluded that I wouldn't. Bummer. But then, at the end of the sermon, they played this. I stood with tears streaming down my face.

Listened to it again today and I was so moved by how happy I am and how much I'm enjoying my life. My theme for 2010 which seemed ridiculous this time last year was "Living deeply into my own life and my own body is pleasure." Yet, here I am living with so much pleasure that when I heard this song again today, I threw my hands up in the air with tears streaming down my face from the sheer unexpected happiness.

Yesterday in Uptown

It was snowing and I was driving slower than the woman walking two Afghan hounds was walking. So I had plenty of time to check out the bumper sticker and of course now I can't find a visual on the internet when I search. The bumper sticker said,

I support some-sex marriages

This sets me to grinning every time I think about it.
Tim and I listened to an excellent series of lectures on male sexuality which led to interesting discussions and have informed my thinking. Having always been pro-sex in marriage myself, I am now a staunch supporter.
Hey, Tim, could you provide a link to those lectures for me in comments?

My quilt

This week, I mailed my quilt off to Missouri to be finished. It was like sending my child off for kindergarten or something. I packed it, taped the old cardboard box with duct tape, and hit the post office. I expect it back in January 2011 in time to be in my art show.
After a decade and everything and everything, I can't believe the next time I see it, it will be done.
Wow.

A few good things

Read my sister's blog and got inspired. Here are a few goodies I've been enjoying.

Women, Food, and God- great book. Very thought provoking.

Grace and Peace- Have appreciated this song for years but couldn't find it again and then a friend sent me the info today. Enjoy.

Conspiracy- A movie which I have a hard time finding the right adjective for. It's a 2 hour long meeting of Nazis deciding how to solve The Jewish Problem- based on actual minutes of real meeting. Very thought provoking and eerily reminiscent in style to business meetings I've sat in.

Finally, my new fall recipe of the month: Pumpkin Butter.

Set oven to 350. Cut pumpkins or squash in half.
Bake pumpkins or squash cut side down until fork pierces easily.
Discard seeds.
Scoop flesh into pot on low heat. Let simmer gently on low heat, stirring frequently.
Add a little maple syrup to taste.
Add a little alcohol if you've got it- either a teaspoon or two of vanilla or a little white wine.*
Add pumpkin pie spices to taste (cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, ginger, allspice)
Add a teaspoon or two of butter.*
Salt lightly to taste.
Simmer and stir until it is the consistency of apple butter, adding a little water if needed.

Use it over angel food cake or in oatmeal or with vanilla yogurt or mix in granola or put it on toast or muffins- pretty much use your imagination. It is fantastic- warm and fragrant and satisfying.

** Both fats and alcohol carry flavor so adding a little will really ramp up the flavor.

Have a good day and enjoy!

Yes, yes, yes!

This is what I found myself saying over and over today as I ate my Wedge Thanksgiving meal all by myself.

The green beans were sweet and the sweet potatoes tangy. The potatoes and gravy were exciting and the turkey was good. The roll didn't make me mmmmmm so I tossed it. And then dessert, my new favorite fall creation- pumpkin angel food cake with pumpkin butter (think apple butter but orange with pumpkin pie spices and maple syrup) and the really, really good vanilla yogurt in the glass jar. Yes, yes, yes! I went back for seconds on the cake, realized I was full, and set it aside for later. Seconds for later is something to smile about.

I like my life. I ate alone, enjoying every bite. I was content with my own company and in fact, I have been looking forward to this afternoon home alone for months. I've pondered various things I wanted to do- Dance Dance Veggie, decorate the house while listening to Christmas carols, art, cook, clean- but now that I'm here, I realize I really like my life and that I'm happy with my own company and that I don't need something special. I just need to be here.

As I sat alone, eating food that satisfies with no guilt, I realized that I felt safe. I have felt the need to be vigilant forever- always watching for the food that will give me a headache, always anticipating the cutting words, always braced for the thrust to my heart, always trying to extract the good from toxic situations. But not today.

Growing up, delicious food was by definition unhealthy food and healthy food was of course nasty. So we treated ourselves to delicious, unsafe foods at the holidays to celebrate. As I ate today, I realized that the tastiest things on the plate were shining vegetables and fruits. Healthy food is also yummy food. This seems so simple when I write that sentence and yet, I see how this belief that I would never be satisfied with safety and goodness has led me to decades of craziness and being at war with myself. What I need will never satisfy but what I want isn't safe, etc.

I also surprised myself on Monday when I said out loud at my Weight Watchers meeting that eating with unhappy, unsafe people doesn't lead to satisfaction. All these years I've believed that the unhappy people I love were the special treats for holidays and sat around the table with people who have been casually and routinely mean to me, like this was so satisfying. No wonder I overeat! How could I ever be satisfied believing that my safety is optional and all the best things are happening among people who hurt me? Geez.

So this year, I've chosen to be safe and healthy and satisfied and happy and alone- all at once. The view from here is mighty fine, good people. Mighty fine.

I am struck by how much my life has changed for the better this last year, in large part to all of you and the joy and acceptance and extraordinary conversations and incredible stories of well-lived lives and deep fondness you bring to my life and help me to embrace in my own.

I find myself standing in a spacious place I don't recognize but which seems strangely familiar. No, not familiar so much as right- right like a good fit, like the right pair of jeans or the right wine.

Today, I have found my space, my life, and it's just right.

Updates

I was just looking at old entries and wanted to update briefly. My tooth extraction hole is doing very, very well and my ankle is much improved. I'm completely off pain and anti-inflammation medication except for a homemade turmeric paste I put on after I do yoga gently at night. I've gone to 2 sessions of EMDR which is a post-traumatic stress disorder treatment. I've bought a few new clothes to tide me over and I'm losing weight once again without forcing. I've been taking time to reflect on everything rather than talk much about it. I'll have some more to say in the fullness of time.

I miss all of you and look forward to reconnecting soon.

Underway

Tonight I went to my acupuncturist's house and he photographed my art. So begins my 40th birthday art show. Friday I'm going to Sewtropolis to work on completing my quilt- part I'm hiring done and part I'll do myself. I've got timely money to finance it from my tutoring which I find serendipitous since I've been trying to earn some bucks on various schemes for years to no avail, until now. It seems right somehow that I would finance the completion of my collected works myself, from my own passion.
I'm looking forward to reflecting and writing this winter. I long for closure.
40 is looking really, really good.

45#

As of Monday, I've lost 45 pounds! I'm tickled. In the way of life, the first 42 pounds took 5 months and the last 3 pounds took 2 months. To celebrate I'm going to buy some new pants. I've been folding over the waistband of my old size 28/30's and my pants have been sagging with a little too much authenticity for a white woman even in the 'hood. I'm not sure what size I wear anymore so I'll order several.

About sweaters- is it true you can shrink them substantially in the dryer? Well, in the spirit of MythBusters, I'm going to try. For years, I've been so careful not to but now I'm going to throw the heat to high and see. I'm looking in my closet and my options are diminishing.

Any suggestions for how to buy clothes that are actually going to work for a while? I don't want to spend a lot on a disposable wardrobe which might not fit next year or next season, even. I'd appreciate any practical feedback.

Three pounds to go for 15% lost.

My poem today

If there is a Paradise on the face of the earth,

It is this,

it is this,
it is this

Poem inscribed on the arch over the Peacock Throne
by Shah Jahan, Moghul Emperor

Gratitude

Out of a sense of duty, I went last week to the monthly neighborhood meeting. "If I want to live in a healthy democracy, I've got to do my part,"- that kind of thing.

A neighbor gets up and announces that she and the Lyndale Walkers are leading a Thank You Walk in 10 days. [The Lyndale Walkers are a group of neighbors who volunteer to walk around the neighborhood wearing neon green hats, carrying cell phones, greeting people, keeping an eye out, and calling for help as needed. Back in the bad old days before we lived here, these people took back the streets from the drug dealers and johns by simply walking, greeting, and calling 911. Incredible.] If people write thank you cards to people in the neighborhood, and turn them in to the neighborhood association, she'll collect them and on Sunday, she and the Walkers will hand deliver all the letters with a sticker saying, "Hand delivered by the Lyndale Walkers." Anyone who walks is invited to her house for chili afterwards. Amazing.

Well, in one of those serendipitous moments I've come to recognize, I had just bought 3 packs of Christmas-themed thank you cards to have my kids give to people in the neighborhood who care for us. Is this cool or what? And it just so happens (wink, wink) that the person sitting next to me at the meeting is Phil from Youth Farm. So I lean over and volunteer to bring cards, markers, and help help write thank you's with the kids on Monday. By the time Monday rolls around, I've sprained my ankle and can't go, but I do send the cards and markers with Anjali who brings home the leftovers.

Yesterday, I woke up early, so full of gratitude and well-being, I couldn't sleep. I got up and from 6:30-9:30 a.m. I wrote thank you cards to people within walking distance who are great neighbors. I wrote 20 and my heart sang all day.


