Brave Face

About a month ago, my best friend and I decided we were going to start training to run a marathon. Neither have us have ever attempted anything close, but decided it would be a great accomplishment and since the group we are training with is supporting a great cause we figured it was a no-brainer.

In the past, the only time I've ever ran has been when someone was chasing me, and I have to admit, I don't recall being chased all that much. But my friend's support, and the knowledge that we were part of something bigger than ourselves really helped get me motivated. My friend and I completed a five mile run last Saturday and were due for the 6 mile run this weekend. Neither of us could make the scheduled 7am run so I went around noon by myself and she had to wait until much later when she got off work which was about 9pm.

Around 10pm I get a call from my friend who was out of breath and sounding a bit upset. She told me she tripped over an uneven sidewalk and as she put her hand forward to break the fall, fearing that she also broke her wrist. This was bad news on so many levels.

1. My friend does not have insurance.
2. My friend is a hair stylist and depends on her right hand for her bread and butter.
3. As most Californians, is already scarily trying to make ends meet.

I immediately picked her up and drove her to the E.R. closest to where we live which was a clean, hospitable environment. She was seen in a reasonable amount of time, got X-rays, and waited for the results. We were hoping for a bad sprain.

A little while later an abrupt nurse with a strange sense of humor and a bad cold comes in and tells my friend that not only is her wrist broken but that she'll likely have to have surgery to fix it. The nurse, not having a clue how devastating this news was to my friend, could not grasp why my friend was in tears. She probably thought, "It's only a broken wrist...what's the big deal??" But to my friend, it was so much more. It was the reminder that no matter what, she cannot seem to catch a break. It was another worry to worry about, and another reality check that her already paycheck to paycheck situation is headed for even more trouble.

Once the doctor realized she didn't have insurance he informed her that she could not get the surgery at that hospital. We'd have to go to "County" which was 13 miles away.

I tried to console her as best I could, but what can you do or say when a situation legitimately sucks??? As I sat there with her she cried and looked at me with the saddest tear filled eyes and frowning, quivering mouth and said pleadingly, "I can't put on a brave face anymore. I just can't do it." My friend has endured so much in the past year, and throughout her entire life even. Knowing all that she has faced over the years, I can tell you, she has worn that brave face well. In my best attempts at consoling her, I kept thinking to myself, it really just isn't fair.

After the doctor put the splint on and sent us on our not so merry way we got in my car and proceeded to drive out of the E.R. parking lot. At the light, an older woman who I had seen in the E.R. earlier walked up to my passenger side door and asked if we could drive her to the train station up the street. It was a strange request, and despite the woman's frail, weak state, I was very hesitant to oblige at first. She then began to explain in very broken English that she was having chest pains so she called the ambulance. When they came she explicitly told them to take her to a General hospital because she does not have insurance. The ambulance drivers said they could only take her to Huntington, which is private. When she got there she decided not to be seen because she knew the hospital bills would exceed her tight budget, so she walked around aimlessly trying to figure out what to do next.

I told her to get in and that I'd drive her home. As we drove, she began sobbing from the depths of her soul. She started telling us that her 35 year old daughter died a few months ago and that she attributed her chest pains to the grief of her loss. She seemed to have very little. She obviously had no one to take her to or from the hospital, and from the wellspring of tears that came forth from her tired wrinkly little face, something told me she didn't have many people to share her pain with either. The nearer we got to her house the more frequently she'd say, "But I feel better now, I do. I feel better now," as if she was trying hardest to convince herself. She too, was struggling to keep up the "brave face."

Today, I had to take my friend to the other hospital which was an experience that deserves its own blog. For nine hours of my life I felt like I was in a third world country. I very literally never saw or smelled anything like what I experienced today.

I will tell you this, when I came home tonight, I got in the tub to soak away the stench of rotting flesh that lingered in the emergency room for most of the day, and I just started to sob. The reality of my own "Brave Face" set in and I just hit a point where I realized that I wish I could just yield to it. I wish there existed a time and space where I didn't have to hustle all the time, or run from one idea the next, or fear, question, debate, or work towards this or that.

The fact of the matter is that so many of us, me included, have that brave face on everyday out of pure necessity, because if we take it off, we might surely die, or at least, that's how it feels sometimes. As I sat in my tub, surrounded by silence I wept at the possibility that maybe God is the one being who allows us the luxury of being who we are, minus the brave face. Minus all the crap we hide behind that just helps us make it through the day. Maybe God is the one thing, being, force, entity, whatever...who speaks quietly to our souls and says, it's okay, you don't have to be brave right now. You can let down your guard, it is safe, I am with you. But what is even more important than just hearing the words, the words are actually true.

I think of my friend, and I want so much for her to have a sense that she is safe, protected, taken care of, and not by her own strength, or her own goddam health insurance. And I want to tell the little old lady whose daughter died, that it is okay that her heart hurts so bad from grief, and that she doesn't have to be okay, because it safe for her to be hurt and sad, and in need of help. But the reality is, they do have to have brave faces. Plain and simple. And I hate that.

I hope that somehow, some way, we find the quietest of moments to yield to the "brave face" facades, whatever form they may come in, in safe places where we are cared for and nurtured back to health.

Subversive Jealousy

When I was a senior in high school I took my first art class. It was a level 1 class so I was the only senior among a class room of freshman. (I had an idiot for a guidance counselor who encouraged me to take more "academic" courses early in high school despite my artistic predispositions.) While in that class I met a guy who I became really good friends with. His name is Justin.

