An Experiment

Nazis. Spiders. Public speaking. The season finale of Downton Abbey…
The list of things that are universally hated by the general public could go on and on.

But there is one thing that I am discovering is at the top of the list for many women (maybe men too, but never having been a man, I can't say for sure). It's one of those dark, hidden, often subconscious (or at least rarely spoken of) hatreds that seem to span generations, social classes, and ethnicity. It's one of those things that we are expected to think ill of, speak poorly of, be dissatisfied with. In fact, I have never, to my knowledge, met a woman who could honestly say that she loved this enemy of the female sex.

Our bodies.

Having grown up in Orange County, daughter to a woman who actually taught aerobics at Jane Fonda's studio in Hollywood (In the 80's. With leg warmers. Seriously, it didn't get any cooler than that), grand-daughter to Miss Guatemala (no, I'm not kidding), I'd say I'm prone to worrying about my image-- specifically my body. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it plagues me, haunts me. Constantly.

I didn't have a name for it until I watched a video clip on the media's impact on women in our society. It spoke of the shame and guilt that most women feel over their bodies when they compare themselves to the photoshopped, half-starved images in the media. I had never really thought of my dark, often subconscious thoughts and feeling about my body as being shame, but I realized that's exactly it: I feel ashamed of how I look, ashamed my shape, ashamed of my habits, ashamed of the way that my clothes fit… of so many little things throughout the day involving my body.

A few conversations I have had recently showed me that I am not alone. Beautiful, confident, successful women confessing that they too feel hopelessly trapped in the guilt, shame, and the belief that their worth is unwillingly connected to their reflection in the mirror. And those friends of mine that are mothers to beautiful, innocent little girls were terrified that they would pass along their bondage and false beliefs to their daughters.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I simply do not have to live this way; that it was time to take action. Although it was a simple realization, I knew that the process of finding freedom from the shame, guilt, and hatred I feel towards my own body would take time, intentionality, and honestly an act of God. I mean, what am I up against here: A lifetime of messages, both internal and external, telling me that my very worth and value come from a number on a scale, a size on a label. A constant barrage of images of what and who I should be, how I should look, eat, exercise.

These are not easy things to erase.

Yet, at the same time, they are all a house of cards-- hollow, empty lies keeping me from deeper life, from real, meaningful love, significance, worth, and freedom.

And so I begin my experiment to see if I can truly love my body-- if I can learn to see it as a beautiful creation from an extravagant, loving Creator. This body of mine is not so one-dimensional that its worth can be found in a dress size-- it is full of intricacies, mysteries & complexities that science still cannot explain. In all sincerity, it is an incredible work, and I have the privilege to live in it, care for it, and call it my own.

So here is a fly-over map of my experiment (details to follow), and I would love, love, love for you to join me in any part of it:

• A New Mindset: Begin changing the way I think about my body by replacing negative thoughts with truth
• Wake up at least a few minutes earlier every morning to spend time with my Creator everyday, focusing on Him, and not myself
• Spend 5 minutes every night reflecting on where I saw my Creator at work, and where I could have responded differently to my circumstances
• Take a break from Pinterest (where I tend to find images & messages that tell me I am not enough as I am)
• Focus on Health: This is not a diet, this is not a weight-loss plan… but I have been given a wonderful gift in my body, and I want to care for it well
• Fast from sugar for 30 days to help break unhealthy habits of eating when I don't need to
• Exercise 5x's a week-- even if it's just for 10 minutes, even if it's a short walk. Some sort of exercise.
• Finish all the fruits & veggies in our farm box every week
• Think Less About My Appearance
• Put away the scale
• No clothes shopping, browsing, window shopping, wish-listing, etc.
• Limit myself for one month to a few staple articles of clothing
• Find the Real Culprit: While I don't need to feel guilt over my body, there is a real crime in the fact that I worry about my weight, while 20,000 children die of starvation every day
• Spend one month living on half of our usual food budget, sending the extra money to organizations that feed the hungry
• Spend that month praying everyday as a family for the hungry, and learning about how we can live more responsibly in light of world hunger
• Share: There is something so very freeing about bringing things to light, to realizing that we are not alone in our fear, insecurities and shame
• I am going to do my very, very best to blog about my thoughts, progress and experiments every week
• Start having conversations with others, learning about their struggles, successes, and root issues
• Invite others into the process, whether it be participating in the experience or simply praying for me & cheering me on

Some of these steps might seem small to you, and maybe they are. I want to be realistic with what I can do as a working mama of two, and while I want to challenge myself, I don't want to set any goals that will fizzle out and lead to more guilt. These are the areas that seemed to be the roots of many of my issues with my body, but it is different for every person. Also, I am going to be taking on these experiments step-by-step, not all at once in order to focus on them and do them well.