Hosmer Library- good books, neighborhood concerts, free homework help, and introduced me to Museum Adventure Passes
Post Office- smiles and good service even on crazy days, plus they greet everyone in their native languages
Present Moment Herbs- best collection of natural healing supplies in the state, maybe the Midwest
CAUSE Restaurant- participates in neighborhood events, donates food, pays for advertising in neighborhood newspaper, Anjali and I attended fun After Bedtime Party hosted there
Redeemer Residence- nursing home where my Gramma and Grampa White lived, have community cafe and Gramma's House Childcare, attend meetings and recently picked up a block on Garbage Out of Lyndale Day
Pilgrim Church and School- walk our block passing out monthly newsletter and offer scholarships to kids from 2 families on our block alone to attend their private school
Harriet Tubman Women's Shelter- care for battered women and kids, have 15-ft barbed wire fence around their backyard and playground, immediately across the street from police station, their lawn sculpture about freedom and healing inspires my own journey out of childhood violence
Butter Restaurant- provides food, sponsors fundraisers, buys ads in neighborhood newspaper
Painter Park- so many great memories at playground, neighborhood meetings, and now Mark's preschool
Solid Waste and Recycling- not only do they keep our neighborhood clean and safe, they've also befriended my kids, letting push the buttons to raise and dump our garbage bins
YMCA- celebrating 50 years in our neighborhood this fall, taught Anjali to swim, play with Mark, offer scholarships to my neighbor kids, safe place after school, and I've prayed many laps there, It was my sacred space through many years
Youth Farm- so good for so long for so many, hard work, cooking, healthy food, conflict resolution
Lyndale School- cares of kids and families, voting and neighborhood parties there, staff comes to neighborhood events
Crema Cafe- fantastic neighborhood involvement forever, beautiful gardens, gathering place for neighbors, and home of Sony's Ice Cream and Sorbet- yum
Inner City Tennis- fantastic free programs, super values and character assets, tons of caring volunteers
Zion Church- free community meal every week, emergency housing, addiction recovery program, houses Youth Farm offices
Sonny Carlson, my block leader- upbeat, knows everyone
Fire Station- come to every accident, helped my neighbor when she couldn't breathe
5th Precinct Police Department- come to every call, especially when I found the door open after Tim left for work and thought I'd heard footsteps, called 911, and a team of 4 swept the house, found no monsters, and left without waking the kids
Lyndale Neighborhood Association- these are the people who've connected me with almost every other group on the list and who are not only great neighbors, but have made me a better neighbor, too

And that's just my gratitude within walking distance.

Sunday night I asked God again for justice- not justice upon people but justice for me. Make right and whole everything that went wrong and broken.

Something inside me is breaking open- something spacious and deep and powerful and beautiful and unstoppable. I thought that my pain would spoil all this for me forever and that nothing was more powerful or inevitable than suffering; evil was the truest thing. But I was wrong. There is a goodness, a beauty so profound it breathes the universe into life. I've called it Beauty. I've called it Love. Joy. Satisfaction. Majesty. Holiness. Freedom. Today I call it Justice.

It is breathing me into life and apparently, inevitably, inexorably into Gratitude.

Justice and Gratitude are singing the universe into being today. For me.

It's finished

Tooth's out and the swelling and pain are so much better. Dr Z, my dentist was so kind and conscientious and re-did my anesthesia every 15 minutes marveling, but without complaint. Ginger, my chiropractor, brought me down out of red alert this afternoon and I am looking forward to a very long, very deep sleep.
Thank you good people for everything.
Good night.

Good bye #14 with gratitude

Today my infected tooth, Faithful #14, is coming out. I've slept about 2 hours, my tooth is twinging ominously, and I've got 30 minutes until I can take my antibiotic and 90 until my next pain meds. It's 2 1/2 hours until my appointment and of course, in the way of life, today is Mark's first day of preschool so Tim and I have had to choreograph our moves today like synchronized swimmers or maybe those Air Force stunt planes. My ankle is a spectacular blueish purple which Anjali has proclaimed looks just like tie-dye.

On the other hand I am deeply grateful.

After a scare last night when my tooth really started hurting, my mom came and kept vigil with me from 11:00 last night until 6:30 this morning. I am deeply grateful for her presence. She was my calm and competent superhero.

Anjali stayed up with me, watching MythBuster Ninja and getting me to laugh until my mom arrived and then insisted she sleep on the couch next to where I was reclining. When I suggested her bed, she replied, "But Mom, how am I ever going to know how to be a good mom when I grow up if I don't watch Gramma?" Couch it was. I am so grateful for her kind and compassionate presence.

I am grateful that my tooth started flaring while I was awake with time to prepare and not while I was asleep.

I am also grateful that the pain didn't overwhelm me and has actually been minimal compared to what I was expecting.

I am grateful that the swelling in my ankle has gone way down as collateral healing from all the Advil I'm taking. I would never have bought or taken any for just the ankle.

I am grateful for all those anonymous, determined scientists who bring me antibiotics and Advil without ever knowing me or how they've helped me personally.

I am grateful for my dentist who is very meticulous and conscientious and kind.

I am grateful for my chiropractor, Ginger, who set aside time this afternoon to help me just hours after surgery. She told me that people can die from infections like this and so

I am grateful to be living here with enough resources to get the help I need to heal instead.

I have vowed to myself that I will be faithful in getting help for myself for the motherload of terror I tapped last night. And the good news is that after years of trying and failing and trying again, I actually have resources- truly helpful people- who will help with vigil and laughter and tooth and ankle and terror. I am grateful that I am no longer adrift without any comfort or help like I once was. And I am proud of myself for finding and assembling a team of people who really help me heal.

It's time for those antibiotics. Thanks for caring.

Tooth's coming out

Tooth's coming out Monday at 10:00 a.m. Antibiotics are holding but not curing. I'll be finishing it and I'm so grateful.

Again

This morning I woke up and it's definite- my infected tooth is still infected and is growing rapidly worse. I'm on antibiotics for the second time in a month, the very ones I asked for last week and was refused. This is the last ditch attempt to save my tooth; the next step is removing my tooth altogether. This is the same tooth that I had root canaled 11 years ago, took antibiotics for 2 years ago, had another flare up in August, then another in September with another round of antibiotics, then a second root canal last Monday, and now today. Again.
I'm giving this a less than 10% chance of working on a bone-deep infection after 11 years. But hey, $5 and two weeks to spare myself surgery and save my tooth- I'm willing to try. But only just. I really, really need to finish this.
My painful headache is back with a vengeance, my post-nasal drip has returned, my face is flushed- and I lived like this for years not knowing it was my tooth. I feel like a schmo for letting it go on for 11 years and for somehow letting it come to this. Now that I do know, I simply want closure.
I don't always know what the problem is and I don't always know what to do or have the resources to do it. I used to expend a lot of energy wishing for perfect knowledge and perfect solutions. However, I'm realizing that I can't always promise to know nor can I always promise to fix it but I can promise to do my best for myself.
Good people, after 11 years, I do know the problem, I have a solution (albeit an unpleasant one), and I have promised myself that I will do everything in my power to finish it. I wish I had more to offer myself- infallibility or perfection or something. But what I do have to offer is my very best, every time. I'm making my peace with that and it's going to be enough.

My Broken Road

Last night I dreamed that I was back teaching Adult Basic Ed at Northside, subbing actually. I met with a new boss, a 20-something man, and he thought I intended to take on a regular position. I explained that I was only committing through the end of November and he started in on the "what's good for the learners; be a team-player" speech. I told him, "I have rediscovered my passion for tutoring. I remember how much I have always enjoyed one-on-one teaching but got away from that to teach in the classroom. And now I realize that I really want to tutor." I also urged him to find a better fit and he smiled in understanding.

I was so clear and so articulate and so very sure in that dream. It was a re-do, as if I had actually been there having a real conversation and I woke up with such singing clarity. It felt like I had laid something hard and heavy to rest. Had cast off something ill fitting while I slept.

Tutoring was my first teaching job 27 years ago when I started the after school tutoring program in my junior high and I had forgotten how much I like it's variety and satisfactions. And despite the cancellations and getting stood up and having to drop a student, I am really enjoying myself. Happiest I've felt working in years. A simple, easy satisfaction in contrast to the complicated, hard-won victories of other jobs. My enjoyment remains and yet I've changed for the better.


I've had this feeling in a slightly different flavor about church lately- like I have digested all my bitterness and anger and disappointment while I was processing other things. It's like collateral healing; I forgave many people and communities, I learned to live my own life, and I walked on. And somehow, without intending to, walked back into the church of my childhood a completely different person. I finally really see them now. I can list their weaknesses- expressing emotions and space for healing and deep relationships- and their strengths- service and giving and devotion and goodness. And I can do it without frustration or malice or heavy expectations of any kind.

At a service project on Saturday, I ran into some people I knew 20+ years ago, the Obergs. They recognized me and were pointing to me just as I glanced at them in line and recognized their faces. I later introduced myself to Mrs. Oberg and she remembered me. I think I taught he son in Sunday School like 25 years ago and now my daughter is with me on a service project. It was like Circle of Life stuff, you know? And I was struck by how deeply satisfying it is to see them and to be recognized and to introduce my daughter and also by how few expectations I have for them or for anyone at church anymore except a general goodness and kindness to my kids. Somehow that's enough.