Justin was an amazing artist. His work was very mature for his age, and his talent probably surpassed our teacher's, which was probably the reason our teacher harbored a bitter, jealous rage of his own. Justin didn't lose any sleep over that, though. He just kept painting, kept creating, and even in high school made significant bank selling his work. Even though I was an okay artist, I never had the drive or skill that Justin had, and as we grew older, I certainly didn't have the connections that served to open amazing doors for him professionally either.

It has been fifteen years since I first met Justin. Since that time Justin went to some of the best art schools in the country, studied art all over the world, hob nobbed with artists from all over the world, and eventually transferred his skill in painting and design into jewelry making. Justin is now the principle designer and founder of Subversive Jewelry. http://www.subversivejewelry.com/

His designs are poetic, lovely, mysterious, tragic and like nothing I've seen. Though his style of jewelry probably won't appeal to everyone, each work (in my opinion) seems to tell its own story, fusing beauty, history, glamor and the sublime-which is all so "Justin."

Justin's jewelry is worn by supermodels, is featured in fashion magazines, and is sold in L.A., N.Y., London, and Japan. The scrawny little freshman kid who used to draw obsessive pen drawings has certainly come along way.

He has come such along way in fact that recently, I have wantingly gazed at his website, longing to invest in one of his designs knowing that some of his necklaces cost as much as a full months salary for me. "What exactly am I doing wrong?" is a question that often pops into my head when I think about where my life, and my art is in comparison to Justin's. Then it hits me like a brick in the face... I am JEALOUS!

Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic for the success that Justin has worked so hard for, and I hope that he finds more, but it doesn't stop me from wondering why I can't be like him. Why can't I be focused enough, talented enough, motivated enough, or lucky enough to find a niche for myself and run with it? Right now I am supposed to be re-writing an 'Immigration and the American Church' paper that I bombed, when all I really want to do (at the moment) is go to a coffee shop, go salsa dancing or make purses, but I don't. Nor do I re-write my shit paper. Instead, I blog about how jealous I am of a friend who is (seemingly) living the glamorous life.

I want to be the one with the sweet ass apartment in Manhattan and the pressure and deadlines of "fashion week." But instead, I am still a goddam student living in student housing, stressing over research papers and school debt all so that I can end up with a degree that prepares/qualifies me to do shit I no longer want to do. Don't get me wrong, I chose where I am right now, and at one point this is what I truly wanted. But things have changed, I have changed, and I am realizing that things are not turning out the way I expected, and that has me a little disheveled, spiritually, creatively, and vocationally, which is probably why it is so easy for me to look at someone else and say, "I want what he's having!"

Even as I write this I wonder why I chose to include the theme of jealousy as a "Dissecting the Divine" topic. On some level I guess that my jealousy speaks to a larger issue: discontentment, and to me, discontentment is a spiritual issue. I also have a hard time separating what I should be "doing" with my life, from who I am. Some just do what they do, and that works for them. For some reason, when it comes to vocation, I have this cursed perspective that it should mean something, or it should "feel" right. I just can't do something that I don't love. I know such a perspective is proof of a privileged existence because most people in the world work to survive, period, and they don't have the options I have. There is little to no thought regarding how one's work provides existential fulfillment. I don't know, maybe I'm getting sidetracked from the initial topic, which was jealousy...so, back to the point...

I just think there is something fundamentally amiss when you painfully want something that someone else has, that is likely not in your reach. Maybe my jealousy is really an indication of the fear, excuses, laziness, and lack of self determination that lies at the root of why I don't have the life my friend Justin has. Who knows, maybe my friend thinks that the grass is greener on my side of the fence in my less than 200 sq. ft. on campus, seminary apartment. HA-yeah right.

Sometimes I think I am plagued with the desire to be or do something spectacular which is often crushed with a self perception of my own mediocrity.

If there is a God, this is when I would usually ask her, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY LIFE???? If she would only give me a clear answer, then I would know. I wouldn't pursue the wrong degree, or work toward meaningless ends, and most of all, I wouldn't get jealous of other people because I'd have the confidence of knowing my own path.

God Made Me Do It

On August 6th, I watched a program on T.V. highlighting the complexities regarding China's rise to power, it's current economic boom, and the ways in which it's government perpetuates, denies, and commits egregious acts of human rights violations. To most people who pay attention to world events, none of this is new information. However, with the Olympics being held in Beijing, an opportunity has arisen for those who are compelled to advocate on behalf of the voiceless to take advantage of the moment to raise awareness in hopes of putting pressure and shame on a country known for shucking the responsibility of its ills.

The Olympics have been a venue for political agendas and social justice movements for decades, and rightfully so. People have relied on the intersection of nation and sport to speak out against war, genocide, civil rights violations, religious persecution, and more. Athletes have taken their places on podiums to accept medals and to take a stand against all kinds of injustices. This time around is no different.

Well, it's a little different. With China under sharp criticism from much of the world, one can't help but wonder why it was chosen to host a world event in the first place. Who didn't see these ensuing controversies coming? One can't help but wonder what the hell CHINA was thinking?!? I mean did you (China) really think the world was just gonna sit back and forget all the ways your own people are being policed, silenced, and controlled just because you put on a good show? Did you think we'd be so awed by your torch display that we'd overlook the fact that you do business with governments who are currently committing acts of genocide, because you depend on their natural resources?