I invite you to join in the conversation, and any part of the experiment...

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discovery

It took twenty two years before anyone discovered the connection between Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and The Wizard of Oz. For twenty two years, the album stood alone, and even after it became Oz's brilliantly dark alternative soundtrack, the band shrugged their shoulders and said "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Twenty two years.

A few days ago, I discovered something while piddling online that almost made my head explode, and changed the way I viewed God. It was as though I had unlocked some mysterious secret of the universe-- something as significant as the Grand Canyon or a redwood forest, hidden away & unnoticed for years.

Snowflakes.

No really, snowflakes.

Okay, maybe this was really just something I should have know a long time ago-- like someone running out into the streets and screaming that they had discovered a secret connection to Pink Floyd and The Wizard of Oz. Old news. But just in case you didn't know, let me let you in on a little secret: snowflakes are incredible-- like I said, mind blowing. Look at some of these microscopic photos and tell me it doesn't change your life.

The thing is, when we look at the Grand Canyon, or a redwood forest, it is difficult to be unaffected by the grandeur, the beauty, the magnificence. It is difficult for me to see something like that and doubt that there is a God, and that that God is good (and I often have my doubts). I feel small in comparison, but in a good way-- in a way that reminds me that my worries, my comings-and-goings are not quite as significant as I would like to think, and that there is a creator of beauty that is at work.

But these snowflakes-- these are something different. The Grand Canyon or an ancient giant of a tree is almost like showing off-- even gaudy in comparison to the delicate intricacy of a snowflake under a microscope. Everyday, millions and millions of these awe-inspiring crystals fall to the ground unnoticed, and melt unseen. Somewhere, a creator chisels out each one and lets them drop, undiscovered. We ask "Is there a God, and if so, is He good-- does He care?" and all the while, every day a million silent answers fall from the sky.

Maybe "answer" isn't quite the right word. When we ask God the big questions of Why?, the answer is usually not an explanation, but a statement: "I am." Why, God, is there pain & suffering? Why am I going through this? What is the point of all this? Even when Job asked, after all his suffering, Why? and God actually showed up to answer, his answer was basically "I am"... I am the creator of the heavens, the earth, the oceans, and the snowflakes. Strangely enough, that response satisfied Job's questions. It's not an answer that we need sometimes as much as the reassurance that we have a Creator who is good, who creates beauty-- around us and in ourselves-- who is big enough to keep the world spinning, but notices details and intricacies.

A snowflake doesn't end world hunger or heal my friend with cancer. It is so microscopic and delicate that all but the tiniest fraction go unnoticed. It is silent, beautiful, and undeniably created-- each one-- with care, thought, intentionality. To me, it speaks so clearly of a great joy-- the kind that comes when we make something that is Good, special. Only this creation-joy is spilling over, multiplied exponentially with every snowfall. It has no real purpose or function, was not meant to be seen or admired by anyone else, like humming to yourself when you think no one is listening. That is the image that comes to mind-- a creator humming to himself while doodling-- working, not to meet a deadline, or even to impress, but simply for the joy of creating. A God who was angry, disappointed, frustrated or uptight just wouldn't create a perfect microscopic star out of ice and send it floating down to earth for no particular reason.


It makes me wonder what else I am missing-- what simple everyday elements of life might reveal to
me some brilliant unknown. Oh, that I could approach even one day with that expectation-- even that hope. If there is joy in creating beauty, imagine the joy in discovering it for the first time.

A Celebration

I admit that when I first started driving-- oh, about a hundred years ago-- I wasn't exactly a natural. I don't recall driving up onto the curb through any storefronts, or anything (that seems like the sort of thing you would remember), but I do know that I had a bit of a shaky start. And when my whole world changed three years ago-- my identity, my name, the way I talked, slept (or didn't), ate, thought, and spent my waking hours-- I had a bit of a shaky start then, too.