After all the failures and disappointments and heartbreaks and griefs, I have an opportunity for a re-do. They are still the same good-hearted, well-intentioned people who broke my heart. I'm the one who changed and was changed. Awake and asleep, incidentally and on purpose, I am a different person.

I remember my Gramma White's funeral at Wooddale Church 7 years ago. I remember how angry and disillusioned and vulnerable I felt being at the childhood church which had so disappointed me. I remember looking around and feeling fondness for Desi the organist and Nancy Jo a parent of youth group friends. I had not found my way home yet and I remember the tension between my feelings of fondness and abandonment. I sat in that pew and realized that my Gramma gave me a gift in her death, a gift of reconnecting with these people. I had absolutely no idea then, nor at any time along the road, that I would ever feel at home there again. Or I would ever feel at home again, period.

And yet, after everything and everything, here I am. Back home. The same and different. And so, so much better and happier than I had ever hoped to be again.

Here is my theme song in this collateral healing: Broken Road.

Failure

Ah, it's fall and hearts turn to thoughts of ... failure, at least mine does anyway.

First, a quote from Stones into Schools about the author's failure to build the school his beloved friend had requested 10 years previously. Now half a world away, his friend was on his death bed, unreachable.
"It was important that I try, but it was even more important that I fail."
Out of his failure, came an opportunity for the people in the community who rallied and hauled the materials in by yak caravan and built the school themselves. Their success was only possible because he did try and because he did fail. Out of his failure was birthed this impoverished, war-smothered community's heartsong, a school for their future, built with their own hands.

I've also been thinking a lot about Gen. Robert E Lee, leader of the Confederate Army in the Civil War. Tim put me onto his story, that of an honorable man who fights a war and loses with such virtue that he has adversaries but no enemies. Here's a quote from a Southern leader about him after he lost the war.

He was a foe without hate; a friend without treachery; a soldier without cruelty; a victor without oppression, and a victim without murmuring. He was a public officer without vices; a private citizen without wrong; a neighbour without reproach; a Christian without hypocrisy, and a man without guile. He was a Caesar, without his ambition; Frederick, without his tyranny; Napoleon, without his selfishness, and Washington, without his reward.


And this is the guy who lost?!? When I fail, I assume it must be about me- that if I had been more clever or more devoted or more talented or worked harder, then I would have succeeded. And yet, not even the people whose side he lead to defeat reproached him. What's that about? I'm going to put some movies and documentaries about him in my Netflix queue and ponder this guy and his failure which was so public that we're all still talking about it 150 years later. And yet, his integrity and character and kindness are legendary to the very people he failed.

I've wondered why God has allowed me to fail very humiliatingly. I feel set up. I believed, tried my best, worked hard, worked harder, held on, and in the end failed. Jobs, communities, friends, dreams, businesses, family, hopes- all failed. Why did I need to care so much only to lose so much? Why give me such ability to try with and then not succeed? My confidences were broken and my embarrassment spread around. Couldn't I have just passed these jobs and communities and dreams by? Couldn't I have put in a little, realized it wasn't going to work out, and moved on? Just skipped to the end. They aren't going to work out anyway, so why expend myself? Why try and fail so spectacularly?

Well, I'm still asking this. The best I've got so far is these two.
1. I desperately needed what only failing could give me.
2. This failure was entrusted to me.

It has occurred to me that rather than Robert Lee being wasted as a losing general, maybe being a losing general was granted to him. Maybe failing was the sacred task entrusted to just the right person at just the right time.

Perhaps I will become glorious in my failures, too. And perhaps these failures will be completed in me. Or maybe fulfilled by me.

That's it. That's the very best I've gotten after decades of study in failure and especially an intensive last 20 years. I pass it on to you with my best wishes. Do let me know how it sits in your soul. That'll help me in the upcoming decades.

Here's a poem for the road.

Prayer Attributed to a Civil War Soldier

A prayer by an American Confederate soldier seriously disabled in the Civil War is a beautiful example of the depths of discovery of the gifts of suffering that a wound can bring:

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve, I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey. I asked for health, that I might do great things, I was given infirmity, that I might do better things. I asked for riches, that I might be happy, I was given poverty, that I might be wise. I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men, I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God. I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life, I was given life, that I might enjoy all things. I got nothing that I asked for-but everything I had hoped for. Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered. I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

Macaroons

The sensation of Saturday was macaroons from Sweets. Turtle, Salted Caramel, Rose with White Chocolate Ganache, and Vanilla Bean Chunk with Chocolate. Yum. Ephemeral- only sold the day they're made, laid in a box, and plastic wrapped to guard against drying out- how could this much care not be a sensation?
As we took our first bites, it was pure pleasure!

Incapable of the things of intimacy

Megan said something the other day which has stuck with me. Don't have time for a long blog right now but wanted to put the idea out for consideration and further discussion. We were talking about families and holidays and the differences among love and trust and intimacy. We were talking about family members we love but can't ever seem to be close to. It's like they beckon us closer and then stop our advance at a 100 yards out.

She said, "Some people are incapable of doing the things which would help me feel close to them."

Wow, ladies and gentleman, that is a quote to ponder.

My new kindred spirit

Today I heard the story of Eleazar, one of King David's Mighty Men listed in 2 Samuel 23. Not exactly a scintillating text. And yet, I found myself sitting in the pew with tears running down my face at his story.

⁹ Next to him was Eleazar son of Dodai the Ahohite. As one of the three mighty men, he was with David when they taunted the Philistines gathered at Pas Dammim for battle. Then the men of Israel retreated, ¹⁰ but he stood his ground and struck down the Philistines till his hand grew tired and froze to the sword. The LORD brought about a great victory that day. The troops returned to Eleazar, but only to strip the dead.

I have been here. Bravery, arrogance, and tough talk with the winning team. The battle turns and I am abandoned at the critical moment. Everyone who talked victory with me runs and I am left facing a ruthless, unrelenting enemy alone. For far, far too long. I fight so long that my body, my life freeze around my weapons and I am a warrior whose war ends and I don't know how to stop fighting. And my comrade-betrayers come back to help themselves to the treasure I have won with my life's blood. And still, after everything and everything, my victory is great and God has brought it. I didn't expect to survive and here I am victorious.

My soul swells to hear this man named a Mighty Man. This man makes the list. Those who ran are mentioned only to heap honor on the one who stood. His name means "My God, saving help in desperate times."

Eleazar is my new found kindred spirit and I wish to be counted among the Mighty. My fight has been desperately long and nearly unsung and chiefly acknowledged by others for the treasures it's unearthed which they want.

When it comes time for my trophy, I want to be awarded The Mighty Eleazar.

Learning to let them go

I was talking with my sister today and we got to talking about how our lives have changed. We used to hear a good idea, get excited, and pursue it. Now we're in a season in which there are so many more variables and we hear a good idea, ask questions, most often let it go, and occasionally pursue it if it's a great fit.

I've been trying to recruit students to tutor and everything seemed possible or interesting. Biology of speech in Wayzata- interesting. TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) tutoring at the U of M- possible. Spanish and study skills for special needs kid in St Paul- interesting and just barely possible if all the planets align. Checking Wyzant and Craig's List for new posting and emails was getting addictive. Like the lottery, maybe this time I'd win big. Embarrassing to admit to myself that I had put in over 15 hours since early September and haven't made a dime.

Yesterday and today through a quiet walk and talking with Emily and Tim I realized I was trying too hard and that what I really want for my 4 hours per week and $20 per hour is to help some school kid get their homework done. That's it. And I want to do it one afternoon a week at the Southdale Library and one night a week at my house. That's it. No unpaid prep. No hassle. No interrupting Tim's work schedule or my yoga schedule or the kids' schedule.

All the rest might be possible and interesting, but not a good fit for me right now.

So I got up out of bed tonight, emailed 3 people I had initial meetings with this upcoming week who didn't fit me, and canceled with my best wishes for their success. I might lose another when he reads my revised parameters. Which leaves me with one high school girl at exactly the times, places, and hassle level I want. I edited my Craigs List posting to reflect my new parameters and maybe someone will find me. And then again, maybe not.

I'm feeling sad and a little disappointed at the loss of the possible and interesting which is why I blogged tonight. I am a persistent person and I find it hard to stop. I am a curious person and I find it hard to leave not knowing. Just because it can be done does not mean I choose to do it. But, boy oh boy, there is something seductive about trying to choose it all.

And yet, I'm feeling the frantic fade. I remember past lettings go. I say to myself, "Release is freedom" and oddly, I find that comforting rather than ridiculous like I used to.

My friends, keep telling me your stories about letting go because I need every one- every loss grieved, every disappointment reborn, every itch of curiosity unscratched- to help me find my center again and again and again after every persistent, possible, interesting, curious opportunity which wobbles me.

And for someone like me, there are a lot.
So, do tell me a story about letting go and I'll take a deep breath and listen.

