Category Archives: about me

May 1, 2013 · 11:10 AM

The Story of My Life

Harry: Why don’t you tell me the story of your life.

Sally: The story of my life?

Harry: We’ve got eighteen hours to kill before we hit New York.

Sally: The story of my life isn’t even going to get us out of Chicago. Nothing’s happened to me yet. That’s why I’m going to New York.

Harry: So something can happen to you?

Sally: Yes.

Harry: Like what?

Sally: Like I’m going to journalism school to become a reporter.

Harry: So you can write about things that happen to other people.

Sally: That’s one way to look at it.

Harry: Suppose nothing happens to you. Suppose you live out your whole life, and you never meet anybody, you never become anything, and finally you die one of those New York deaths, where nobody notices for two weeks until the smell drifts into the hallway.

Sally: Amanda mentioned you had a dark side.

Harry: That’s what drew her to me…

~from When Harry Met Sally, one of my favorite movies of all time.

When I first saw that the theme for May 1st was “Your Life Story” (from the Blog Every Day in May challenge by The Story of My Life) , I immediately thought of this quote. It kind of IS the story of my life: My brain thinks in movie quotes. Always. And also because I can relate to the “nothing’s happened to me yet” sentiment. But not in a bad way! In the absolute best kind of way.

In eight months, I’ll turn 40. I’m actually really excited about that. I see all those “boo-hoo I’m turning 30 (or 40 or 50 or whatever)” posts, and I don’t get it. My 30’s were far better than my 20’s, which were far better than my teens. My teenage years were filled with angst. In my twenties, I was a newlywed, broke and confused and sort of floundering through life. I “found” myself in my 30’s. I also found self-respect and self-confidence. I found my voice. I found ME. I have absolutely no reason to believe that my 40’s aren’t going to be even better.

My childhood? It was … fine. Lovely even. Lots of fun. Lots of happy memories. A close, all-American family in New England; a (mostly) good experience in school; plenty of friends and pets and play. But my life story? My favorite part of the story is NOW. Today. This moment.

In the words of Natasha Bedingfield, “The rest is still unwritten.”

1 Comment

Filed under about me, life

April 12, 2013 · 9:40 AM

Inside my Head

A few days ago, I saw one of those Facebook memes that said something to the effect of, “Men, if you want to know what it feels like to be in the mind of a woman, just imagine a browser with 2587 tabs open. All the time.”

It made me laugh because 1) I am the person with 2587 open at all times on my computer, and 2) my brain doesn’t shut off. Ever ever.

Yoga and meditation has helped in that regard, but only minimally. It takes a Herculean effort on my part to let go and stop the geyser of thoughts that are tumbling and tangling and pouring through my brain. Sleep offers no relief, because I dream (vividly) all. night. long.

Yesterday I had an MRI – my third since my shoulder issue started almost a year ago – and you know what there is to do inside an MRI machine? Nothing but think.

Here is just a tiny sampling of my thoughts, which likely took up the first 13.5 seconds of the 15 minute MRI:

The nurse who brought me back had really nice hair. Long and black and super shiny. Why did they have me take off my bra, which has no metal in it, and let me leave on my rings and my earrings and my nose ring which are ALL metal? Why is this thing so small? It’s really small. I’m a pretty average sized women (5’7″, 135 pounds), and there’s no way that a big 6’4″, 350 pound linebacker would fit in here. Do they have bigger MRI machines somewhere else? Surely football players end up having MRIs all the time. I wonder what percentage of pro sports players have chronic injuries and/or pain for the rest of their lives. This position is really making my shoulder hurt. I’m going to be in so much more pain after this. Why is this thing so noisy? You’d think that in 2013, when the technology exists to fit an entire computer in your pocket, that they’d be able to find a way to make it quieter. Ear plugs, and headphones with music and it’s still loud. If you’re fortunate enough to never have been in an MRI, it sounds like a jack hammer. Not like a jack hammer coming in from outside on the street, but like you’re INSIDE the jack hammer. There’s a deep chip in the paint above my head. How did that get there? The rest of the paint is… looking around… yep, clean and fresh and white and pristine. What could have caused the chip? Did someone freak out and flail around and bump it, causing the chip? Even if someone DID flail around, what could have chipped it? They’re not wearing a watch or anything heavy. The thought of someone flipping out inside an MRI machine is unpleasant. My heart’s definitely beating faster. New thought. I wonder if Spencer is still on the Spanish lesson website he was on when I left. He seemed to be really enjoying it. Is there *anything* you can’t learn about on the internet? No, really, is there? I really should have answered the MRI lady’s question about radio station preferences instead of saying, “Anything is fine.” I do that a lot, I guess because of a need to be compliant and “easy”. This station is playing, what, some sort of 70’s music? And not the cool 70’s music either, but the waa-waa 70’s elevator music. Not that I can really hear it, but every now and then when there’s a pause in the jack-hammering, it’s there: put-me-to-sleep crybaby music. I wonder, COULD I actually sleep in here? Could I get that relaxed? I’m actually pretty relaxed. Deep slow yoga breaths of de-stress. Yes, that’s nice. Close my eyes. Yeah… I can’t sleep in here. I wonder what I should get at the Thai place tonight? Play it safe with what I love, or branch out and try something new? That’s really white paint. And a really blue line. If I cross my eyes, there’s two of them. Seriously, HOW did that chip get there? I’ll definitely get the Pad Thai….

And on and on, ad infinitum. Until the nice young MRI guy pressed the button that rolled me out, lowered me down, and helped me extricate myself from the contraption that was holding my shoulder in place.

My husband, who often asks, “Do you ever stop thinking?” would have had a different experience in the MRI. His version, and internal dialogue, would have looked something like this:

This is boring.

It’s exhausting being me.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, random

April 1, 2013 · 7:42 AM

Solitude

Yesterday was Easter, which means we got cleaned up all nice-like, went to church with my parents and sister, and spent the day eating good foods and visiting.

I realized on the way up to Sandi’s house that I’d forgotten our real camera, so five minutes after we stepped in the door, I handed Mike my phone and asked him to take the one and only picture of the day before the kids had changed and run out to play.

It’s sort of a tradition to take a picture of me with the kids on Easter, so I’m glad that he snapped it, and I’m especially glad that Tegan’s face is already covered in chocolate. It’s very her. 🙂 Otherwise – in very un-Jen-like fashion I might add – I spent little time stressing out about the lack of both the camera and pictures, and just enjoyed the day visiting with my family.

This morning though… right now as I write… is about solitude. Mike is at work, the kids are still sleeping, and I’m taking that big cleansing breath I always so desperately need after busy weekends.

The past several months (and really, the past couple of years if I’m being honest) have been painful ones. No, not so much painful as uncomfortable, as I’ve been getting pushed and pulled and stretched so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t even know where it is anymore. Lots of growing pains, and lots and lots of quiet introspection.

I came across this poem this morning, and at the risk of being too philosophical and woo-woo for a Monday morning, it really spoke to me and where I’ve been lately:

Without solitude, Love will not stay long by your side.

Because Love needs to rest as well, so that it can journey through the heavens and reveal itself in other forms.

Without solitude, no plant or animal can survive, no soil can remain productive for any length of time, no child can learn about life, no artist can create, no work can grow and be transformed.

Solitude is not the absence of Love, but its complement.
Solitude is not the absence of company, but the moment when our soul is free to speak to us and help us decide what to do with our life.

Therefore, blessed are those who do not fear solitude, who are not afraid of their own company, who are not always desperately looking for something to do, something to amuse themselves with, something to judge.

If you are never alone, you cannot know yourself.
And if you do not know yourself, you will begin to fear the void.

But the void does not exist. A vast world lies hidden in our soul, waiting to be discovered. There it is, with all its strength intact, but it is so new and so powerful that we are afraid to acknowledge its existence.

Just as Love is the divine condition, so solitude is the human condition. And for those who understand the miracle of life, those two states peacefully coexist.