For some reason, I expected to come out of the starting blocks as a natural, and I panicked when I wasn't "good at" this new role that consumed every ounce of my attention. Now, with three years under my belt, it still doesn't quite feel natural, but thankfully the panic has subsided-- or at least been replaced by a subtle feeling that I have no idea what I'm doing. I haven't driven through any storefronts yet, though, and that is encouraging.

 Three years ago, I was handed this gooey, red, screaming, highly breakable thing that had just caused me nine months and twenty-something hours of varying levels of agony. It took us a long, long time to get used to each other, to enjoy each other, to feel comfortable together. Like I said, it was a shaky start. And yesterday, on my little man's third birthday, after almost loosing it at least a dozen times, I went to bed with an ironic smile on my face, and a deep peace that did not have a home in me when we first started together.

As I lay in the dark of a quiet, sleeping house, these were the words I wanted to tell him...

Nolan: Today (and everyday) you made me completely insane. You made me want to shout profanity. You made me swell up with warmth, and you reached a depth inside me that I never knew before you came into the world. You made me doubt myself, and acknowledge my need for God. You brought out ugliness in me, and helped me to see beautiful things I never would have noticed. You forgave me when I was short with you, when I was impatient, and when I was vacant. You forgave me, accepted me, and shared yourself with me over and over again-- your thoughts, your hopes, your fears. You made me laugh, amazed me with your brilliant imagination, challenged and stretched me.

I celebrate you today, my incredible little boy-- celebrate who you are, who you will be, and who you have shaped me to be.

Come, Emmanuel

     I have seen a flurry of conversations online (and I'm sure on TV & on the radio, if I were tuned in) about the shooting in Newtown, CT: reactions, solutions, sympathy, sadness, blame. It actually took me until last night to sit down and read the details of the shooting-- I just couldn't find the desire to enter into all of the ugliness. And as I drifted off to sleep, wondering just how one should respond or how to make sense of any of it, all I could think of was Emmanuel.

  Emmanuel: God with us. There was a period of time for me when that idea or phrase was painful-- when I had heard the promise that God would always be with us, and I just couldn't feel or believe it. I don't pretend to understand the brokenness in our world or lives, or even have answers to making it right-- the issues are all so complex. But one thing I walked away with, during that dark time, is a deep belief that one day it will all be made right. It is rooted down into my bones, even deeper, and I have known people who have had everything taken from them, who celebrate the reality of that future wholeness, restoration and Presence that we are all aching for now. 

The Advent devotional I read this morning said that in medieval Europe, worship services leading up to Christmas included seven invitations for God to come: Come, O Wisdom; Come, O Lord; Come, O Branch of Jesse; Come O Key of David; Come O Dayspring; Come, O King of Nations; and Come O Emmanuel-- all were ancient titles used for the coming Savior, pleas for God to come. One of my favorite Christmas songs, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, is a compilation of those seven pleas:

  O come, O come, Emmanuel!
  Redeem they captive Israel
  That unto exile drear has gone
  Far from the face of God's dear Son.

  O come, thou branch of Jesse! Draw
  The quarry from the lion's claw;
  From the dread caverns of the grave,
  From nether hell, they people save.

  O come, O come, thou Dayspring bright!
  Pour on our souls thy healing light;
  Dispel the night's ling'ring gloom,
  And pierce the shadows of the tomb.

  Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
  Shall come to thee, O Israel.

How appropriate those words seem. In the face of brokenness, we can call, we can plea, we can invite, and we can even celebrate the coming-- someday, the coming-- of a Healer who will be with us.

Following from the Couch

Confession: I've been having elaborate fantasies late at night when I can't sleep. Usually it is about a brownie sundae: the feeling of the spoon as it glides through the melting vanilla ice cream on top, and then the weight of the fudgy brownie underneath; the combination of warm & cold, chewing together in my mouth.

Even worse, after a day of having nothing but crackers, grapes and smoothies, I fantasized about eating a slice of Costco cheese pizza: the slightly waxy texture of the cheese, and the tinny tang of the sauce. It just sounded so, so good.