My health care favorites

I've spoken with several of you about my favorite health care people and wanted to get you contact info. I have checked out a lot of people over a lot of years and these are the best of the best. I could go on and on about each of them, but I'll refrain. If you have any questions about who might be the best fit, ask and I'll help you.

Ginger Dunivan, Acorn Chiropractic, 651-260-1763
Ginger works out of her basement in St Paul off Snelling and Grand. She's the best all-around health person I've ever seen. She's got toys so kids play on the floor and she follows them around. She charges about $65 for an hour visit (half that for kids) while most of her peers charge $65 for 15 minutes. Can't remember her new patient fee. She's kind, patient, funny, and extremely skilled.

Joe Forman, Forman Acupuncture
Joe also works out of his home off 46th and Bloomington in Mpls. He charges $75 for a 75 minute visit. He is one of the funniest and wisest people I know. He also does hands-on body work and often integrates music.

Tara, Studio T
Tara works in the Healing Garage on 29th and Harriet in Mpls. She charges $80 for an 80 minute visit. She does shiatsu massage and chi nei tsang which is this emotional release body work from China. She is also my yoga teacher. She is very grounded, insightful, steady, and intuitive.

The three above all swap services with each other and refer people to each other.


Shannon Staiger, counselor, (651) 642-5073 (voice mail)
Shannon works as a counselor out of her home in St Paul off Snelling and Goodrich Avenue. She has several certifications and has a sliding fee scale based on income and ability to pay. She is a fantastic listener, deep, caring, spiritual, and wise from a long life well-lived. Can't recommend her strongly enough.

These are people who have seen me through many a year. I hope you find who you're looking for.
And may God bless these good people who have dedicated their lives to healing and justice and laughter so that I could heal.
Amen

When I felt successful

I've been reflecting on when I've felt successful and it's been more multi-faceted than I expected. I realized that I've rarely felt successful in all aspects of my life simultaneously nor for long periods at a time.

I was struck that my purest feelings of success are often from childhood-learning to ride a bike, reading my first gas station sign by myself, getting my new dog Goldie and her sleeping on my bed, composing a simple rhyming poem, playing two-handed on the piano. Pride. Satisfaction. Accomplishment. Attainment. Moments of glory undimmed by loss or failure or vulnerability.

Later successes seem more complicated and alloyed.

Graduating valedictorian of my class- sure I felt like I'd worked hard and accomplished and yet I felt like graduating high school was the minimum expectation, not something to get all excited about. Frankly, the graduation itself was boring and anticlimactic.

Having good friends and a community we called Prayer Group in college- yes, I felt deeply connected to them. I often refer to my spirituality of the time as "surfing the God wave" because I felt swept up in something much bigger and more beautiful. However, I was deeply grieved and lonely, weeping hours a week alone. And that season ended, simply and timely, but the loss still rings in my soul almost two decades later.

Then there were my years at Taylors Falls and Turck facilitating community and communication, teaching, community organizing, becoming the darling of both groups- churches and business. Oh, every success of theirs was also deposited in my account. To participate in their success was heady success indeed. And yet, I never belonged to either group. Never lived or attended church in Taylors Falls nor was I employed by Turck. I was a catalyst, a beloved outsider who facilitated transformation within their communities, labored and celebrated with them, and in the end wasn't one of them.

I remember the moment of walking between two lines of professors as I graduated with my Masters, that feeling of being cheered on by those who'd gone before. I felt successful and happy and honored for that minute. And then another boring ceremony followed by stress. I was trying and failing to launch a business out of my research.

Reflecting on feelings of success, I do have some pure moments- creating art that I feel especially satisfied with, cooking good food, following all the square dance instructions and making it back to my home space correctly, stepping on the scale and seeing I've lost weight, finding the perfect gift- in those I feel success.

Perhaps my ambiguous feelings are because I now look back and see my pain and disappointment and frustration mixed right in throughout it all. I've wondered if I would ever live to see those glory days renewed or if I would always remember fondly and wistfully and painfully the beauty of those times.

A fiercer feeling of success comes to mind- the day I accepted that I had been sexually abused. I had gone to my chiropractor the morning after a debilitating panic attack. As we worked, I accepted the truth that had sucked the warmth from my life. I wept on the table. She offered her condolences as I was preparing to leave and I looked her right in the eye and said, "I have been like a dog chained to a stake, circling in craziness. And today, the stake has been given to my hand. I possess it and will no longer be a dog chained to it."

The kids were watching a Veggie Tales this morning and I was deeply moved by a song about how Jesus gave his best to the least. I found myself feeling least as I reflected on how little success I feel these days. Happiness, yes. Satisfaction, yes. Pleasure, yes. But successful, not so much, at least not instantly and unalloyed. I can walk myself through it. You're growing up, that's successful. You're kinder, that's successful. You're living deeply into your own life, that's successful. But often my first feeling is ... I don't even have a word. It's like, How did I get here? I was going to write books and do public speaking and live up to my potential and go places. And here I am doing laundry and trying to buy jeans for Anjali and being interrupted 2,000 times a day. Is this my potential? Is this what I went to school for 25 years for? Maybe the feeling is entitlement or disillusionment or ...

Well, even so, I'm not going back to the bad old days when I pursued success at cost of my own happiness. I'm not going to stop living my life or return to frantically running around. I know exactly where that road goes.

I'm going to give my emotions a chance to find a truer path to feeling successful.
I'm also going to do some more reflection on what about these various experiences and moments lead to feelings of satisfaction rather than praise from others about being successful. Because I think I've scrambled my compass by laying other people's accolades over my genuine feelings.

Looking forward to hearing your feedback.

Quote from Cordelia's Honor

Re-read a great science fiction book this week called Cordelia's Honor by Lois McMaster Bujold. Found this quote in the afterword and it's a doozy.

"All great human deeds both consume and transform their doers. Consider an athlete, or a scientist, or an artist, or an independent business creator. In service of their goals they lay down time and energy and many other choices and pleasures; in return, they become most truly themselves. A false destiny may be spotted by the fact that it consumes without transforming, without giving back the enlarged self....I have not come to the end of that story yet, nor will I, till I stop learning new things about what it takes it be human."

Gentle readers, what consuming and transformation deeds are you doing to yourself? Do share.

Half the Sky

I just finished reading a great book called Half the Sky about globally what is holding women and girls back. Excellent read. Lots of great stories and research. Very thought provoking.

I like my life

One of the striking things I saw on my trip is that I like my life. About day 4 I was missing my home. It was good to realize that I like my every day life so much. Often I'm swamped in the latest kid argument or cleaning and don't see it. But looking from a state away, I could see how good and rich and satisfying my life is. It's good to go and adventure, to leave behind all the familiar ways, intentionally not check email or watch DVD's, and try on a new life. I found that I was ready to move more- more yoga, walking, swimming- than I had realized in the familiar paths of home. I enjoyed the new sites- rock cliffs in pink, warm springs, prairie dog villages- and yet found myself longing for my own bed, a better breakfast, my own rhythms.

I am more excited about my life than I have been in years. And not the frantic, driving excitement of my past either, but rather a deep, calm pleasure.

Last Friday was our first morning of homeschool co-op. I was very pleasantly surprised. The ladies were a delight, the kids agreeable, and my tasks easy. I got some good money-saving tips and a pep talk on the values of family exercise. The women were genuinely friendly and welcoming. I'm not seeing my future soulmate here, but I've got to say that a morning with pleasant, happy people was cheering. I'm satisfied with the trade-off I've made.

This morning Tim leaned over in church and asked if he should bubble in "Regular Attender" on the attendance card at church. I agreed that he should. We intend to regularly attend Wooddale Church, Edina campus, this year with the intention of many more. And after all the backing and forthing and trying and evaluating, I have to say that I'm at peace with my 5/10 choice.

Tonight is Anjali's first church choir rehearsal.
Tomorrow- Mark's soccer.
Tuesday night- square dance lessons.
Wednesday night- Tim and kids to church and I'm free.

We've already been to the Y twice in the 4 days we've been back and that's good, too.
The season is changing. Finally. Surprisingly.

Two things more I want to say.

One, I never thought I would live to see these days and I am more grateful than I can say.

Two, you, dear people- Tim, Emily, Megan, Angela, and Johanna- you have enriched my quality of life so much. You have eased my too tight soul from an constriction I could feel but could never let go of. I have found my swans. I've been a really lousy duck. Really lousy duck. But now, I'm such a very happy swan that I can choose to hang with the ducks without defensiveness or crazy expectations.

I can eat my vegetables because I know that the chocolate cake is coming.

You, my dear people, you are my chocolate cake. With real whip cream frosting and sprinkles!

I'm back

Hi, all! I'm back. We got in early last night instead of this afternoon- vacationed out. I just plugged the phone back in and sorted through 85 emails.
It was a good trip and I'm too tired to go into it now but I will. Thought of each of you while I was there.