― Paulo Coelho

Talking To Grownups

Last night I pretended I was in my 20’s, and stayed out drinking and gallivanting until 1 in the morning.

When I say “drinking”, I mean having two cups of tea and about a million little cookies; and when I say “gallivanting”, I mean hanging out and gabbing in the kitchen for four hours after yoga ended. And, really, I was doing more observing and listening than talking, but still… I was out till 1 AM, talking to other grownups.

It was one of those times when you say your goodbyes, gather your stuff, move a few steps closer to the door… then set your stuff down again, and stay for another hour because someone started another funny story that snowballs into six more.

It was very unlike me.

My first inclination – especially when I’ve been busy or stressed, or alive – is to hole up and hibernate. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, do not engage with anyone who didn’t come from my loins or sleep in my bed. Yesterday I saw a comic on Deviant Art that likened living as an introvert to going through life in a hamster ball. Brilliant.

But it occurred to me at some point last night that I needed to be right where I was, talking to who I was talking to. As easy as it is for me to hole up sometimes (and it is so, so easy), we weren’t meant to live that way. We were meant to be part of a community. We were meant to connect with others.

I even wonder sometimes if that’s why I was called to teach yoga… so I’d be forced (but in a positive way) to reach out. To inspire, and to be inspired, by others. To touch, and to be touched, by others.

I talk so much about the importance of connecting with your kids, and it should go without saying that it’s important to connect with your spouse. But lately I’ve been stretched to realize and appreciate the importance of connecting with other adults as well. To share in struggles, and disappointments, and triumphs, and victories. To have another person, or ten other people, who are just there… offering a hug, or an ear, or a challenging perspective.

It’s pretty much what life’s about.

So to those who I’ve let in my little hamster ball of introversion, I thank you. I appreciate you more than you know.

I’ll never stop needing my long periods of hibernation (and that’s okay) but it turns out that occasionally connecting with others isn’t so bad either. Especially when there’s tea and cookies.

3 Comments

Filed under about me, friends, life

February 11, 2013 · 10:44 AM

That Which Makes Me Very Grumpy

I blame Flylady. Well, Flylady and my good friend Jess.

If you’re not familiar with Flylady, it’s basically a housekeeping system that teaches you to get in the habit of doing a morning and evening routine every day (dishes, laundry, swooping the bathroom, etc), along with one bigger chore, with the goal of getting and keeping your house running smoothly. It’s the exact opposite of anything I’d naturally be drawn too… but it’s actually quite perfect for people like me: people who’ve admitted to themselves that they function a lot better in less chaos, but who tend to make a mess everywhere they go.

Anyway, on Friday my job was to mop the floors. Actually, it was technically just to mop the kitchen floor. But if I had out a wet mop all ready to go, why stop at the kitchen? Why indeed. So I get my mop ready, fill the sink with water, and get started on the kitchen (which, if I’m being honest, was WAY overdue for a mop). That’s when all four kids – who’d been happily involved in their own projects up until that very moment – suddenly desperately needed me, in four different directions. It turns out that mopping is sort of like going to the bathroom in that regard.

I put out their fires, with less patience than I would have liked, and went back to mopping. I was grumbling for no reason before I even left the kitchen. There were spots everywhere, I kept having to stop to put something else away, and there was another *&%$ fruit sticker stuck to the floor in front of the fridge. If I could get some help once in awhile… grumble grumble grumble.

By the time I’d made it out through the pantry into the other room, I lost it. I was tripping over Tegan’s latest 27 costume changes all over the floor. I needed to put in another load of laundry. Someone had to clean the mice cage. Something had clearly been spilled and only halfway wiped up, and there was another something that I can only guess was once gum or Silly Putty that had hardened into a black, concrete mound of glue under Spencer’s desk.

Before I knew what had happened, I’d had a totally unwarranted Jekyll and Hyde/Bruce Banner and the Incredible Hulk transformation. I was snapping at everyone, I was flinging stuff around, and I nearly burst into tears when I found one of my favorite pens without its cap. Spencer was – rightfully – looking at me like I’d gone crazy, and Paxton was still staring straight ahead at his computer screen… his only defense sitting as absolutely still as possible.