I know, its pathetic-- maybe even sinful, but what's a [pregnant, sick & tired] girl gonna do?

The last few months have felt, well, a little bleak. I have spent the majority of first trimester of my pregnancy in a horizontal position-- either on the couch (watching our lil' one play with his trains in the living room), laying on the floor (watching our lil' one play trains in his bedroom), or laying in bed (either passed out, nauseated, or fantasizing about pizza). I can barely eat, and (being hypoglycemic, and a big ball of hormones) I have the feeling that I might not always be the most charming person to be around.

It occurred to me, at some point along the way, that I was really just waiting for it to all be over-- and my waiting mostly involved scrolling through Facebook, fantasizing about the food I couldn't eat, and half-way listening to a toddler's conversation about Thomas the Tank Engine. I've been waiting, hoping & aching for a time when I could start living life again, start being useful, start participating in the universe around me, regain some of my worth and value.

I realized that so much of my faith, my identity, my life is based on action-- getting out there & doing something, or at least talking to people, and helping them to get out there & do something (I'm actually much better at that last part). And, of course, there's nothing wrong with that... but what happens when you simply can't get out there, or do anything. What happens when you can't even get out of bed, or change your kid's diapers, or keep thoughts in your head long enough to make any use out of them? Do you just wait it out until you can be of some use again, or is there life to be lived from the couch? Is there a way to live out your faith, to follow Jesus, to love, give, and experience life when you're just plain sick for months & months?

It has definitely been a huge lesson in receiving-- receiving help from others, receiving grace when I can't contribute anything, receiving love when I haven't done anything recently to deserve it. It's just plain hard to feel useless, and to know that nothing is going to change for a little while.

But I'm trying. My default discipline when I feel frustrated, mopey, or dissatisfied to is force myself to thank God for the things that I have in the moment. And let me tell you, it really helps to have been sick for weeks in a African refugee camp to give you a sense of gratitude for the rest of your life (thank you for indoor plumbing, thank you for clean water, etc).

My next question has been "What do you have for me in the moment, God?" I have a feeling there's more I can get out of this than the discipline of holding my breath & waiting for something better. Perhaps something along the lines of finding worth & identity in things other than my usefulness. Perhaps it's trusting God's plan for me in something unexpected, and undesired (we were in the process of adopting, so this pregnancy is still something I'm adjusting to).

The last part, I still haven't gotten very far with. My hope is to actually find God, and life, and hope and joy right here-- on the couch, nauseated and worn out and maybe even a little cranky. I believe its possible, but I confess that I haven't pursued it very well yet.

I'm still not sure what it looks like to follow Jesus from the couch. I secretly hope that I won't have too much longer to figure it out-- but I know that it is a question that will come up again in life, especially if (as I am discovering) much of my identity is wrapped up in what I do.

I know that they say that forming a baby is "doing" enough, but there's not much to show for it (yet), other than a growing belly, and a fridge full of ginger ale. It would be quite a task to discover Life right here in this place. As much as I want to resist it, I have the feeling it is my job during this season to make that discovery... and, strangely, it seems like an important job.

The Money Pit

The subject of money always seems to put a tiny pit in my stomach, and makes my shoulders feel a bit tense. I am not the most organized, detail-oriented person in the world, and things like budgets, and remembering that little bill on the bottom of the stack of mail are not usually the things floating around at the front of my brain. Just the mention of credit cards and auto loans used to be enough to put me into a cold sweat. Lucky for me, I married a man who is fantastic with money-- saving it, watching it, remembering to spend it on things like phone bills, etc-- so now, my cold sweats have been reduced to the aforementioned tiny pit in my stomach.

When you dig a little deeper into that tense subject of money, into the area we call Charity, Giving, or Tithing, I get a little more anxious. You see, we have to raise our entire income on the gifts & donations of other people-- from health care, to travel expenses, conferences to retirement, we have to get out there & find people who believe in what we do enough to buy us lunch (and breakfast, and dinner). And since that hasn't been going very well for the past... oh, seven years, I've developed a funny Love-Hate relationship with Giving.