As important as it is to understand the intricacies behind China's woeful ways, it is not the focus of this blog. The focus is on the actions of a guy who affectionately goes by the name "Pastor Eddie." Pastor Eddie is on a one man crusade to "raise awareness" worldwide by reserving hotel rooms in China, vandalizing them by painting the walls with the atrocities committed by China over the years, and then documents his handiwork and journey on a blog called http://exodus8one.org/blog

It is all over the news. I saw his wife crying on t.v. tonight as she shared her support of his "sacrificial" actions. In case you are wondering, this act is considered "sacrificial" because it is quite possible that Pastor Eddie could be executed for his actions according to Chinese law. In China, it is against the law to criticize the government. And I am sure it is against the law to vandalize a hotel room and jump ship before paying your bill, too, all of which the pastor is guilty of.

Pastor Eddie, his wife, their church, and many supporters in the U.S. (and probably abroad) applaud this man's actions and insist that he (Pastor Eddie) is acting in accordance with God's will on behalf of people in China and those in other countries negatively affected by China's policies. The blog is riddled with Excessive God Talk (EGT-a term defined and the subject of my last Dissecting the Divine blog).

Pastor Eddie, writes updates in his blog highlighting his near miss with Chinese authorities in a way that makes me wonder if he is getting a sort of "high" from all of this, and ends by asserting that "GIG." I had to rack my brain to figure out that it meant, "God is Good." -I am gagging.

God is Good to a man who left his wife, family, and church to go to China, break Chinese laws, to make a point that many others are making just as successfully, risking a LOT of prison time and possible death? I think God is looking at this guy and saying, "Dude, leave me out of this!"

Here is the thing about Pastor Eddie...he is right. He is right about the atrocities committed by the Chinese government, he is right that people of all faiths are being persecuted immensely, and he is right in his demand for global awareness and action. But to what degree is God responsible for the way in which he has chosen to raise awareness?

Let me clarify, I am not opposed to civil disobedience. (Breaking the law in order to show that the law is in in need of revision.) Martin Luther King Jr. is one of my greatest inspirations and everything he did was "against the law." He had to break the law, or no one was going to listen.

People who harbored Jews during the Holocaust "broke the law" but they did so in order to save lives. It was necessary.

But Pastor Eddie...

I wonder if his "sacrifice" and methods to raise awareness will do anything more than get a couple thousand hits on youtube as well as get him or someone else killed. I read an article online that talked about how journalists were asking hotel employees what they knew of the whole situation. The two that were referenced said they knew nothing, that they didn't even hear of the event. Which reveals one of two things: Either the Chinese control over media kept employees of the actual hotel unaware of what happened INSIDE the hotel, or these employees are scared shitless that they will be arrested for mentioning a word of this to the foreign press. Yikes! Does this guy realize what harm he might be doing?

The other thing that baffles me is the fact that his wife is left behind as are his adult children and their six grandchildren, to wait and wonder what the fate of this lone soldier renegade holds. And they ALL confirm that God is behind this 100%.

This is precisely what I was talking about in my last blog. What is it that convinces this man that God is directing his actions in this way, and why is it that I strongly believe that such is not the case? Somebody is wrong. Somebody is not getting the correct message.

In a recent staff meeting one of the older sages I work with responded to my increasing concern over students who say things like "God told me I am supposed to go to Fuller" while their application deficiencies led to another fate. He said, (I am paraphrasing) "Students who believe God is speaking to them specifically about this program or that, would best be served if they conceded to the reality that they feel compelled by a very valid need to do SOMETHING about that perceived need, and are in the process of figuring out how to make that happen." Such wise words.

I believe that Pastor Eddie perceives a valid need. A need for global awareness, a need for social justice, a need for liberation from a very powerful government, a need for the dark atrocities of a nation to be brought to the light. What I don't believe is that God is behind his seemingly unwise and unnecessary sacrifice. I think God does require sacrifice but I just can't see God requiring sacrifice in vain. If other measures, media outlets, etc are in place that are making people question unjust Chinese foreign policy, what is the point of putting your own head on the chopping block? I can't think of anything more self righteous, UN-godly, and just plain non-sensical.

Now you might be saying, well look at the attention this guy is getting, doesn't that account for something? I would say yes, if CHINA WASN'T ALREADY MAKING HEADLINE NEWS WITH ALL ITS BAD STUFF! American media LOVES hating China. There is no shortage of their atrocities on mainstream news media outlets here. No shortage whatsoever. If such was not the case, I'd be the first to sign up for Pastor Eddie's blog.

For now, I am not sure what to make of it. What do you think? Do you think God told Pastor Eddie to do it? What did you know of China before this blog, or before hearing of Pastor Eddie on the news (if you have)? Has his efforts enlightened you about China more than other sources?

(Please resist the "he believes what he believes, I believe what I believe" kind of rhetoric as a means of avoiding critique of this situation. It is a myth that what one believes is between that one person and God. We don't exist in a vacuum. Everything we think, do, and believe affects everything outside of ourselves. Don't be afraid to say "yes" or "no" to the above questions, just be prepared to back it up.)

Dissect away my pretties.

God Talk

Lately, I have become increasingly amused by what I call "Excessive God Talk" aka, EGT. Some people prefer the term "Christianese." Either is fine I suppose. Both phrases denote a use of words that are usually only acceptable or legitimate when used around other "Godly" people. Phrases that are clear signs of EGT include, but are not limited to:

God told me...
I am waiting to hear God's voice...
When I hear from him (God) I'll let you know...
Greetings in the name of our gracious savior, the Lord Jesus Christ...
"Under the care of his wing" (instead of "Sincerely" at the end of a letter)
I saw the face of God in my face...
and my personal favorite: The Devil is a liar...

The list goes on.