And that’s when I saw my raving lunatic self, took a (rather mortified) big breath, apologized to the kids, and said to myself, “What is wrong with you??”

Then I remembered.

The day before, I’d just begun a juice fast.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I like to do a good cleanse/fast a few times a year. It’s really important to detox, especially if you’ve been eating a lot of sugar or processed foods (or, in my case, a ton of NSAIDS) Plus, it’s February, and the new year, and I was still carrying 5 holiday pounds. I knew from experience that a week or two of juicing would do wonders. So when my friend Jess said, “Hey, want to do a juicing blitz with me??” I said “Sure, sign me up!”

Now if you’ve ever done any type of cleanse, you know that the first few days are unpleasant: I get headaches and a host of other physical detox symptoms. I crave things. I feel foggy. I sometimes get dizzy.

All child’s play compared to just how GRUMPY it makes me.

By day four or five, I feel fantastic. Lighter, mentally clearer, more energetic, ready to take on the world. But day two? I’m a beast. And I always forget that part. So while Jess was writing a lovely blog post about the juicing and all its benefits, I couldn’t write anything, largely because I was too focused on wanting to inflict major bodily harm on any and all inanimate object that got in my way.

So, my advice to you, should you ever choose to do a juicing fast (and you really should; It’s so good for you. And I’m on day 5 now, so I’m very much in the zone of “WOOOO HOOOO, juicing ROCKS!!”): Go easy on yourself and the people around you. Treat yourself gently, and with patience, and with grace.

And for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t even think about mopping.

11 Comments

Filed under about me, food, learning, life, natural health, nutrition, rant

February 7, 2013 · 11:13 AM

Thankfulness … even in chaos

560256_10200650154558879_96137068_n

We’ve been doing a lot of running around this week. After being home-bound by sickness for way too many days (despite my best efforts, the plague that had stricken the kids eventually caught me as well), the busy-ness was a sort of reprieve, except….

Lots of running around is not my favorite thing.

I mean, I adore watching the kids do things they love. I do. I love seeing them so happy in gymnastics class, and at karate, and at Scouts. I love seeing them light up with interest at the park, or the zoo, or the aquarium. I love having new adventures, and new experiences, and new interactions. But, well, I’m an introvert and a homebody, both of which seemed to have intensified lately. Too much craziness and I’m off-course and stressed out… desiring nothing more than to have a quiet day at home with my kids and coffee and pens and laptop and sticky notes.

A few weeks ago, we closed on a refinance of our house. It was a hugely positive move for us financially, and as one of the conditions of the new loan, we needed to commit to staying here for at least five more years. And I don’t know, between that and the new year and just where I am in life right now, I’ve sort of been… nesting. Reclaiming my house, and by extension reclaiming a bit of my life.

I’ve also been working hard on practicing my eucharisteo – grace and thankfulness, at all times. Inspired by the book, One Thousand Gifts, I finally started a list to remind me.

5. The hot water on my skin when I rinse the dishes

6. The sound of coffee brewing

7. Fuzzy slipper socks

The more days that pass, the easier it comes:

40. Shiny kitchen counters

41. Tegan’s curls peeking out from under the covers.

42. Colorful yarn

It occurred to me yesterday that it’s a practice that I’m better at when I’m home, in my element, and that that needn’t be the case. Shouldn’t the fact that I’m running around, driving from here to there, getting too wrapped up in my head… in to-do lists and deadlines and the time on the clock… shouldn’t that be MORE of a reason to be mindful, and present, and focused on the blessings of the moment?

aquariumtunnel

So when we got home from a wonderfully fun but long day out at the aquarium and the mall, I went straight to my notebook, and out they tumbled:

50. Singing at the top of our lungs in the car

51. Random compliments

52. The kindness of strangers

53. Soft pretzels smothered in butter and cinnamon sugar

Goodness is out there. It’s always out there. Even on the crazy days. I just have to open my eyes and see it.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, being happy with what is, gratitude, life