I was reading lately about the story of the Israelites wandering through the dessert, eating mannah, which magically appeared on the ground every morning. The story goes that God provided the mannah-- just enough for the people to eat-- but didn't allow it to be saved for the next day. He wanted his people to trust him daily for food, rather than gather it, store it, and feel secure, knowing that they had a few days of security in their hands. It was his way of saying, Trust me. I've got this covered. I'm not going to forget your breakfast. Don't get caught up in fear & greed & self-reliance-- I've got you.

I read that there is a crucial distinction between abundance-- a fearful response to scarcity-- and sufficiency-- which evokes an experience of satisfaction and well-being. The Israelites always had a sufficient amount of mannah each day-- none of them ever went hungry or needed more. But they wanted an abundance, to provide the security of knowing that just in case something happened tomorrow, they would have more than enough.

Okay, okay, I'm done with the Bible lesson (everyone make it out alright?). What I am really thinking about are the boxes of baby clothes we've got in the garage. The clothes that were given to us, out of the generosity & abundance of friends & family. I think I have bought two or three shirts, pants or shoes for my lil' guy that didn't come from a consignment store, a bag of hand-me-downs, or a gift. And that guy is better dressed than I could ever hope to be. But I'm afraid that when we adopt our little girl, we may not have enough-- and so I hold on to all those boxes.

And my mind also drifts back to a conversation Chris & I had about our budget a few days ago, as we calculated how much of our income would go to charity. It was an uncomfortable conversation, slicing up the money we have been given, and determining how much we could "afford" to give back. Finally, we put down a number that was technically acceptable, but felt embarrassingly small, saying we would come back to it later.

But reading about the mannah put that weird pit in my stomach again. Fear, anxiety, and that squirmy, uncomfortable feeling called Conscience started creeping up my spine, and I saw that I am going about the whole thing wrong. In the twelve years that I have lived off of other people's generosity and God's provision, I have never once gone hungry, been unable to pay our rent, or lacked for anything I have really needed (although we've had some really close shaves). And yet my abundance has not produced a feel of sufficiency, but a feeling of scarcity, and a desire to hold, hoard, grab, and scrimp. I have a home that was literally given to us, a car that was also given to us, a garage full of baby clothes that were given to us... and in our need for more funding, I am holding a fear-induced death grip on our money and our things. I want and I pray for God to give generously to us, and when he does, I am absolutely filled with anxiety at the thought of giving back.

In the story of the mannah, the magical bread actually turned maggoty when they tried to hold on to it overnight. And I'm afraid the same thing might just happen to me. So (it embarrasses me to admit how hard this is for me), I think I have two steps to take, now. First, I need to clean out our closets, and take a trip to Good Will. Just let go, and trust that we will have enough. Second, I need to spend some time praying about where we are supposed to give our money & how much we should give, and make our budget from there-- not the other way around.

I might even add a third step in there, of (man, I hate this one) praying for opportunities to give generously to others. I was talking on this subject to a group of moms, and one of them mentioned that one day, her mother in law had no couch in her living room. "Someone needed a couch, so I gave her mine" was the simple response to the inquiry. My first thought was, "I love my couch. Please, God, don't ask me to give away my couch."

But I realize that the more we hold onto-- the more we collect and gather into our arms-- the less capable we are to receive something new, something better, even. We limp along in life, working so hard to carry our provisions along with us, when we are being provided for every step of the way. We are afraid to ask for big things, and we are afraid to give big things, because both require us to relinquish self reliance, and to simply trust. And trust is one of those things that is so very simple, and so very difficult as the same time. It invites us to put down our load, and walk freely & lightly... but it's that letting go that can be so very hard.

Living Dreams, and Paying the Rent

Each of us has been given gifts & talents-- unique abilities, personalities & experiences that shape who we are. We have this intrinsic worth and value, and we were born for a higher purpose. We have dreams of living out a life of meaning, making a difference in this world, and becoming the men & women we feel that we are inside. There are times in our lives when we get to use those gifts and feel that "I was made for this."

...And then there's the reality that most days, we just have to pay the rent.

I love my job. I am passionate about what I do, and I honestly can't think of anything else I would rather give my life to. But the past week, I have sat in front of a computer screen, doing mindless data entry, organizing financial contacts, calling strangers on the phone asking for money, and going to bed never having left the house, or seeing anyone but my husband (who spent his day doing the same things), my toddler, and my somewhat droopy reflection in the mirror. And there's not much of an end in sight.