(By the way, all of the above phrases are things I have actually read or heard at work or over the phone. It never ceases to amaze me how specifically and clearly God speaks to some people!)

People who talk and think this way provoke one of two reactions.

1. What am I doing wrong that causes God to be so indirect and nondescript when it comes to my life journey and spiritual revelation?

OR

2. What the hell are these people smoking?

The crazy part is that I actually used to talk and think like that. I used to say that God "led" me here, or there. And I used to believe that all my decisions were based on the "fact" that he was speaking to me. I never defined it as a literal, audible voice, but rather a belief in my heart that God was nudging me in one way over another.

When I think about it now though, I am not as convinced as I once was about those "God spoke to me" moments. I now wonder if they weren't just natural development of my interests, passions, and personal desires. I know, I know, who's to say that those things aren't motivated or shaped by God's will? I don't know how to answer that, which is half the reason I am writing this post.

All I know is that when I hear people say that they undoubtedly, irrefutably hear God talking to them, I can't help but question their sanity. Maybe my feelings are based in a deep seeded jealousy that God isn't talking so clearly and directly to me. Or maybe it's the fact that so many people I know at one time or another were convinced that they were hearing God, when in fact they were hearing the wishes of their own subconscious.

Ex: I knew a woman in college who was convinced that God spoke to her in a dream and said that she was to marry another friend of ours. I did not think she was hearing right, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt and "waited" with her as she patiently prayed for the day he would propose, even though they never dated. She was convinced that God placed a supernatural ring on her finger in her dream and that since she woke up from that dream she could still sense the feeling of an actual ring on her finger even though she wasn't actually wearing one. A year later, the guy did propose...to another woman. Nine years later, they are still married.

Another woman I know applied to a PhD program, convinced that this was the direction in which God was leading her, because that's what he told her. Hmm. Convenient. Apparently God forgot to tell her that she needed to know how to properly construct a thesis statement and supporting citations in her essay. She was denied on the basis that her writing skills were insufficient for Doctoral level work. "WHAT??? BUT GOD TOLD ME!!!! The Devil is a liar!!!"

I find that when things don't go the way people suffering from EGT syndrome expect, they blame the devil. This is a convenient strategy for people who can't stand the thought of taking personal responsibility for one's actions, irrationality, poor decisions and lack skills or common sense.

Being confronted with EGT (as entertaining as it sometimes is) really does frustrate me. Not only is it frustrating, but it is one of the main reasons I can't step foot into a church right now. Too much EGT!!!! Last week I was at a church and a woman was sharing how she has just started making crocheted purses and she kept saying, "I KNOW God keeps telling me to sell my stuff in Santa Monica." Really? So God is taking up marketing now? Why can't this woman realize that the urge to go to Santa Monica to sell her wares is more about a logical understanding that people who visit or live in Santa Monica typically have an indiscriminate amount of money to spend on trendy crocheted handbags???? Revelation from God, and logical assessment of supply and demand are not the same thing. UGH!

I don't know, maybe my cynicism is at work again, poisoning my ability to see the intimate handiwork of God in the everyday things of our lives.

I mean, Jesus did tell the disciples to throw their nets over the other side of the boat after an unyielding, exhausting day of labor, and the result was an abundances of fish that nearly snapped their nets! But Jesus was actually right there with them, giving direct guidance in the form of legible words coming directly out of his mouth. More than that, there was an end result that was directly in line with the direction. Such an event cannot compare to what we have to go by when we think God is speaking to us. So how can we be so sure when or if God is speaking?

Does all of this mean that I don't think God (if he or she does exist) doesn't speak to people? Of course not. What kind of God would God be if he/she didn't reveal himself/herself to us in some way. And what would be our purpose if we couldn't discern that revelation?

To me it all comes down to basic, philosophical, epistemological (theory of knowledge)questions:

What is knowledge? (in this case in regards to God's revelation)
How is that knowledge acquired?
What do people know?
How do we know what we know?

All questions I have no answers to.

Please Forgive Me

A few months ago I was shopping at Trader Joes and I ran into a male co-worker/friend. He asked if I had any fun plans for the weekend and I told him I had plans to work on a quilt I had been sewing, and that I was really excited about it.

He seemed amazed that I could sew, which is not an uncommon response. I guess most people have lost touch with the domestic arts. However, I did not expect to hear what followed next. The guy, out of nowhere asked, "So you sew huh?" "Yes," I said. Then he said, "I have a question to ask you that may seem inappropriate." "Okay," (I said, reluctantly.) "Do you sew your own thong underwear?"

That is literally the flow of the conversation. We went from granny squares, to not so granny underwears! I was so confused. Was he joking, was there some kind of inside joke we had that I forgotten? I couldn't figure it out. All I knew was that it made me feel very uncomfortable not only because of what he said, but how he said it, and the context surrounding it. Plain and simple, it was insulting on so many levels. I kept asking myself, would he ask me that question if his wife were standing here?

Mind you, I am a seminary student, and so is he. He may very likely be a pastor or a Christian therapist someday, and he is loosely going around asking women if they sew thong underwear? At first it doesn't seem like a major infraction, but it's definitely traveling down the road to creepy-town.

I was visibly thrown off by his comment to such a degree that he remarked, "I see I may have in fact said something inappropriate," but he said it as if it was funny. Then he went on to say that he tries to offend at least one person a month. I think this was his way of making light of the situation. I was not impressed. I kept my composure and humorous sensibilities and responded by reminding him that our interaction may be the subject of my next blog. His response, "haha, yeah, just don't use my name." My response, "Uh, I don't have a confidentiality clause...I use names." He looked nervous, laughed, and walked off.