February 2, 2013 · 10:13 AM

Dreadlocks – One Year Later

A couple weeks ago, one of my yoga students was asking me about my hair… why I did it, how long I’d had them, etc. She laughed at how often I kept using the word, “journey”. But I absolutely couldn’t help it. Dreadlocks are a journey. There’s no better word to describe them. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all that I decided to do them the same year that I messed up my shoulder, making any sort of maintenance on them nearly impossible, forcing me to go the route of “neglect” and just let go and let them be. They represent my life – and my year – well. Sort of a mess, but with the promise of something beautiful underneath.

Looking back on my three month update cracks me up. I was waxing poetic about embracing the chaos and learning to love the lumps and loops… which absolutely still holds true… but I didn’t yet know what it was I was talking about. At three months, they were still organized and relatively straight and tidy. Because they weren’t dreads yet. They hadn’t even begun to actually lock up and become what they would eventually be. They were still just babies, not much more than potential dreads:

jenbeads

Now, at one year, I feel like I’m really getting it. And I also recognize, unequivocally, that I’m very much at the beginning of this journey. They’re just now really starting to lock up. They are crazy. Some are fat. Some are thin. Some are scrunched up to four inches, some are long. Some have huge bumps, others have huge loops. Some are all twisted, some are straight. Some have beads that are now physically impossible to get out. One apparently split into two at one point, and is now a giant two pronged fork. Each one is different.

Each one tells its own story.

dreadsinbun1

About five months ago, I had a moment of freak-out and almost combed them out. I’m so glad I didn’t. My dread story isn’t done yet. It’s only just begun. And now I just… wait. And watch. And continue to let them grow and mature and be. While I continue to grow and mature and be right beside them.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, dreadlocks

January 15, 2013 · 1:09 PM

Coloring Outside the Lines

I’m on the cusp of …. something. That feeling that you get when you’re at the very top of the hill of the roller coaster? That agonizing anticipation when you know the big drop is coming but you don’t know when…. that split second before you descend, when your body is torn between squealing with exhilaration and throwing up? Lately I’ve felt that way all the time. I’ve been on the brink of tears (sometimes happy, sometimes sad) ever since the last little bit of Christmas was packed away. I’ve been jumpy. Distracted. And when I say distracted: My normal attention span is that of a overtired toddler. Eating an ice cream cone. At Disneyland. On the fourth of July. So when I say I’m distracted, I’m reeaalllly distracted.

I’ve been preoccupied with a health scare that still could very well turn out to be nothing. I’ve been scratching my head over a disturbingly rapid succession of things failing on us… first Mike’s truck – twice – then the dropped juicer, then the clothes dryer. I almost wince when I so much as plug in the coffee maker. My blog got hacked (AGAIN), this time so badly that my host actually disabled it until I went in and fixed all the damaged files. I ended up having to completely start it from scratch.

I need to call a surgeon to make an appointment for a consultation for Spencer’s shoulder.
I need to call my surgeon to reschedule my next follow-up.
I need to email my physical therapist a copy of the prescription from my doctor because I forgot to bring it to my last session.
I need to cancel Directv before we get charged for another month.
I need to bring the clothes in from the line.
I need to clean the bathroom.
I need to get the kids to gymnastics.

I need. To. Breathe.

My birthday was last week. Have I mentioned that? Somewhere in the middle of the dislocated shoulders and doctor’s appointments and broken down cars, I turned 39. I actually had a really lovely and uneventful day (ie: nothing broke). I made myself some out-of-this-world chocolate stout cupcakes with whiskey ganache filling, and Baileys cream cheese frosting, and Mike made me a huge and perfect Cobb salad for dinner, my current I-could-eat-it-every-day-and-never-get-sick-of-it favorite food. And my sister, because she possesses that sixth-sister-sense that lets her know exactly what I need even before I know it myself, came over with a gift the same day the dryer died:

I’ve been a fan of journaling since forever. But my journals have always been… neat. Orderly, with perfect penmanship, written with the perfect pen. This journal is like the anti-Jen-journal journal, with instructions to break the spine, step on it, drag it, cut it, rip it, splatter it, doodle on it, poke holes through it, shower with it. It has pages for when you’re angry, pages for when you’re happy, pages for when you’re feeling creative.