Pilgrimage

Well, dear readers, I'm leaving in 20 hours for a much-anticipated, long-awaited trip to the hot springs in South Dakota. I've been wanting to go for 3 years, been affirmed in my desire during a prayer session with the wonderful women of In His Presence 2 years ago, and have held onto the dream since. Until now. Now, I'm going. And not only am I going, Tim, Anjali, and Mark are going, too. Given where I was and where we all were 2 years ago, this is plum amazing. We're going to be staying in different hotels, visiting state parks, shopping at local co-ops, swimming, sight seeing, and more. We're borrowing my parents' car for the trip, again amazing given 2 years ago. We haven't vacationed much ever as a family, and only this year since Anjali was born, and I am genuinely looking forward to spending this time together, having adventure after adventure.

For me, this is a pilgrimage. So much in my life is in the process of irrevocably changing and I am going to soak in the springs, do my art, get lots of fresh air, and bask in the natural beauty. I'm proud that I've faithfully gestated this dream and am so very grateful to see it birthed alive. I never thought I'd live to see these days, days of happiness and ease and pleasure and satisfaction. I'm going to sit under the endless sky and smile.

I'll be back next Thursday night. As you remember me, pray that I would recognize the path God has laid before me, that I would see the threshold when it comes, that I will understand how to bid farewell to everything that has gone before, and that I would be ready to cross over to my new life in the fullness of time.

360 degrees

Love is Round
The only love which has lasted
is the love which has everything,
every disappointment, every failure,
which has accepted ...

Graham Greene

I used to think this was a poem about loving other people, but now I see this is a poem about embracing my whole self with this kind of love.
May we be blessed with round love.
Amen

Better together

On Friday I went to Sewtropolis, a sewing shop and studio where I will be completing my quilt project in time for my 40th birthday art show. The owner, Nikol, welcomed me, laid out my project, and came up with practical suggestions for me to be able to complete the project myself, which is quite something given that I haven't sewn since junior high home ec. She's going to work with me for several hours helping and training me and then for $5/hr I can work on her machine in her studio. I can't tell you how much it meant to lay out a project I've been working on for 9 1/2 years and have her tell me she believed I could do it and that she liked my choice of textures. She also knew what supplies I needed, where to get them, and how to do it all on a budget.

I realized as I left and reflected on the experience the last couple days that I felt braver and calmer and not overwhelmed anymore knowing that this kind, knowledgeable woman will be there while I work.

I get so weary sometimes of doing everything by myself- deciding, initiating, motivating, transitioning, doing, making, cleaning up. But when I have a friend along I feel calmer, more able, happier.

Thanks, friends, for being my spoonful of sugar.

Temptations that aren't anymore

I was recently listening to a CD of the Temptations. I sang along to the sweetness of My Girl and then hit several in a row I didn't know. Here are some titles: Ain't Too Proud to Beg, I Could Never Love Another After Loving You, I'm Gonna Make You Love Me, and You're My Everything. Lots of these on YouTube if you want to hear more. After listening to Ain't Too Proud to Beg, I realized that this is exactly how I used to behave- laying down in front of their door at night to keep them from leaving me. I felt split, like I was listening with my old ears which thought these were all such romantic songs which expressed what real love is like and with new ears which thought this was absolute dysfunctional drivel.

Maybe healthy-boundary lyrics don't sell. Try these titles for starters.

My Self
Go Ahead and Walk Out that Door (and Don't Let It Hit You on the Hinny on the Way Out)
I Will Definitely Be Happier Without You
I Respect Your Decision and I'm Moving On
Farewell, I Will Find Someone Who Does Like Me

Other healthy relationship song titles, anyone?

I'll mature when I'm dead

I just finished reading a book called I'll Mature When I'm Dead by Dave Barry. I laughed and laughed and even though Anjali asked why, I couldn't possibly explain. Here's an example from a chapter on kids, sports, and parents.

"But we did learn some important life lessons from sports. I learned, for example, that even though I was not as big, or fast, or strong, or coordinated as the other kids, if I worked really hard- if I gave 100 percent and never quit- I would still be smaller, slower, weaker, and less coordinated that the other kids. In other words, I learned that even though I enjoyed playing sports, I sucked at them. And understanding that you suck at some things is useful information in life. The world would be a better place if people were full cognizant of their areas of suckage."

Grace Homeschool Association

Last night we went to the fall kick-off picnic for the new homeschool group we joined. Lots of nice families and good food. Met a family we knew from Open Door and reconnected with several women I'd chatted with briefly at the Y. Anjali met Maggie and Tim and Mark played whiffle ball. I talked with several very friendly, kind ladies.

I've hesitated in joining a homeschool group, especially a Christian one. And yet, here I am. It wasn't so bad, really. For years and years very Christian people, especially conservative ones, made the hair stand up all over my body. But not yesterday. I knew what I wanted there and what I expected I got- polite, friendly, well-organized women and their grilling, involved, fun-loving husbands. I'm looking for no drama and no chaos with maybe some friendly chatting and safe play dates. I was especially struck by how each family went around to introduce themselves and in most of the cases the dad stepped out and pointed fondly to each person while saying their names and how many years they've been in co-op. It's been a long time, people, since I've heard that many men take the initiative and introduce their wife and all their kids. In fact, in our neighborhood, having biological dads who work attending with their wife and all their kids happily standing together- yeah, well, that's not a regular occurrence. Anjali brought her friend Maggie to our circle to sit and this 11-year old chatted away with Tim and I, answering questions with the great seriousness of pre-teens. Refreshing.

I find that knowing what is on my relational plate, what I want there, and why is a great liberation for me. I now have the best set of friends I have had in 20 years and I am capable of being a friend to myself and others in a totally new way than ever before. I'm delighted with my internal peace and find myself understanding women who talk about being comfortable in their own skin. I'm am so glad to be months from 40 I can hardly express my delight. For the first time in my life, I am not straining in relationships, trying to make them into something, but rather accepting what is and choosing what servings I'd like in my life. I am longer wanting these conservative Christian people to admire and accept me, to understand me, to agree with me. I admire and accept me from a place of true understanding. What can they add or subtract from that?

And in the process of embracing myself and my life, I am finding the ease to be able to relax, chat, eat the grilled burger, and clean up all without becoming driven. And surprisingly, at least to me, I find that when I least need them and their friendship, I am most able to be myself, receive who they really are, and enjoy without any aspirations of intimacy.

I never imagined that all along it wasn't those people I was trying to impress and gain acceptance from. It was me.

Coming together

I don't want to jinx it but I think things are actually coming together- church, homeschool, square dance lessons, possibilities for friendships. Our family's life is looking different than it ever has this fall and I think we're going to like it.
A lot.

Big Trouble

I'm reading a book by Dave Barry called Big Trouble. This quote made me laugh aloud and I wanted to share it with you. To set the scene, two robbers prepare.

"I can't see out this thing," said Eddie.

"Well, try," said Snake.

They were standing at the entrance to the Jolly Jackal, wearing panty hose on their heads. Snake had pulled the left leg of his panty hose over his face; the right leg was dangling down his chest. Eddie had pulled the pelvic region of his panty hose over his face, so that both of the legs were hanging down his back, making him look like a large, frightened rabbit.

"I'm just saying," said Eddie, "we should of got a lighter shade."

"We got what we got," said Snake.

They had obtained the panty hose from the five-and-dime in Coconut Grove. They had not had time to examine their selections carefully, because Snake had shoplifted them while Eddie had distracted the store employees by pretending to have a seizure. Snake had grabbed the first panty hose he saw. They had turned out to be Hanes Control Top, for the full-figured women, in jet black.



Having worn full-figured hose, I could just picture this in my mind's eye and I laughed and laughed.
Enjoy

True kindness

I discussed recently that I was taught as a child the forms of courtesy but didn't have its heart which is respect for one's own honor and therefore for others'. I behaved politely and agonized over my lapses because it was about my performance. Now I am more respectful of myself and able to be genuinely respectful and focused on others. What made the change and why? What changes self-absorbed people who are all about themselves into kind people whose life is for them but not all about them? Suffering under God's kind hand.

"Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore...
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say,
"It is I you have been looking for."
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.


Here is God's kindness to us in a poem by Mpho and Desmond Tutu from the book Made for Goodness.

"Do you think I don't know the demands of your life?...
Do you imagine that I did not know who you were when I made you,
when I knit you together in your mother's womb?
Do you think I planted a fig tree and expected roses to bloom?
No, child, I sowed what I wanted to reap."


This is my why.

Compliments

Accepting or not accepting compliments is another thing I'm reflecting on as I lose weight.

I've received some very sincere and meaningful praise from other people in my Weight Watchers group for helping my family to eat healthier and for sticking with the process of change. That means something to me both because of who is doing the complimenting and what they are complimenting me about. My kids tell me to "Be the big loser, Mom!" Tim says, "Good work." All that works for me.

And yet, sometimes I find that compliments people give me aren't really about celebrating me and my life but are rather an evaluation of how well I've met their standards. I feel like I'm being praised for how well I look like someone's preference. It reminds me, now looking back, on how I feel about always being graded as a kid in school. I did not receive compliments or praise when I pursued the learning I was interested in or wrote out what I was grappling with or chose not to read the assigned text because it didn't suit me. No, I only got the A when I did what the teacher wanted, when the teacher wanted, how the teacher wanted. It's not about how well I learn but about how well I comply. And so it is now with compliments about my body. It is not about how well I feel or how happy I am, but about how well I conform to that person's standards.