I thought this whole interaction was so strange. Was I making too much out of it? Was there some kind of inside joke that made him say it, and I just couldn't remember it?

Now let me provide some background, normally he is a funny guy, very witty, sarcastic, and intelligent. I typically enjoy having conversations with him because he is a straight talker and he's entertaining. Even though he is married with three kids, I always looked at him as proof that there are good guys out there who are interesting, engaging, and not afraid to debate issues, all while maintaining a relatively normal/healthy marriage (by normal I do not mean perfect!). I have a professional friendship with him as well as his wife. ALL adding to my confusion.

Then I remembered a blog I wrote www.beautymarkmyword.blogspot.com back in March about a tragic digestive disaster I had on an airplane that cause me to soil myself while wearing a thong. (Disgusting, I know) I thought that HAD to be it!!! He must have read my blog and that is what he is referring to. I went home and quickly opened facebook, sent him a message..."Did you read my blog..." He wrote back, no, why?

It turned out he did not read my blog, he was just being a creepy asshole. I partially told him that his comment was inappropriate but I didn't really get into it with him. I just made a mental note that he was just like the rest of the assholes that I can't seem to avoid lately.

Over the next couple of months I saw him a couple of times (work functions and around school.) He was never alone when I saw him, and he did not talk to me much when I did. But last week I saw him outside my building. We exchanged hellos, talked about work stuff, and I told him how things were going with our new staff. I explained that the newer folks seemed a bit more reserved and introverted than my last staff and that it would take some getting used to. His suggestion? "Why don't you all get together and watch some dirty movies together." WTF???

At that point I just came out and asked, "what's with you and the creepy sexual comments? He avoided the questions with some stupid immature answer and rushed off.

I decided at that point that I was going to tell him that I did not appreciate the type of humor he was sharing with me. I went home and constructed a professional and sincere message that basically said, talk to me like this again and you are going to have problems you've never dreamed of. He responded;

"Thank you for your email. You are right; my humor was inappropriate and disrespectful. Please accept my sincere apology. I meant no disrespect and had no ill motives. I have let my language get too loose with people in general (not just with you), so I appreciate you being bold enough to call me out on it. It is a good rebuke that reminds me of the need to practice edifying speech. I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable and disrespected. Please forgive me."

So here I am, already wounded by men who have taken turns disrespecting me with words, actions, and inconsideration and I am left with the question, "Please forgive me." I wrote out a simple email that said, "Thank you, and I forgive you" but I deleted it. Then I thought (as I often do when it comes to forgiveness) what does it mean to forgive, and who does it benefit?

In more recent years I've heard people say forgiveness is not for the person who has done wrong, it is for the person who has had the wrong done to them. In other words, you should forgive because it releases you from having bitterness, anger, or ill will towards a person who hurt you.

The more I think about it though, the more I realize that I am unsatisfied with that perspective of Forgiveness. Forgiving someone who has wronged you does have some benefit for the other person. Think about it, why else would we ourselves ask for forgiveness when we have wronged someone else? After all, don't we gain something when we ask God to forgive us???

So I continued to ponder. This guy acknowledges that he was being disrespectful and now he wants me to forgive him. But why? Is he suddenly remorseful? Does he now realize the err of his wrongs but did not see them as such when he was saying it? And should any of this factor in to my decision to forgive him?

I continue to ponder, only this time a little deeper. What exactly IS forgiveness in the first place? Is it an acknowledgment? a feeling? a state of mind? an action? a mixture of all of the above? I have heard and read so much about forgiveness but it still seems like a very abstract concept, and one that I am repeatedly expected to practice.

I once had a person tell me to flip the two words that make up the word forgive: give forth. For some reason I have liked this way of defining and conceptualizing forgiveness. There is an element of surrender involved that helps me understand that there is value in giving forth hurt feelings, bitterness, anger, etc. If I choose to give all of that away, I think it is logical to assume that I will better off for it.

Still more pondering. But to whom do I give forth all this stuff??? To the person who wronged me?-That kind of doesn't make sense to me. Why would I give my hurt feelings to him? To God? Well the whole God thing is rough terrain right now, so I don't know what to say there...which presents another problem. Is forgiveness possible if the forgiver doesn't believe in God??

Oy Vey...do you see why I am prematurely gray???

In the end, the comments this guy made didn't cause me to lose too much sleep...a fractured hope that there are more good men than bad out there who respect their wives maybe, but no amount of forgiveness in the world can repair that, sadly.

And since vengeance feels like ugliness in my soul, I couldn't bring myself to post the guy's name. What can I say, all talk, no action ;-.)

So these questions I continue to ponder. Let's ponder together shall we?

How do you define forgiveness?
How do you practice forgiveness?
How do you ask for forgivenss?
Who benefits from forgiveness?

The Light

I am jealous of a plant. Yes, you read right...a plant. I don't know what kind of plant it is. I got it at IKEA about a year ago. I am usually not the greatest at taking care of plants, but I have been doing really well this time around. I notice things about my plant like new growth and it actually gets a little limp when it is thirsty. Taking care of this one plant has brought me some interesting metaphors worth pondering.