We were talking to a friend yesterday who has been in & out of work for almost a year now, and admitted that it is hard to find his identity & worth without a steady income; that he sometimes feels embarrassed at where he is in life. Another friend loves making women feel beautiful, and works at a high-end makeup counter. They both wonder if this is what they were meant for-- and if not, how in the world do they pay the rent and find something out there that brings the fulfillment & passion that we are supposed to have?

I work with college students who are vibrant and full of dreams & hopes. I want so much for them to have a vision for a life that is lived deeply, openly, generously, and that makes an impact for good on the world around them. But I also know that many of them will end up in jobs that are not life-giving, praying prayers that feel flat, spending evenings zoning out in front of the TV and feeling dull & tired.

What do I say to my friends from college-- who had the very same dreams, and are now in their 30's wondering if they somehow failed? Do we still maintain that intrinsic worth & value on those days, months, years when we haven't made a difference, haven't lived our dreams, haven't been the person we were meant to be? Who are we then? And how do we find that person? Can we even afford to look?

So often, we are unable to separate the idea of our value as a human, and the value of the life that we are living. If we don't believe that we are living out a worthwhile existence in the moment, it is easy to believe that we have somehow diminished in worth ourselves. And this idea of The American Dream has caused so many of us to believe that our jobs, vocation, and work-- what we do from 9 to 5-- is meant to supply us with that meaning, value, satisfaction and fulfillment we want out of life.

I know a man who, not very long ago, was an influential speaker, inviting people to follow Jesus in beautiful, risky, creative ways. He suffered a stroke, and is now a crossing guard, barely able to form sentences, let alone use the magnetic, dynamic gifts that are still somewhere inside. Where is his value? Where does he find his worth everyday, if not in the life he is living, the contributions he is making?

If we were to look at other times and other cultures, we would see men who are carpenters because their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers were carpenters, not necessarily because they felt some higher calling to carpentry. A man (or woman) worked hard at their job (in theory), and felt pride & satisfaction in knowing that they had done their best. Their fulfillment in life came from relationships, family, community, recreation, spirituality... and their jobs paid the rent.

I'm not saying that this is a better model, but I do wonder sometimes if we put too much our our identity into our jobs-- something unstable & often outside of our control. Is it possible to live a life of fulfillment, meaning & purpose in a mundane Office Space kind of job?

Brother Lawrence was a French monk in the 1600's who was somehow able to use dish washing, cooking & scrubbing as a medium for prayer, worship, and meditation. "We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."

Now, I will be the first to admit that I am not usually singing praises while cleaning the kitchen, and especially not while I'm doing tedious admin work (although I do often listen to Queen, and sing along at the top of my lungs). But I do think there is something to this idea of using work as a medium for gratitude and maybe even worship, rather than expecting the work itself to bring me fulfillment, meaning and worth. And as much as I believe in and hope to live out a life that is passionately changing the world around me (and inviting others to do the same), I don't ever want to sell someone on the false dream that our days will all turn out like a scene in an inspirational movie.

I think that somewhere in all of this jumble, the key is to live fully in the little things-- whether it's selling makeup, searching for a job, fixing toilets, or doing data entry-- using it as a medium for thankfulness, prayer, worship. When we do that, our focus is ripped away from ourselves, and we can stop worrying about our own worth & value, and I think that makes all the difference.

Again, I admit that I am not very good at this. In fact, the whole reason I have been thinking through these issues is because I have been feeling a little lost & insecure, as we have left our "real work" with students to focus on fundraising. But I have, in the past, taken baby steps in these simple practices, and am reminded of the need to intentionally make mental lists of the things I am grateful for in the moment, and invite my Creator into my mundane activities. I really to believe that if we live fully in little things, we are living towards something much bigger-- something we may not ever see here, but something of significance, nonetheless.

It is so easy to forget, though-- so easy to believe those voices telling us that we should be more. But maybe what we need, instead, is to do exactly what we are doing, but with greater presence.


[Side Note: Richard Foster's Book, Prayer, has a beautiful chapter on this practice, called Simple Prayer. Very practical, very profound-- and much better explained!]