I remember being asked to be matron of honor for a friend in her wedding. I was honored and set aside funds. She came to me later and told me she wanted me to wear make-up for her wedding. I replied, "But I don't wear make-up. Heck, I didn't even wear make-up to my own wedding." Nevertheless, she insisted that she wanted me to wear make-up, blush and lip stick at an absolute minimum. And she told me to get my hair done professionally with hairspray. I didn't argue the point but rather said, "This is your wedding; I will do it your way. I've set aside money as a gift for you and whatever I spend will come out of that. Whatever is left, you can have." She agreed and insisted on the make-up and hair. So, on her big day, my hair was sticky and stinky, my face felt heavy and stiff, I couldn't lift or cross my arms, and I was supposed to stand before the masses tranquil and lovely while I was completely uncomfortable. She loved my look. My dad took photos. I got compliments. Oh, yes, I got compliments for feeling ridiculous, uncomfortable, false, and distracted. It rained on my hair on my way to the car and the product dried like a helmet. I got in the car and as I was wiping off the make-up I told Tim to drive fast because I couldn't stand the outfit one minute more. I gave the dress away because I knew I would never wear it again.

As I look back, I am struck by how her insistence on my appearance despite my discomfort makes me feel disrespected, as if my body were a prop in her show. And I remember those compliments and how I swallowed them all politely, feeling slammed and false while trying to tell myself I liked the attention and praise. I didn't like being complimented on feeling lousy and un-Amy-like. It was like a sweet, heady drink with an acid chaser, corroding all the way down.

Which leads me to this question: How am I going to respond when someone inevitably says something like:

"You've lost weight. You look really good." [You looked lousy before. I get to grade how you look and tell you because my opinion about your body counts.]

"I'm glad you've finally taken your health seriously and lost 40 pounds. Only 100 to go." [You as a fat person couldn't possibly have respected yourself. And I'm going to tell you how much more you have to do to really meet standards.]

My body is mine. I am my own. I am not some exhibit to be critiqued or some commodity to be graded.

Maybe I'll say something sassy like, "Really, I look different? (gasp and look down) Darn it, where did I leave that roll of fat?" Or something disingenuous like, "Gee, really, I hadn't noticed." Or something deflecting like "Thanks. Isn't the weather so..." Or something honest like, "That comment hurt my feelings." Or something confrontational like, "What gives you the right to critique my appearance and then presume that I want to hear it?" Or something demanding like, "How about complimenting a character quality I have rather than stating your opinion about my body?" Or something pointed like,"I didn't ask for your opinion."

I'm tired of buying into the belief that "they" have the prerogative to evaluate me and that I should feel awkward in receiving a pseudo-compliment and then thank them for it. I feel that in taking their judgments in silence or in vague politeness or in feigned gratitude, I not only support their conclusions but I also support their unquestioned feeling of rightness in making and speaking them.

Will anyone ever say things that would really mean something to me like:

"Wow, you look happy. Have you been having fun?"
"You've persevered and gone for what you've wanted. I'm hope you get a lot of satisfaction."
"I experience how much kinder you are to yourself and I'm really drawn to that."
"I see how well your kids look. You've done a great job helping them listen to their bodies and respect their limits."

Now, those would be some complements I could heartily receive.

Maybe I should give people a Compliment Cue Card like that sketch in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life when that couple order a conversation card about philosophy. [Remember that? If you don't, maybe that should be the next movie night.] Maybe I should give people who compliment poorly a card with clues like:

"You have received this card because you gave Amy a poor complement. Let's try that compliment again, people.

• Ask a question about what I've learned or how my life has changed or what I've most enjoyed in the process of losing weight and then express your happiness for me in that.
• Express admiration for a quality in my character which has enabled me to succeed like perseverance or determination or self-understanding or patience or creativity or flexibility.
• Ask me about how I've celebrated my success and express appreciation for that.
• If none of this makes sense to you, say nothing as this isn't about you or your approval at all anyway. It's about me."
  

I'm deciding that I don't have to gratefully accept all compliments because I am a good, polite girl. I can choose which compliments to accept and which to reject.

*********

Well, good people, I'm back. Not more than 8 hours after I wrote this, someone did compliment me. She said, "Wow, you've lost weight. (Looking me up and down) A lot of weight. You look great, really great."
My response was, "As opposed to how bad I looked before?"
She replied, "No really, you look great. You look great."

Yep, it's begun.
I went back later and explained that I felt judged when she said, "You look great." I'm comfortable with "You've lost weight." True. I'm even ok with "I like you better thin." At least that's honest. But I'm not ok with "You look great" as if the statement was really about me and not about her presuppositions about beauty. I told her I felt manipulated and graded. She tried and tried to explain. My kids waited impatiently in the car as I tried to differentiate between factual statements like "You've lost weight" and judgments like "You look so great." What I keep hearing is "You look so great now as opposed to before when you looked terrible." She totally could not hear me nor understand but kept on rationalizing.

Have these people called me pretty or beautiful in 40 years when I was plain Amy or only when I posed and played their game? So why would I want their words now?

Has any medical person had anything positive, anything at all, to say about my body? Not one thing, ever. So now I should go and let them pat me on the head and praise me? Yeah, right.

What could people possibly compliment my body about now that would mean anything to me except that they are fond of their opinions and hold me to their standards?

I feel as if I've been offered a treat only to find after eating it that it's been laced with poison.

Celebrating me, my journey, and my happinesses is an entirely different thing than most people's compliments deliver.

How am I going to stay true to myself?

Would you ponder this on my behalf? And the next time we talk, let me know if you've got any ideas for how I can stay true to myself in this. I could use the feedback.

Reflections on 40 pounds

In early April, I joined Weight Watchers. My friend Sheila recruited me by talking about her experience and so, despite the willies I felt just saying "Weight Watchers," I began. I have lost 38.2 pounds and hope to get to 40 in the next week or two. The first 30 pounds just seemed like getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight and somehow didn't seem like a big deal. For some reason, though, this 40 pound mark does.

I didn't tell anyone, except my health care people, about joining for at least the first 20 pounds just in case it didn't work. Then, I shared with my conversation circle friends. To date, Tim, Sheila, Joe, Ginger, Tara, Anjali, Mark, Emily, Megan, Angela, and Johanna know. Period. Somehow those first months and pounds seemed sacred. My weight has always been a topic of other people's conversation from my youth and this time, I didn't want anyone else slapping their stuff on my journey. So, I have remained silent. Joe told me nobody would notice and I didn't believe him. Everyone noticed that I was fat and felt free to comment- from family members to complete strangers on the street to medical people; so many had an opinion about my body and felt compelled to make me aware of my failure to meet their standards in glorious technicolor. How could they possibly not notice 40 pounds? I had my line ready to deflect unwanted interest. I mentally rehearsed denials. But, lo, Joe was right- not one person has commented. I've wondered if fat past a certain point is so fat that people stop paying attention. I've wondered if suddenly people who felt free to critique without offering any kind of aid have finally been struck dumb by kindness. I've wondered if because I still wear the same clothes I'm camouflaged. Why has the world which has been oh so very vocal about my "failures" become suddenly mute about my "success"? I have felt scrutinized for so long that I find their silence curious and welcome.

Another oddity after everything and everything all these decades is that I haven't had to try very hard. I'd say that after the first week, I've been doing about a level 4 effort out of 10 and for the summer a 3. After all the angst and all the pain, I would have figured I'd be pedal to the metal all the way. But no. I've been surprised and for a change of pace, pleasantly so. I find myself thinking over lunch or dinner how I will reduce my points from the current 33 to the eventual 22 and if I feel stressed, I think of Ginger, a 120# foodie. She was right- the Izzy cone, 2 T of really good ice cream- is satisfying. I making a lifelong commitment to my satisfaction and to having a balance of pleasures in my life- food being one of many pleasures I enjoy.

As I thought about fall, I imagined giving away most of my fall wardrobe because it would be falling off. Surprisingly, though, all but one outfit was fine. Baggy, but certainly not falling off. As I need replacements-thus far 2 pairs of pants and underwear- I'm getting a size or two smaller. Seems incredibly anticlimactic for 40 pounds, doesn't it? I've lost the equivalent of my son and nothing much exterior has changed.

On the other hand, so many things within me have. My chronic pain level is 0-1 most days with the highest level for 3 months as a 3. My wrists don't hurt when I do yoga and I know more than 12 poses so far. I've ridden my bike more this summer than I have for the previous 20 years combined. I have more and better energy and stay satisfied when I eat. I've eradicated several long standing infections. We're square dancing and planning to take lessons this fall as a family. I am happier in my life and am experiencing more genuine pleasure than I ever have in my life. I'm finding a way to accept my family. I was able to vacation with my husband and kids with joy for the first time. Some of those are results of losing weight and some are causes and some are both or neither but cause and effect with something else altogether.

The season of my life has changed. Spring is here. Not that sloppy, gray spring of March but that glorious, bright, blooming spring of May.