Are you freaking kidding me?? Best. Gift. Ever.

I suppose there’s a time for neat and orderly. But – and my apologies to my husband who is neat and orderly all the time – this aint it. For reasons that aren’t yet clear to me, I’m getting stretched right now. And pushed, and pulled, and dragged, and dirty. I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t even see it anymore. And on the days that are hard or scary or uncomfortable I’ll just remind myself that outside that comfort zone… in the land where it’s okay to spill and break book spines and write illegibly… that’s where all the magic happens.

1 Comment

Filed under about me, birthdays, breathing, life

January 5, 2013 · 11:09 AM

I’m a Better Mom When My Kids Are Sick

I had an uncomfortable realization yesterday.

Spencer spent most of the day in the ER with a dislocated shoulder. He is home now, put back together and sleeping comfortably, but yesterday was a long miserable day for him. Mike brought him to the ER while I stayed home with the others feeling anxious and useless, unsure of what to do with myself. As I’d imagine any parent would tell you, there are few things worse than knowing your children are in pain or sick or hurt in any way. It was with great relief that I finally met him at the front door, smiling, whole (if a bit drugged up), and home where I could dote on him.

So glad to have something to do after a day of waiting, I made sure he was comfortable on the couch and that he had the remotes controls he needed. I fixed him some toast and put water on for tea. I kept him company while he watched one of his favorite shows, I brought him ibuprofen when it was time, and I even helped him with his belt buckle when he admitted with a laugh that while he managed to get it UNdone with one hand to use the restroom, he couldn’t get it done again. I was attentive, and I was patient, and I did it all gladly. It made me happy to be able to do something, anything, to help him stay as comfortable as possible.

In short, I was the kind of mom I should be striving to be all the time.

It occurred to me on my third or fourth trip out of the living room to get him something that didn’t I have it backwards? Not that we shouldn’t be so vigilant when there is an extra need, but shouldn’t that same level of patience, of compassion, and willingness to give be present when the kids are well? Especially with kids like mine who are almost never sick? And it’s not that I don’t think I’m a good mom. It’s just that crises tend to make me a BETTER mom. A more aware mom. A more patient mom. And if I can choose to bring that “extra” to my parenting when someone is sick or hurt, can’t I choose to do it all the time? It’s not even a choice now that I think about it…. it’s just the default. Someone is hurt, and out comes that “other” mom. The one who isn’t irritable because she hasn’t been sleeping enough, the one who isn’t distracted with silly things like Facebook and housework and outstanding bills, the one who has all the love in the world and all the time in the world to give it.

Yes, I’ve had it backwards, and I can change that.

I don’t really do resolutions, but if I did, my new resolution would be this: For this year… this week… this day… to make more of an effort to treat my kids – all my kids – as well as I’d treat them if they’d just spent the day in the ER.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, gentle parenting, health, kindness, mindful parenting, parenting, Spencer

January 2, 2013 · 7:11 AM

I Am Not a Christian

We have a ball python named Waldo. We named him Waldo for the late great Ralph Waldo Emerson (and also because people seemed to find the idea of being able to lament, “Where’s Waldo??” in the event of an escape side-splittingly funny.) He’s a wonderful pet. He’s playful and friendly, and loves to slither around our laps on the couch. It’s fun to watch him eat too… striking out to catch the – already dead – mouse we dangle from the tweezers, squeezing it until it’s good and dead, and then ever so slowly and deliberately swallowing it whole.