The plant is perched upon a t.v. stand that sits in the corner of room, where two sliding glass doors meet. The sunlight is perfect for a healthy plant. Without fail, everyday, when I come home from work, the plant is leaning toward the light. Now I am sure there is some biological explanation for this. I don't remember what it is, and frankly, no matter what the reason, I am still amazed by it. The plant lives on and craves the light to such a degree that it faithfully grows in its direction. It doesn't have to think about what direction to head in, it doesn't have to theorize, theologize, systemetize, or philosophize its own existence. It just exists. It doesn't ask if the light is real or if there is more than one way to get to the light. It doesn't get into arguments with other plants about which light to lean towards, and it certainly doesn't assume that the light shines brighter on it than it does on other plants. (Granted, its needs are partially provided by me, but that is because it is a house plant. It should depend on me to provide some of its needs. Thankfully I am keeping my end of the bargain!)

Even though I am envious of this seemingly trusting, carefree existence of a plant, it does seem to be taunting me. I would love to close my eyes, have my soul watered, and faithfully lean to a light that mercifully brings its warm rays every morning and then retreats just in enough time to let me rest every evening. If only, IF ONLY I COULD BE A DAMN PLANT.

Bless You.

bless: to hallow or consecrate by religious rite or word: to invoke divine care for …Miriam Webster’s Dictionary

To invoke divine care for... What an inspiring definition of what it means to bless.

I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be blessed, to receive blessings, or to bless others, etc. Working at a seminary, it is unavoidable to hear such words thrown around in an almost nauseating manner. I suppose that is what fueled my interest in this concept in the first place. I hear people talk all the time about “counting your blessings,” “giving thanks for God’s blessings,” “I am too blessed to be stressed,” and so on. I hear talk of priestly blessings, ceremonial blessings, and many who offer "bless you's" when I sneeze! I am even guilty of preceding my signature on most documents with “Blessings.”

But what does it really mean to be blessed? How do we really know that something is truly a blessing, or like Webster's suggests, an authentic manifestation of "divine care?" Further, who is qualified to bless, or where do blessings come from? I wrote this blog to address a fraction of the questions that arose from this one sweet little word, "bless" This is what I came up with.

In a consumer driven culture, I suspect that much of what we define as a “blessing” is nothing more than the reception of monetary/material goods, services, or much desired conveniences that make our lives easier. Such things are certainly not bad! I happen to be a big fan of monetary and/or material goods that make my life easier, but I am not convinced that is the fullest or truest extent of what a blessing is.

I mean think about it. Is it a blessing that you qualified for that ginormous home loan that you cant really afford? Is it a blessing that you got that well paying job that sucks the life out of you and robs you of quality time with friends and family? Is it a blessing to have opportunities that others do not have, or did you just grow up in the right family?

The more I think about “blessing” not only do I wonder if there isn’t a very fine line between a blessing and a curse, I also wonder if one person’s “blessing” is actually another person’s curse.

This past Sunday I stumbled across “The Hour of Power,” a television broadcast church service hosted by a well known Evangelical Christian leader, Robert Shuller Jr. In his sermon, he too spoke of blessings. He used the example of his morning coffee and described it as a small blessing resulting from God’s provision. He took time to ponder all of the hands who participated in the crafting of the mug, to the picking of the coffee beans, and he thanked God for it. To him this was an excellent example of how God provides for us in the smallest of ways, and reminded people to think about all those little things that we are “blessed” with on a daily basis.

I am not sure if it was the cynic in me or my awareness of unfair work conditions in the coffee industry, but I was annoyed by his analogy and determined that it proved the following suspicion: we wouldn’t know how to spot a real blessing if it bit us in the ass. Maybe it was the image of poverty stricken, brown skinned laborers picking coffee beans for dollars a day, so we could nurse our addictions that made Shuller’s point hard to swallow. I just couldn’t help but think that in order for something to be a blessing for one, it couldn’t be a curse for someone else. If Robert Shuller’s god is in fact responsible for providing divine care through a daily caffeine fix, what does that say about those who suffer needlessly in that very same process? Are we to believe that God uses people in a seemingly unjust way, to bless other people with something as trivial as a morning cup of joe?

The example of a blessing used by this pastor made me question if there are other things we view as blessings that actually cause harm to others or even ourselves, but are seem like good things on the outside. I immediately came up with long lists of things in my head; everything from bras to air conditioning.

(Did you know that bras have affected womens' abilities to breastfeed???)

What I came up with made me think that if we believe that a blessing involves divine care or provision, testing whether or not something actually is a blessing means really looking at the holistic nature of it, as well as it’s timelessness. I think that something that is a blessing today will be a blessing forever. It can’t, shouldn’t, or won’t become a curse. If it did or does, then the “blessing” was or is just a well dressed curse from the beginning!

Here is the good news. If our perceived “blessings” in the superficial selfish sense are actually curses in disguise, then the opposite must also bet true! Things that seem like curses may in fact be blessings!!! How so, you ask? Take for example gas prices. I don’t know a person alive who doesn’t think the price of gasoline isn’t a curse and possibly even a crime against humanity. But something amazing is happening as a result of high gas prices. People are coming together to car pool, bulk grocery shop, and we are making decisions that affect our wallets and the environment. Employers are instituting shorter work weeks, and people are getting creative with how they spend time with friends and family on a budget. I hate the high price of gasoline, but the affects of this strain is actually yielding something that looks much more beneficial in the long run, than a quick fix of lowered prices.

So the next time you hear someone or yourself say, “What a blessing!” think about it a little more. Is it really a blessing or merely a much desired convenience that is good for some, but detrimental to others? In the same vain, when you feel the weight of burdens or “curses” think about those a little more too. Consider the possibility that blessings come in tow with difficult circumstances, not just pleasant ones where our ears are tickled with words that are easy to hear, or circumstances that turn us into over privileged, complacent, entitled, apathetic boobs.

