To the Baby of the Family: Build Your Fire

I'm the youngest of four.

She never would have admitted it, but I was my mother's favorite.  She didn't love me more than my sisters; that's not what made me her favorite.

She doted on me more.

I was treated like - and therefore acted like - a baby.

And then I became an adult.

It's a strange experience: being a baby inside a woman's body...

A Grilled Cheese Sandwich Can Save a Relationship

I love grilled cheese.  

It's the sandwich equivalent of wrapping myself in a warm robe.

Temperature and texture are everything.

Have you ever taken a bite out of a grilled cheese, and the cheese wasn't fully melted?  

Disappointing.

Or the bread and the cheese aren't aligned so some bites are too cheesy and some bites are too bready?  

Unsatisfying.

But when it's right, it's all the best things in one sandwich... warm, toasty bread, melted butter, ooey-gooey cheese. Yes, please!

We want things to be just right because we crave the settling, safe feeling of satisfaction.

Damp clothes that haven't finished drying...
Room temperature soup...
A skipping record... 

Unsatisfying.  

I had an exchange this weekend that has lingered over into my Monday morning coffee... 

In our relationships, what truly satisfies us???

I Forgive You... Again

The book of Matthew recounts a story of Peter asking Jesus for His thoughts about forgiveness... 

"Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?"

Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."

I can appreciate Peter here. We all like to know what's required so we can pace ourselves, don't we? 

I run, and knowing how far I'm going to run on any given day gives me a sense of control. I can wrap my mind around what's coming if I know what's coming... 

But Jesus' response is a little like asking your running partner, "How far are we going? Three miles?"  

And they respond with, "No, let's shoot for fifty."

Ugh. 

There's a cup of coffee in front of me, piping hot and sinfully creamy, not too sweet. Just how I like it.  

Let the contemplation begin...

The Two Words that Say Everything

I know.  Brave title...

After I wrote Love is Not Fair, I found myself pondering the same question many of you wrote to me, in comments and privately: now what?

It's a good question, a fair question.  If love isn't fair but we want to be loving people who receive love and give love, do we live life in continuous frustration?  Anger even?  This doesn't seem tenable.  Indeed it is not.

So... what then?  How do we love, really love, and stay sane?  Every relationship seems to be a dance of grace and missteps, a ledger of debits and credits, the metaphors go on and on, but the idea remains consistent: it's simply not going to be fair.  It's not going to always balance out.

What do we do with the often painful gap between expectation and experience?

Love is Not Fair

Like most of us, I spent time with family over the Thanksgiving holiday.

It's a mixed bag, isn't it?

Traditions and nostalgia color the conversation in familiar shades of warmth and comfort.  We are filled with a sense of belonging.  The shared history breeds a shared kinship.  We are part of a tribe, and on some level we feel known, accepted, and included.

But then there's difficulty.  A hurtful word, an old argument that resurfaces, an infuriating pattern that just won't quit...  And the stories that we tell morph from Normal Rockwell scenes of heartwarming family bliss to the Competition of the Victims.

Let's Put "It's In The Past" In The Past

We've all hurt one another's feelings.  We've all had our feelings hurt.  It's pretty miserable either way, particularly the later scenario.  

The "hurt" feeling: a swift kick in the stomach, a tightness in the chest, our shoulders hunch over, our facial muscles collapse, our brow furrows as we struggle to understand what's happening...

Let's face it: it's unpleasant.

But it's also a fact of life.  By that I mean, it happens.  We do it, and it's done to us.

Hippy Hill

Northern California is a world unto itself.  The perfectly comfortable climate, the gorgeous pine covered hills set against the translucent blue sky, and the laid-back, easy disposition of Californians create a graceful world of plenty.  Wealth is the norm, but if you're not wealthy, there's plenty of sunshine.  There's plenty of beauty.  Plenty of knowledge.  Plenty of nature.  Plenty of culture.  Plenty of plenty.

And San Francisco is a city of plenty.  Plenty of architecture, food, shopping, education, and hills.  I've just returned from a trip to The City by the Bay.  (It was a graduation present to myself.  Yes, I finally finished!)  And, like all major cities, there is much more to see and do than can be accomplished in just one trip.  For this reason, I needed a plan of attack.

Sacred Solitude

Anxiety may be the most uncomfortable state human beings can suffer.

Sadness, depression, melancholy can be overwhelming, but there's a stillness and quietness in depression that at least allows us physical rest.  We feel the weight on our shoulders, the crushing weight of our broken hearts and disillusioned minds, and we may even dance with the idea of death...  but the space we are in is deathly quiet.  We sink.  We may even hit bottom, but at least there we stop.

