yeah, I like it like that.

Isaiah 58

True Fasting

 ¹ “Shout it aloud, do not hold back.
   Raise your voice like a trumpet.
Declare to my people their rebellion
   and to the descendants of Jacob their sins.
² For day after day they seek me out;
   they seem eager to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that does what is right
   and has not forsaken the commands of its God.
They ask me for just decisions
   and seem eager for God to come near them.
³ ‘Why have we fasted,’ they say,
   ‘and you have not seen it?
Why have we humbled ourselves,
   and you have not noticed?’    “Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please
   and exploit all your workers.
⁴ Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife,
   and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today
   and expect your voice to be heard on high.
⁵ Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
   only a day for people to humble themselves?
Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed
   and for lying in sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
   a day acceptable to the LORD?
 ⁶ “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
   and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
   and break every yoke?
⁷ Is it not to share your food with the hungry
   and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
   and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
⁸ Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
   and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness^[a] will go before you,
   and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
⁹ Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
   you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
   “If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
   with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
¹⁰ and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
   and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
   and your night will become like the noonday.
¹¹ The LORD will guide you always;
   he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
   and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
   like a spring whose waters never fail.
¹² Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
   and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
   Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

an ode to diets

Recently I was telling some one near and dear to me that I had decided to not eat meat for a time, simply because I have a very low tolerance for gore right now in my life. I asked them if they had any information, and the first thing they told me about was a "diet" plan they heard. WHAT?!  I'm sorry, did you not hear me, I'm not eating meat because I've seen and heard of too many beaten bodies lately, to put a piece of meat in my mouth! But I digress... Why does it always come down to a diet? Why does it seem to be the solution for everything? I am done with diets. Done, done, done, done done. I am done with constantly thinking of the calorie count that goes in my mouth, and the fat percentage in my milk. I'm done discussing my weight, and how its not where its "supposed" to be. I am tired of sitting down with people, and listening to the new approach their taking this month, listening to them tally what they've eaten, or not eaten, how much they lost, or how much they didn't. Listen friends, don't you think you're more important than that? So many facets of your beautiful life, and you let your ups and downs be run by the ups and downs of your scale? I'm tired of feeling that if I don't lose weight, I've failed. Sit back and think about it for a minute.... I've failed? It doesn't even make sense. I'm a mother of two beautiful children, I'm in love with an incredible man, I have a degree and I'm working on another, I have a warm house and a car that runs (most of the time). This doesn't sound like failure. I am healthy, and yet, this is the message that we are bombarded with constantly, because of what? a number on a scale. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of my self-worth amounting to my weight. I'm tired of your self-worth amounting to it as well.
And I'm tired of accepting other ideals as my own. My husband loves me, and he's attracted to me. As far as I'm concerned, until he tells me differently I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Don't get me wrong. I will eat healthy, I'll eat my veggies and plenty of them. I'll walk outside and exercise because it makes me feel good.
Perhaps if I'm released from this demon of  "the diet", I will not longer be possessed by the need to equate what I eat with my happiness or lack there of in life.
And think about it, we're worried we're eating too much? How blessed are we to live in such a "fattened-calf" of a land, that we can obsess over what goes in our mouths. To think that my eating too much, may take away from some one else, or employ some one at a very low paid fast food job so that I can have quick-fix happiness in a burger and fries. Its like soft porn, the giving up of pride for a moment of enticement.This is much more heart wrenching, then my adding another layer to my hips. How egocentric could we get?
I feel that I'm beginning to digress again, as I normally do when I start talking about the plight of the world.
Anyways, I'm done with it. I'm done with dieting. I'm going to eat like a normal person, and I'm going to let my gut determine what goes in it. That is all.