Good Mourning

February of 2008 I broke up with the only person I ever called "Soulmate."

While I moved away to pursue graduate studies across country he entertained dozens of affairs with many women (single and married) and engaged in sex parties with people he met online. I expected we'd drift apart when I moved away, but he assured me that such would not be the case. I shared openly with him the possibility of seeing other people, but he didn't want to do that, and I believed him. The fact of the matter is that he didn't want to see anyone else, he literally just wanted to fuck as many people as he could.

This reality, which he at least had the decency to tell me on his own (I would have never found out) has single-handedly been the harshest blow I have ever known, and believe me, I have known some hard times! It has been so difficult to wrap my brain around the fact that I knew this man for four years and never saw this coming. I have never been so clueless about a person who was so close to me! Not only that, but even my most discerning friends and family missed this one! He became a part of my family. My mom, dad, brother, and best girl friends accepted him as part of the family! I thought I was going to marry him (and I ain't the marrying type!) For the first time in my life (with him) I imagined having someone's babies. When I told my friends and my family, they cried almost as much as I did.

It's been over a year since he broke the news of his addiction. We broke up immediately and we both entered therapy. I was a mess. I was beyond a mess. I experienced so much with this person. We both taught each other to love. We traveled across the country together, we shared our fears, our dreams, everything. Well, not everything. And because of that, I was close to hating him.

While we were broken up he also started attending Sex Addicts Anonymous. Six months into our break up we started talking again. We took it slow and tried to make it work. We were working on stuff individually and we were reading Tao meditations together over the phone. It felt like I was taking a huge risk re-building the trust that was lost but I truly believed he was worth it (and still do). We were together for about six more months before he decided to come clean with the news that he "fucked up again." That was in February of this year. I haven't talked to him since then and have cut all ties with him. I have had to un-weave him from my soul and of course all of my databases. I deleted his numbers from my cell phone and deleted him from my myspace, two very profound declarations. Everything that I thought he was, wasn't. Or at least it wasn't the full story, so it was time to cut him out for good.

The hardest part for me has been making sense of all the memories. I recently took every letter, photo, ticket stub, etc, ripped them into tiny pieces and made art out of it all so that I could keep the memories, but give them a new context in which to interpret them. Even though my memories are no longer what they used to be, I couldn't pretend like they didn't mean anything.

He was my best friend, and now he is a stranger. How is one supposed to process that? I don't think I'll ever know. I think this whole experienced has aged me a lot...physically and emotionally, and in a good and bad ways.

When I first found out a year ago I cried every day for about three months. I just didn't have a frame of reference for the news he shared or the affect it had on me. It was as if he died. I have to admit, it's much better now. I cry when I need to, which is not that often. It is very important for me to cry when I need to though, and sometimes the strangest things bring on a cry. Last night as I laid down to go to sleep I kind of curled up on my side and I got this flash of a memory of how we used to "spoon". Not only did I cry myself to sleep after that, I am actually welling up just thinking about it.

I recently realized that I am pretty angry too. I am angry at him, angry at women, angry at men, angry at porn, angry at myself. Just angry. I suppose that will fade eventually too. I just have this rage inside me over this that makes being around happy couples the most torturous of situations. Sometimes the weight of my emotions sits on my chest like a brick. So much so that on occasion I have to go bra-less just so I can breathe! Good thing I have small boobs!

The worst of the worst part is that I am not just sad for me, I am sad for him. Don't get me wrong I HATE what he has done, how he has lied, etc...but I know his story. I know what has shaped him and why he does what he does. I know he is tormented by his own decisions and that makes me sad for him. It's such a catch 22. On one hand I wish there was a way I could end his pain, and on the other hand I wish I could bring him the same pain he has brought me. (Even though vengeance isn't really my thing.)

(I am literally exposing my heart in this blog because it is a cheap alternative to therapy (which I can't afford right now) and I sometimes think that if I put it out into the universe it will help me let it go.)

I called this blog "Good Mourning" partly because it is the name of an India Arie song that gives me great comfort right now, and partly because I know that I am grieving well, giving myself time to cry, and I am being honest with how I still feel about him. I miss his laugh, his touch, his politics, his smile, his taste in music, his spontaneity, his competitive nature, his willingness to talk to me on the phone when I'm grocery shopping, his willingness to take salsa lessons with me, his stubbornness, his intelligence, his strength, his KISS (that man was the best kisser ever) and his friendship. I love him still, and I always will. But like Samantha said in SATC, "I love myself more."

I don't know what will become of him. Sometimes I think that a person who has the capabilities to lie the way he has, and segment his life the way he has, also has the potential to be a serial killer. (I am not exaggerating.) The idealistic/romantic side of me still hopes that I will serendipitously run in to him two years from now to find out he has turned his life around in some kind of miraculous way that would provide me with a "Carrie and Big" moment. Then that realist side kicks in, and I remind myself to not only NOT hold my breath, but to also run like hell from that evil bitch Serendipity!

I don't know what will become of me either. I just know that minding "me" is where my efforts must be devoted.

Ahhhh, I feel a little better. It's going to be a good mourning.

Rest

Three years ago, I moved from Pittsburgh, PA to Pasadena, CA for grad school. I had visited before I moved and was excited to live right outside L.A., one of the most diverse, densely populated, and exciting cities in the world. Even though I never thought of myself as much of a west coast person I was extremely excited to experience this neck of the woods, even if it was just while I was in school!