In honor of my sprouting, I am releasing my unwillingness to talk about my weight. I will answer questions squarely if any ever come. I'm ready to put my process out there honestly and receive interest while respecting my limits.

I'm going square dancing tonight and although I'm not quite to 40 I've decided to celebrate myself tonight.

This one is yours

Megan, Angela, and Johanna-
I was listening to a CD, Fireflies and Songs by Sara Groves, today while washing dishes and I saw our conversation of yesterday in the songs.

This one's for me

This one's for Angela

This one's for Megan

This one's for Johanna.

You mean so much to me.

Lessons

In preparation for upcoming conversations, I am compiling a list of lessons I learned growing up which I don't want to pass on.


I will call for aid and no help will come. I must do it all myself.

Being loved hurts.

Church is all my social life, all the safe people in the world, and my entire pool of friends. A church circumscribes the boundaries of my life.

Family means loyalty at all costs and acceptance of all treatment from family members no matter how painful. Being with family is a duty. Without family there is only abandonment.

Parents, and sometimes other family members, know me better than I know myself. Therefore, in any disagreement, those who know better are always right.

There are consistent losers in the family structure. The losers should muster up their loyalty and duty because that's what others did when they were the losers.

Forgiveness means making peace without truth.

Conflict and anger means the end of relationship. Therefore, conflict must be avoided at all costs. This is as good as it gets so hang on to it.

The only people I can trust and count on are family and church. I must accept all treatment from those who love me.

I can't hear the sirens

I called 911 on Monday for an 11-year old neighbor. We had walked to the park, she had difficulty breathing, and the inhaler was 5 blocks too far away to walk in time. I blogged about this on my family blog and what stood out after writing it was how I felt when I was waiting for the ambulance to come after I'd called for help. I felt desperate and responsible and powerless and resolute. That paramedic on the borrowed cell phone kept me focused and stayed on the line with me as Hodan lay gasping, asking me to evaluate. Her fingernails are pink not blue. She hasn't spoken. She's conscious. Yes, that's her wheezing you hear. I told him I was shaking and scared and he told me I was doing fine and to stay with him.

Then I heard the sirens. I stroked Hodan's hair and said, "Sweetie, those sirens are for you. They're coming right now for you. I can hear them getting closer. Just a block or two now. Take deep breaths- they're almost here. Those are your sirens. Breathe."

And then they were there- lifting her, evaluating her, helping her, loading her into the ambulance. The paramedic on the phone said he would hang up and I thanked him profusely.

When I had called 911 I had demanded help saying, "I need help right now. My 11-year old neighbor can't breathe. She has asthma and her inhaler is at home. We on the corner of 34th and 4th. We need help right now!" The operator dispatched help and transferred me to this man who talked me through until help arrived, help I was unable to give.

Farhiya and Ayan and Hodan fought- yelling, punching, shoving- and it ended with Hodan on the ground not breathing. The other girls were panicked and guilt-ridden and worried when the police arrived. After everyone was home safe and sound, I found the girls sitting together and told them that there was a lot of anger there and they needed to work it out. Who could I call who could help them? And they all answered Phil from Youth Farm. So I immediately called Phil, who immediately came. I'm not sure anything has actually resolved despite our best efforts.

For 2 days, this whole situation has been on my heart, especially Farhiya who is so volatile. What's being done for her? What kind of trauma is she living to be like this? Is she going to counseling? Something needs to be done. What am I supposed to do?

Today I realized that I don't really believe help is coming. I've called for aid but I don't hear the sirens. And I don't really believe that help is on its way. I really believe that if I don't help, there will be no aid. No one will come. Not even God.

So this morning, I told God that. I prayed, yelling into the phone, "We need help and we need help now! Farhiya needs helps now. Ayan and Hodan need help now. I don't know whether the girls are calling for help, but I'm calling. I don't hear the sirens and I don't know what to do! The peace is failing. Trauma is birthing violence. Children I said I'd look out for assaulted one another. Hodan could have died. The police came and shook their heads that the girls were fighting over friendship bracelets. We're on 35th and 1st and we need help right now."

Don't leave me standing here desperate and powerless, God, watching these children fall apart.
I'm calling for your saving help in desperate times.
I can't hear the sirens.

Coming home again

This last Tuesday, Joe, my wise acupuncturist, listens to me and then reflects back- Sounds to me like you're struggling to embrace your wellness. You're like a soldier who's been at war for 20 years and then comes home. Now what? Go back to farming?

I felt that this precisely captured my current state and as I lay there, I asked, How does the soldier go home? How does the soldier become a farmer? I've been struggling to heal and live the truth for so long, I've fought so hard and endured, that now that the season is changing, I don't know how to embrace happiness. I don't know how to live well. How do I nurture and grow and relax and release the struggle? I'm afraid to believe in pleasure.

As I lay on the table, wondering, I got two answers. First, the soldier always was a farmer. I am in some sense becoming who I always was- a nurturer of life, my own Amy, strong and whole. Second, becoming a farmer again was what the soldier was fighting for all along. To stay a soldier, to live in constant conflict, would be to abandon that for which I fought.

I honestly wasn't anticipating that my fight would end. I was mostly hoping for a reduction of pain, for an easing of the terror, for a small plot of happiness. What I've got is victory.

And now what?

I've been drawn to the South African Truth and Reconciliation Committee's work, precisely because this question of peace and happiness and wholeness is at the heart of why they did it. I read The Country of My Skull- very, very powerful. Now I'm reading Made for Goodness by Desmond Tutu which I have to say is particularly poignant given all the previous reading.

Also, I've watched the entire extended version of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy this week, specifically to watch how Merry, Pippen, and Sam go home to the Shire at the end. And to watch how the heartbeat of home- of strawberries and cream and grass and the Forest of Buckland and Rosie Cotton, dancing with ribbons in her hair- how the good in their world was worth fighting for. And going home for. The fellowship, though bound forever in love and friendship, ended. The faithful companions of war disbanded, went home, and reengaged the good life.

That's were things get a little sketchy for me. After the Ewoks finish dancing on Endor, after Frodo sails into the West, after girl and boy say I do- then what do heroes do? Why do the stories fizzle out when it comes time to wash the dishes or change the buns? If I let go of the struggle, will it be boring, not even worth writing about?

Perhaps happiness and pleasure are boring to read about because they are so simple and personal and subtle to live. I'm ready to find out.

As a movement from soldier to farmer, this afternoon I canceled the last counseling appointment I have scheduled for 2010. I had scheduled this one back in like April as a chance to say goodbye. And just in case. But today I realized that for the first time in 8 1/2 years, I didn't need counseling and I'm going to say farewell in another way. I am so grateful for Shannon and her companionship in my suffering this last decade. I will always remember her.

My war is over and my fellowship of suffering is ending.
I'm back.

Gratitude

This morning I realized again how grateful I am for who I've become and how I've grown and what I've learned. I am no longer mired in desperate dysfunction, trying so hard to look on the bright side- I am happy with no striving. I believe people when they self-disclose and don't expend the juice of my life trying to second-guess them or figure out what they should do- I trust people to live their own lives under the benevolent hand of God.

I trace these changes back to my illness, more specifically to the unrelenting faithfulness of my illness. Had it not been for the discipline of pain, fear, and dissatisfaction, I could have spent my entire life miserable and called it happiness, never knowing.

I have wondered over the years quietly and vocally, why me? Why do I have to suffer? Why did all the consequences fall on me? Why did all this happen to me? I received an answer years ago- "It has been granted to you." I got that some at the time but I receive it even more now. It has been granted to me to be free. It has been granted to me to be happy. It has been granted to me to be at peace. And it has been granted to me by the very means which might have destroyed me- the consequences of evil in my life- relentlessly held by God's severe mercy.

When I think about this severe mercy, I see my illness is an angel. She is large and beautiful and she is weeping over me, holding me together, weeping me from death into life. Her four decades of labor have not been in vain. Nothing less than this most desperate kindness would have been able to wield this suffering, this weapon of destruction, in my service.

I never expected to live to see my illness and I part ways. I never expected pleasure. And yet here I am. As we part, I wish to commend her to you. She has been faithful and true beyond all hoping.

After everything and everything, I am not disappointed.

Truth and Lies

Truth and Lies by Jillian Edelstein is a powerful book about the victims and perpetrators of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Committee. It's a photo book of pictures Edelstein took during her time there and also contains excerpts of testimony and interviews. Very, very powerful. The photo that stood out to me was on page 188 of a superspy, double agent, and assassin who looked like a butler, down to his cup of tea.
Wow, this gives food for thought about evil and how ordinary people are transformed by it. Read the introduction- especially the part about impermissible lies. Here's a brief quote:

Any society that allows its torturers to retire with medals and pensions inevitably pays the price. The price of lies is immobilized nostalgia for tyranny. So it is true...that you cannot create a culture of freedom unless you eliminate a specific range of impermissible lies....There are a few lies that do such harm that they can poison a society just as there are a few lies in private life that can destroy a life.

Wow. Lived that.