Grandma

This morning my grandma passed away. Its a funny thing losing a grandparent. When my grandfather died, I didn't shed a single tear. Last night when I called my mom and was told my grandmother was on her way out, I couldn't keep the tears from coming. And when I think about it, its not because I will miss her and having her in my life (and for that matter didn't miss my grandfather). Truth be told she's been gone emotionally for a number of years now. Now that she has passed physically from this world however, its like I sense a loss of some other kind. Like a tremendous buffer that I once had is gone, that the perfection of child hood is really over. You see my grandma loved me unconditionally, really, honestly and truly unconditionally. She and my grandfather always crowed over my sister and I, about how beautiful we were, and how smart we were, etc, etc... And its not that we were particularly smart, or beautiful, its that some one, honestly and truly believed we were. And don't get me wrong, my parents were amazing and loved me similarly. But parents have to correct you and be the bad guy. Aside from wanting to put Vicks up my nose when I was sick, I don't ever remember my grandma correcting me or telling me what to do. That wasn't her job. I think when you know you're loved by some one, it makes you stand a little taller, a little stronger, knowing that some one thinks your perfect, makes you feel less like crap when other people don't. Its a buffer. So I decided I was going to start a list here of all the non-remarkable things my grandma did. Because what made her great was not that she did anything super fantastic, it was how she loved us in all the seemingly unremarkable ways.
My grandma: put big chunks of cheese in my vegetable soup, made me cinnamon toast at 4 in the morning, played scrabble with us out on her deck, always had a pyrex pitcher of tea on her counter, taught me how to crochet and made me blanket after blanket, believed every stitch was a kiss, made mint tea from the garden, knew how to make the longest peels when peeling apples, froze everything under the sun and always had some soup in the freezer, made Easter bunny cakes with flaked coconut and even added raisins trailing behind the bunny, scratched my back for hours and hours and hours and hours, never let us walk around with out socks on because we'd get a cold, called me honey.. called everybody honey, played cards for hours, threw noodles on the wall to see if they were done, loved my grandfather for over 50 years of marriage, grew raspberries in her back yard, burnt the skins off of peppers, always packed us sandwiches and cookies for the ride home (even if you were afraid to eat the ham in the dark for fear of the gristle-y bites), used terms like "creamy good" and "creamy rich", tried to put Vicks up my nose, used to bring an air mattress and sleep on our living room floor and wait for us to lay on it and deflate it,  ....

I am woman.. hear me roar...

Last night on the way home I was thinking about the word woman. Its funny how probably up until recently it always felt like a far off destination. It seems like some one very old, and, well, womanly. Girl. Miss. Lady. They're all so much less threatening than the word woman. The word woman holds such a tangle of pleasure, power, tenderness, and opression.
So as my inward dialogue continued, I wondered, was it the day I got my period for the first time when I was 12? Certainly cultures for centuries have regarded that as the key entry into womanhood. A 12 year old has as little idea about what a woman is, or what that entails as a man does. No, I have concluded that the hormonal changes of puberty do not equal womanhood. Maybe it was when I first had sex, or when I got married. In the same regard I would look at my husband at that juncture in our lives, and think, was he a man? Biological yes, of course. But would I have sought out my plight in life, as a woman, with him as my man... probably not. Now that I see how he supports my family, and supports me, and is strong, and loving, and kind, and wise (yes I could go on and on), now I think of him as my man.  If you would've asked me then, when we were married,  I probably would have said I was a woman. But I did not feel like a woman. Woman were older, and more mature, and wise, and well, womanly. I remember a friend of mine in junior high telling me that her mom said that you are not a woman until you have children. And I think that brought me a step closer. Having sex, carrying a child, giving birth to a child certainly gave me the rites to womanhood. However, there are many, many women who do not have children and are still women that roar as powerfully and/or tenderly as the rest of us child baring women. So. Where on earth does that leave me...
All I know is that now, I now feel distinctly womanly. I am a woman, do not violate me as a woman, do not talk down to me as a woman, I feel much love and awe and admiration for womankind. Its seems that all the sudden I realized that I am not a girl, I am not a lady, I'm not even just female. I am a woman.
If I were to venture a guess at how this new image came to be, I would probably tell you I came because I know struggle. For the first time, I feel caught up in the struggles that women have faced for... ever.. the damn double-bind and what not. And I think somewhere, somehow unbeknownst to me I overlapped this far of place that was womanhood, with this place that is me.