One of the coolest things about snakes though is their ability to shed their skin. I’m fascinated by this. They outgrow their old skin, it turns white and brittle and loose, and here is this new skin: beautiful, bright, and vibrant, ready to take its place. Ideally, the old skin comes off in one long complete piece… so intact that you can clearly see where the eyes once resided. Sometimes though, they have a bad, or an incomplete shed. The skin comes off in stages and pieces. When that happens, the retained skin can cause problems for the snake, so it’s important to have rough items like branches, bark, and rock in the cage so that the snake can rub against them to help snag and remove the remaining skin. That’s exactly what happened the last time Waldo shed. His cage was filled with pieces of skin of varying length, and we wondered if we’d have to do something to help. But he worked it out: he used the rough bark of his hiding log, and eventually it was all gone. He was fresh and new and shiny again.

I am a snake.

For the past several years, I’ve been on a journey to slowly shed my outgrown skin in many many facets of my life, but particularly in my walk as a Christian. For so many (So. Many.) years I was bound by rules and regulations and legalities, and as I grew and changed and evolved… it just didn’t fit anymore. I started to crave freedom and grace and freedom again, and I just wasn’t finding them in my old skin.

I am thankful, honestly thankful, for the painful church experiences of my past that started the process, that tore off that first big piece, the one that gave me the glimpse of the beauty that lay beneath. Just the taste, just the possibility of the freedom that was to come gave me hope. And those final bits of skin? The stubborn ones? Well those eventually came off too, thanks to the people I’ve encountered along the way; the ones who served as those rough logs, sloughing off the old meaning of the word, “Christian”, and replacing it with something new. Those people are the ones who helped me see who I am, who I’m not, and who I so desperately want to be.

If a Christian is someone who uses a Bible not as a source of strength or knowledge or information, but as a weapon, something from which to cherry-pick scriptures to clobber others, to prove a point, and to win an argument…

I am not a Christian.

If a Christian is someone who thinks he can say with any authority who is and who is not going to go to heaven; who arrogantly thinks he knows the status of someone else’s walk with God, let alone his salvation…

I am not a Christian.

If a Christian is someone who disparages others just because they happen to be a Democrat or a liberal or someone who voted “the wrong way” in the last election…

I am not a Christian.

If a Christian is someone who doesn’t let another Christian into their group or club or school because they’re the wrong kind of Christian, or because their beliefs or interpretations of God and the Bible may differ from their own…

I am not a Christian.

If a Christian is someone who stands as judge and jury of someone else’s lifestyle; someone who finds it appropriate to go onto someone else’s Facebook page and just tell her, point-blank: “You are not a true Christian if you XYZ”…

I am not a Christian.

And riiiiiiiiip, there it goes, the very last little thready bits of skin. Except it doesn’t hurt. It feels good. It feels freeing.

That skin didn’t fit. And it hadn’t fit for so long.

I have no anger towards those people either. No bitterness. Only gratitude. And I’ll fully admit that that wasn’t always the case. I have one faithful friend who can attest to the number of, “Have I mentioned lately how much Christians annoy me?” texts I’ve sent her over the past year. It’s only now that I can see them for what they were… just people on their own journey, people who may or may not have skin to shed of their own. How they’re living out their own personal walk is none of my business, and likewise:

No one else but me gets to decide my path for ME.

I’m free.

Does that freedom then mean that I just live my life all willy-nilly, devil-may-care, any old way, and if God doesn’t like it that’s just too damn bad? Of course not. On the contrary, as someone who does truly love God, I am always learning, always growing, always examining, always questioning. Christianity is actually a lot like yoga (which, ironically, is another area that’s garnered me the, “You can’t be a true Christian if you do that!” comments) in that you never know everything there is to know. You’re never finished learning. You’re never finished getting better. By all means, even though I’m a teacher I’m still relatively new to yoga. And even though I’ve been a Christian my whole life, I’m still very new to the idea of grace. Of real faith. Of freedom. For the first time in, well… ever… I can’t wait to learn more.

So am I a Christian? The only words that come are: “It just doesn’t matter.” I am me. I love God. And I’m okay with that answer.

I’m pretty sure God’s okay with it too.

33 Comments

Filed under about me, church, faith, freedom, judgement, learning, life

Category Archives: about me

Connect With Me

Archives