Here's another quote from the intro about Joyce whose son was disappeared and killed.

You would think, if you were listening to the story of your own son's death, that you wouldn't want every last detail. Joyce made me realize you do want every last detail. And you do not want to be trifled with. You don't want any flannel, any embroidery, any cute little inventions. You want every last detail, as it was. As it really was.
And what does this kind of truth do for a person like Joyce Mtimkulu? It provides official, public acknowledgment, at the highest level, before her own community, with amnesty judges sitting on the dais to confirm its official status. What she wanted was official acknowledgment, validation. She wanted one moment in her life when Nieuwoudt was made to look life a pathetic liar.
Nothing quite like this actually occurred.

Yep. Lived that, too.
I remember asking God once, while I was sitting hearing yet another sermon on sin, "What's the big deal about sin anyway?"
Simply can't imagine asking that question now at the end of this last decade. I've got that answer in my guts now.

17 years

Yesterday was our 17th anniversary.

I remember the first year in which we fought to a standstill every weekend about money or chores, practically on a schedule, and then made up passionately. Actually resolving conflict with like, you know, real conflict resolution skills- well, that took us years and years.

I remember trying to cook that first week we were married and I tried to do it like my mom- a pound of ground beef and a can of cream of mushroom soup, no recipe. Absolutely inedible! Threw the whole thing away.

I remember setting things on fire. Went to bake my first baking as a married woman, turned the oven on, and smelled burning. Someone had come and decorated our apartment with the bouquets and tulle and stuff and had hidden a bouquet in the oven! And at a party we hosted, I remember making microwave popcorn for the first time, pushing the popcorn button and walking away only to set off fire alarms and have huge billows of black smoke pouring out of the microwave! Carried the smoking bag to the dumpster and the place still smelt burnt for a month. And of course, all in front of company I was trying to impress.

And couches- we had like 3 couches- a plaid love seat, a furry white number, and a plaid hide-a-bed, plus we had a couple chairs in odd colors and interesting textures. Tim's roommates had bought Salvation Army couches for their townhouse which they gave us as a wedding present and my grandparents gave us several of their old pieces, too. So we had living room seating for like 12 in clashing plaids and fur. Of course the worst was that our first place was on the third floor and the furry one was super long and the hide-a-bed was all metal and weighed a ton! After that first move, I think we gave away several keeping the white furry one which was the most comfortable and which ultimately met an interesting fate. I got bad allergies and had to get rid of the fuzzy couch because of dust mites. Couldn't find anyone to take it and put it in a fellow teacher's back yard burning pile where it, too, met a smoky demise.

And no recitation of our first year could be complete without recalling the milk crates. Tim and I led our first year of Playtimers Day Camp together that summer. In fact, we were married in the middle of camp that first summer- rehearsed after work on Thursday, married on Friday, and then went back to work together on Monday morning. The daycamp served school lunches to all the kids every day and these lunches included milk- 2% and chocolate. So every day after lunch, there would be several milk crates sitting around the kitchen. Handy! We started taking them home, stacking them, and filling them with books and turning them upside down as a side table or turning them into module storage in the closet or.... You get the picture. So handy these crates. So versatile. Soon we had going on 30 of them. And then- I read the warning on every crate.

Busted! We stopped taking them but couldn't part with the ones we had. And still have, although in diminished numbers, in our basement. I just used two this week as a stand for my succulents, in fact.

17 years. And I'm happier now than when we started. Love you, Tim!

Great line

Yesterday at the end of youth Farm, Tim rode his bike over to the pick up site to ride home with Anjali. Some boy said to Anjali, "Hey-is that your bike?" Fortunately Anjali didn't hear him and Tim did, understanding that the next comment was going to be something along the lines of a sarcastic, "Nice bike."

Tim replied, "Yes, that's my bike and I like it."

The boy asked, "Is that your daughter?"

"Yes, that's my daughter and I like her." Then Tim rode away.

This answer struck me on several levels. One, I was proud of Tim's quick, strong affirmations. Good parenting and being a loyal friend. Two, I reflected on how much all those kids and comments used to hurt my feelings and just really, really don't anymore. Thank heavens. Three, I am struck that I want more and more to have this attitude about myself- genuine fondness, pride in my life being mine, and a willingness to face negativity with panache. Not simply out of determined loyalty or forced optimism or fear of failure and abandonment, but because I really do embrace my whole self with greater self understanding than can be threatened by criticism and petty comments. If I can embrace myself at my worst moments of my worst days, what could possibly be left to say that will undermine me?

Yes, that's my life and I like it.
Yes, that's me and I like me.

Disappointment

Reflecting on several recent blogs, I realized that what I expected hasn't come.

I invited people to parade- friends, family, neighbors- and no one came.

I volunteered to work in the kitchen, wasn't compatible with the cook, and requested a new assignment. Got assigned to a garden. Helped Safiya get ready to be Guest Cook, took notes, drove her over, dropped her off, and then went and pulled weeds in July in the full sun.

I invited the neighbor kids over to jump on our trampoline so Anjali could have neighborhood friends. The trampoline got broken already and disassembled. And the neighborhood kids are too much with us and I am exhausted by their chaos.

My song today

Listened to this song last night and knew it was mine. Wanted to share it with you. Enjoy.

A life of its own

It all started small.
I picked up a registration form for several neighbor kids who promptly lost them.

I printed replacements, walked them over, and when I saw the look on Safiya's face, asked her if she would like help filling them out. She said yes and came over to my porch and worked on them the next day. As we were filling them out, there was a volunteer form so I asked if she wanted to work in the kitchen with me and offered a ride. She demurred saying she wasn't a good cook. I assured her it was only chopping vegetables and washing dishes. We agreed on Tuesdays.

Last Tuesday, I picked her up and drove her to the kitchen where we worked together. She got excited, offered to cook a Somali dish, and before she knew it, she was signed up to be Guest Cook. So she comes over yesterday and says, "Phil call the phone. Next week cook. My English not good. I question. I buy food or he buy food? What cook?" I say that I have his number, run in, search the recycling for the extra copy, and triumphantly bring it out. She replies, "No phone. No good phone. Talk Phil tomorrow." Ah, the light dawns. I reply, "Oh, would you like a ride in my car tomorrow to see Phil?" Safiya answers, "Is good you drive talk Phil."

Today, I drive her 8 blocks to the church and she asks me to wait. She searches for Phil and finds someone who called his cell because within minutes, I see him skateboarding down the block, red from the heat. Borrowed a board from a kid and hustled over to see her- what a guy. He answers her questions about who's buying, suggests she make a list of ingredients, pulls a tablet of paper and a pencil from his bag, and holds it out to her. Smoothly, I intercept the paper and offer to make the list, expecting him to skate board off. But no, good man, he stays, they talk, and I start writing notes. Soon we stall out on names of the vegetables she wants, so Phil heads to the kitchen fridge. I throw my purse on my arm, grab Mark in one hand and clutching the tablet in the other, I follow like a scribe of old. I catch up at the open fridge- it's peppers she wants and celery. And some spice we think might be coriander or curry and 20 meat. "20 pounds" I write and repeat back. "No pounds, dollars. Somali meat store, halal, no pounds, only dollars." Correction, 20 dollars of a kind of meat which sounds like "Suhkar." And 2.5 kilos of pasta. I give Phil the eyebrow raise and he's with her, even if I can't spell Somali. He corrects my spelling, "That's injera not injira." I follow them through the kitchen scribbling notes and double checking. Finally, she's satisfied. I rip off a note with the date, number of people, and what she's bringing (habits of literacy die hard) and hand the pad back to Phil. As she's chatting with the cook, Phil asks if I'll be coming and I promise to ask her what she'd like. I then suggest that a Somali-English speaker, perhaps one of the junior staff, could be in the kitchen with us.

On the way home, I ask if she would like a ride and my help in the kitchen. Yes, to both. I email Phil to let him know I'm coming and realize I have questions about a salad dressing recipe for 70 and if there are any instructions for Guest Cooks I should read to Safiya and what time we need to arrive.

I sit later in front of the fan telling Tim how this all has taken on a life of its own. "I'm like the Guest Cook who doesn't cook," I say. Tim replied, "You're the project manager. You'll interact with the kids, do the paperwork, talk with Phil, and make everything go. She and her cousin will stand at the stove and cook while you do the rest."

I can't tell you how pleased being Safiya's project manager makes me. Way happier than being the cook myself. This is the neighbor I had thought was housebound because I had only ever seen her outside once. This is the one who doesn't drive or read or write or speak English easily, the one who claimed she couldn't cook well, the one who was isolated. And now, she's Guest Cook, proudly feeding all her girls' fellow farmers with hopes to do it again on the last day of Youth Farm. Initiating, volunteering, planning, ordering, hoping- all in a foreign land and language. This woman has some serious guts. I'll stick with her this year and by next year- who knows?- she might be running the place.

All this has taken on a life of its own and I couldn't be more pleased or proud.

If you want to come for lunch next Tuesday, 7/6, we'll be at
Zion Lutheran Church
128 West 33rd Street Minneapolis, MN 55408

We serve lunch at noon.