I love my husband

     I love my husband.... and I when I say that... I don't think you understand... I LOVE my husband.
uhg.. thats so terribly underwhelming, the word.. love.. for what my heart does when I think about him.
When I talk about my husband, or even when I use the words "my husband"... I don't think my attentive listener, regardless of how well intentioned, understands what he means to me. He is not just a man I share a home with, a bed with, or family with. He is it. The love of my life.
    I've often sat back and pondered, what it is that makes me love this man so, so deeply. To the point that I still catch myself occasionally staring out the window and daydreaming of him, maybe even letting out a sigh. He says I only love him for his body, and undoubtedly his body and how he handles mine is an excellent reason to love him, albeit an amazing bonus to marriage. It could very well be because he puts money in my bank account. He's an electrical engineer, and I could very well sit on my duff and live off of his hard earned money if I so desired.  And on that note it could be because he's smart. You should see the home work he does. I can't even talk about it at length, it makes my head hurt. It might be the fact that I can do what I want. I could sit on my aforementioned duff and do nothing to add to our income or housework, I could find full time employment, or I could choose (as I have) to drain him entirely and continue on through various courses of advanced learning. I could love him because he loves our children. Its so rare to find a man that whole heartedly accepts fatherhood as a partnership. He wakes up with the kids at night! Yeah! Thats right! At night! Since they have been off the breast, he's taken on the task of waking up with them at night if they have a bad dream or have to pee or just don't want to sleep anymore. He gets them dressed in the morning, he does homework with them, he gets all riled up when one of them is some how being oppressed by the outside world... yes, indeed, fatherhood is an extremely sexy characteristic on him. I could love him because he puts up with me. He listens to me rant, he listens to me when I'm irrational, when I cry, when I yell, when I just go on, and on, and on, and on... And he always has. For close to 15 years now, he's been listening to me, validating me, affirming me, giving me perspective. I could love him because he makes me laugh... even when I don't want to, even when its at myself. Laughing is so incredible valuable.
     There are so many reasons why I could love him. And as I step back and think about what makes this equation of the intense love I feel for him... not a single one of these could be left out of the reason... however none of them, even in their collaberation are enough to describe why I love him. I just do. Immensely, wholly. When I get into bed with him at night, and he tucks me into his.. armpit?... its like I melt into the bed, its like everything inside me sighs and is at home. I could put my face in his neck and breath, and finally it doesn't matter what I think, what I know, what makes sense, and what doesn't... because I just love him.

Title Unknown

Uhg... am I in a process. I have a professor that says that growing and learning should be uncomfortable. That if we are to change, it should be hard. Damn it. She's right.
Everyday I learn about a short coming I have, or a place where I'm not big enough to fill a gap. I envision daily having to inscribe a new tattoo on my arm for me to remember how to be, sort of like how I used to write phone numbers on my hand or home work assignments (no, I was never organized). As of this week alone my arm would say, "Its not all about you...." "shut up..." "listen, just listen"..."breath".. "think critically"... "you are not the answer"... "you don't know it all"
Its terribly uncomfortable, its uncomfortable knowing its not about me, that I don't have the answers, that I can't talk it away, or say the right things. I'm as helpless as I am helpful .
For the first time in my life I feel terribly deficient. As self-proclaimed affirmation junky, I'm seeing that flattery, and good intentions don't cut it anymore. God damn, it hurts to be judged, and to be misunderstood.
 But do I deserve it? Seriously, am I not always right?
I wonder if every one else goes around feel like they have the answer... cause I certainly feeling this way. That my way is the way, and that I.. but of course.. make sense. I would never go as far to say, I am right and you are wrong... however.. I am most definitely right (note the facitiousness in this statement).
Humble pie... yuck.. the expression taste like sawdust in my mouth (and thats not only because it sounds like a terrible backwoodsy expression)...
As much as I have a clear distaste for humble pie, and this discomfort that is the "becoming" process, I love it. I embrace it whole heartedly. Change sucks, having to grow and learn sucks. But I would have it no other way. I am not always right, but please tell me what is. Its not all about me, but please tell me about the people that its about. I looooonnng for refinement, so up hill I will charge! give me my spoon!