As much as I love the culture, the weather, the accessibility to beaches, mountains, and salsa dancing 7 days a week, there is one thing that I cannot stand about living here...TRAFFIC. Traffic in L.A. is like nothing I have ever seen in any other city because we live and die at the will of the freeways. That means 6, sometimes 8 lanes in each direction, average speed 75 mph, and a constant guessing game as far as how long it takes to get from any given point A to any given point B. It is an understood travel dynamic here that a destination that could take 20 minutes may actually take you 2 hours depending on traffic-this is no exaggeration. What has been most disconcerting for me is that my apartment complex is nestled about a stone's throw from one of those major freeways and the noise that comes from it is non-stop, day after day, night after night. It is this constant roar that never goes away. Closing my windows helps a great deal, but it doesn't eliminate the roar completely. I often feel like I have to sacrifice a cool breeze or the hopes of peace and quiet, because having both a cool breeze and peace & quiet is not an option where I live!

Even though I have lived here for 3 years, I have never gotten used to the noise, and I crave moments of true silence and stillness in the worst way, and probably because I can't have it unless I drive a couple hundred miles away...LITERALLY! It's so maddening sometimes that I often have fantasies of suspending banners across freeway overpasses that say "GIVE IT A REST ALREADY!! TAKE A DAY OFF FROM DRIVING! GIVE ME JUST ONE MOMENT OF PEACE AND QUIET! I also quietly wish that something would happen to the freeway that would suspend travel for a couple of days (not anything that would cause anyone harm of course!)

I think part of my motivation for this wish is based in a belief that if everything around me is going, going, going, then it is that much harder for me to just stop, and I think stopping once in a while is a necessary thing for me to do. Growing up in the church, we called the concept of stopping "Sabbath" aka a day of rest. It was supposed to be the day that you refrained from doing work as a means to restore and rejuvenate, directing your heart and sense of gratitude and praise toward God.

Lately it seems that recognizing a Sabbath, or a day of rest is more likely to be usurped by yet another day to get some shopping done, schlep the kids around, or get to those household chores you've had no time during the week to tackle. Every other day of the week has become "oh so busy" (A phrase I LOATHE by the way) that our busy-ness has become our second full time job.

Last Monday when I went into work my co-worker asked how my weekend was and I said it was great. He then replied his was also good, citing that he was "very productive." I thought about that all week. When Friday came around that same coworker asked me what I was doing over the weekend and I told him, with pride, "Absolutely nothing." I could have planned to clean my apartment, do the dishes, organize my closets, start reading for my summer classes, etc. But I didn't. I planned to rest. I planned to go for a walk around my neighborhood and smell flowers, and have a cup of tea.

I kept to most of the plan, but did stop at the grocery store, start a knitting project, and wrote this blog. It is SO hard for me to stop!!! I am obsessed with the notion that I must be doing something all the time. And if I am not doing something, my fat ass is plopped in front of a t.v. and let me just say, that does not count as rest! That, in my opinion is work for the lazy.

I miss living in a place where, "Sunday drivers" still means something. I miss the sound of silence, and resent that I have travel long distances to find it in the open air. I wonder too, if sitting in stillness and quietness can be done in the midst of L.A. traffic. Is rest something that can purely be a state of mind regardless of external disturbances?

The Beginning

I blog on two different sites. One is here, the other is on www.alphawoman.com. I began blogging on "Alpha" because in my current context, I have been too much of a coward to fully express my thoughts in arenas where I might be judged.

Background:

I am currently a seminary student pursuing a degree that would enable me to become a pastor/minister/chaplain, if I so choose. I entered this program because of an interest in helping restore spiritual brokenness in the lives of people who experienced violence and crime such as domestic/sexual abuse, and community violence. I also had a strong desire to address the issues of denial, as well as the perpetuation of spiritual, emotional, relational, and sexual abuse within faith communities or their inability to prevent or eliminate it.

In the midst of all of this I have been coming to terms with my own faith struggles, philosophical dilemmas, and spiritual identity crises and trying to juggle life as a single, head strong female with a very healthy sex drive. To say this road has not been easy is the understatement of 2008.

What I have noticed recently though, is that I segment my life and exist somewhat in a schizophrenic state most of the time because I can't find places where I can fully express all that goes on in this head of mine. In church and school settings, I often feel buried under a debilitating censorship of critical expression especially when it comes to gender issues and sexuality. In other realms, outside of church and seminary, I feel like topics of faith and spirituality are met with so much polarization and discomfort that they fall prey to "I believe what I believe, you believe what you believe, let's just leave it at that" kind of mentalities which for me, is just as mentally castrating.

Faith, spirituality, and issues relating to the divine are at the forefront of my mind all the time. I am always wondering what makes people believe what they believe, pray what they pray, and hope for things they can't see. I am also very interested in the spiritual element of our existence and how it related to who we are as sexual beings.

Even though all of these topics interest me I have steered clear of them as topics in the many blogs I hammer away at, and I am not sure why. It may be that since I write so much about those topics in my classes, I feel I need a break from it sometimes. Or maybe I just fear that the subject matter bores the bageesus out of most of the world. Who knows.

It's just that I have so many lingering questions and doubts that never seem to go away or find resolve.

On top of all of this, my own experiences of being hurt (understatement #2 of 2008) by people I should have been able to trust, throughout my entire life has had a profound affect on my ability to continue to believe in God (another taboo issue in a seminary environment.)

I believe that matters of the heart, faith, and spirituality exist in an interconnected, organic journey that are too sacred to keep bottled up and segmented! As a result, I am setting out on a new mission to Dissect the Divine fully, confidently, and unschizophrenically. I hope you read, engage, and wrestle with me. (I don't mean that last part literally.)