"If we see that people, in order to be, are always in the act of becoming, that in the fullness of life we live life with incompletion" -Paulo Freire

ARGGG!!

I don't care about your house! I don't care about your car! I don't care about how much you make or what you have! I don't care how little I will make, how old my car is, or how tiny my house is! How could YOU (you is not you, but them, of course) forget that these things waste away to nothing? All that matters to me is the people I'm with and the happiness in my heart. I am healthy, my babies are healthy, my husband is healthy. I can make sweet love to the love of my life any night of the week. There's a warm dinner on my table, and a little girl that tells me I'm the "best cooker ever". I have friends that I laugh with until I cry. I have a great gathering of women that have raised me to who I am and keep me grounded even now. And I know myself, I know who I am, I know my faults. I don't cover them, you'll know me the moment you meet me until the moment we part. I am honest, I'm aggressive, I'm protective. I will not mince words, but I'll mince onions and have you over for dinner.

sleep, but don't touch

From the first night I slept with my husband (my dear, sweet, and handsome husband) I was unable to sleep a wink if he was touching me. I wonder, do normal people spend the entire night wrapped around eachother? Because I certainly can not. Sleep has never come easy to me, since I was little I was up at the crack of dawn, and I have to pee atleast 3 times and talk to the various characters in my head (yeah, you know you have characters in your head too) for at least thirty minutes before drifting off to sleep. This is only prolonged if that blessed man is touching me (insert sigh of exasperation here).
And so there is a process, and as we settle in for the night, it begins like this. First my blessed husband lays on his back, and I throw his right arm out to the side and begin to pull my self as close as humanly possible along his side. He turns to face me, with me in the crook of his.. armpit (?), and wraps his left hand around my lower back. Automatically, my leg comes up and wraps around his (his is never over mine, there are just some things I won't do in bed). With my nose snuggled into his neck I breath deeply, he doesn't smell like anything in specific, not cologne or shampoo or his place of employment... he just smells like him.. the way he's smelled for the 13 years I've been snuggling into his neck... but I digress... and the day begins to melt... He is a compulsive petter, normally his hands stroke my back as we lay entwined. Its funny how even the smallest strokes he makes over my skin hypnotize me, til I'm in a deeply relaxed state when my mouth just wants to hang open. Normally, this is where people fall asleep. Nope, i can not, no matter how hard i try. And so I lay there, for a respectable five minutes, so at least he doesn't feel like I'm just using him for his body. Then, the next step is to get out of that once snuggly armpit to free my neck. And so I begin to lean to the left, and we start becoming unentwined. I sit up a little, and he knows this means to get his left arm over on his side of the bed. So there we lay, now both on our backs, and we hold hands.. fingers wound together, my side completely against his side, and my left leg, over his right. And so we lay there, for maybe another respectable 5 minutes. He knows that at this point in the night, I'm just in it for the warmth. His side is against mine, and pulling away would cause a noticeable heat absence. And its nice, and warm, and cuddly... but he's still touching me.. alot... And so I remove my leg from his, and I let go of his hand. I still have to lay there for the warmth though. So I try to stay still, still our sides aligned and touching, but there are no appendages committed to holding one another any more.  Until finally, i can take it no more, and like pulling off a band aid, I turn on my left side, back away from him... This is normally when you'll hear from him, "you done with me?"... and of course, I am. But always, always, the last thing I hear before sleeping, is: "Good night baby, I love you" and from me "I love you too". And so after this twenty minutes of arranging and rearranging, i am warmed by his sweet words, and I drift off to sleep... just as long as he doesn't touch me.