Anxiety doesn't allow this.  The mind races, the heart races, the feeling is as if we are coming out of our skin.  We are charged with energy that can be put to no good use because the mind cannot focus.  We are hurtling ourselves forward on the proverbial rat wheel, charging faster and faster, sweating profusely... going nowhere.  No rest.  No relief.  We itch with worry.  We squirm with overbearing, unwanted, frenetic energy.  Our hearts burn up with desire but go up in flames when no path appears before us.  We are filled with animated, exhausting dread.

This is anxiety.

And we have ways of coping.

Dear Self: This is your heart calling...

I went running this morning.

I was out of coffee and rather than "running" to the grocery store to get it, I literally ran to the grocery store and ran back with a bag of coffee in my hand.  And perhaps it was the endorphins firing off during the run; perhaps it was simply the beauty of the morning; or maybe my heart is just at peace... but I couldn't stop smiling, laughing, and singing while I ran.  I stopped to take a picture of two birds (this is not something I normally do when I'm focused on a run) balancing atop a church steeple - simply because their poise and perspective struck me this morning.

Oh, for days like this!  Job?  What job?  Let every day be a Saturday...

I arrived back at my apartment, coffee in hand, and glanced around at the many things that I'd like to accomplish today.

Rehang that mirror.
Organize that box o' stuff.
Go through those receipts. (groan)
Return this.
Look for that.

Wait!  Coffee first.  While it percolated, I accomplished one small task on the list of things to do...

With a warm cup of coffee in hand and Jim Brickman in the background (don't judge), I opened up my Bible.  With such a glowing morning behind me, I wanted to stay in a space of inspiration and peace...

Only my mind wouldn't go there.  Before I knew it, I was online looking at occasional chairs!  I was checking email, reading news, googling the artist I'd just heard on Pandora...

Blessed

For the past several months, I’ve been trying to find a church.  This is quite a lot like dating…

There is a first impression based on appearance.  You seek out and wait for similarities to arise, subconsciously hoping the experience is to some extent a reflection of yourself.  You compare the reality to your ideal and measure the proximity or distance of one against the other.  (A strongly foul odor would immediately mean a no go...)

And, like dating, I have my priorities: excellent (and educated) Biblical teaching, a moving worship service, and strong community, i.e. friendly seeming people.  I specify that the people must seem friendly because there is no way one could deduce their true level of friendliness from just one visit.  But I stand a better chance that the people are friendly if they seem so.

Needless to say, my search has yielded few results worth revisiting. (Much like dating…)  Perhaps my priorities are too demanding.  Perhaps I’m looking in the wrong places and haven’t met the “right church” yet. 

I’ve noticed, however, that as I walk with God, my priorities are shifting, or better: reordering. Hearing the right message or singing the right songs has grown less important than finding the right community...

Where Do You Live (From)?

Sorry I've been gone for so long.  Grad school keeps me busy along with two jobs, an internship, the greatest friends and sisters in the world, blah, blah, blah...  I'm back.  And I've got so much on my mind.

I haven't written - not because I lacked ideas - but because I've had too many.  And if you know me, you know that it's tough for me to make decisions when I have too many options.  Well, I've made one.  Here we go...

~ ~ ~

Where Do You Live (From)?

Two people each meet a potential mate.  They're the same age, live in the same town, work in similar jobs, and share similar dreams of happiness.

Two people score a desired job interview.  They're of the same education levels, similar intellectual capacity, matching previous experience, and share comparable hopes for success.

Two people plan a party.  They spend about the same amount of time on the menu, decorations, guest list, and both hope it's a successful and memorable night.

So what?

"I'll Be There For You"

We mean well, don't we?

We see one another struggle, and our hearts hurt.  We see friends make what might be mistakes with substantial consequences, and we wince.  This is at the heart of empathy - hurting for another's pain.  In moments of crisis or confusion, we might get that phone call or text:

Are you available?  I need you.

Masking

I dread Halloween.

Please don't get me wrong, I LOVE the kids.  I love their seeing imaginations at work in their costumes.  Or their mothers' imaginations... no matter.  Little ones dressed as elephants or gumball machines are impossibly cute either way.  Their high-pitched "trick-or-treats," their pillowcase candy sacks.  I love it all.

It's the adult version of Halloween that I dread.

You and Me and We

Several years ago, I went to a meeting for Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACoA).

Breathe

For the past three years, I've been working as a personal trainer.  Sure, I love fitness and am committed to each and every client I train, but lifting weights and constructing workout plans isn't my passion.

Human growth is.

My clients (God bless them) know that working with me isn't always about their physical bodies. Yes, I can kick some tail.  I know how to help people find the shape of their bodies for the first time in their lives, no matter what their age.  I watched a young woman go from obesity to a 5K.  I watched a 76 year old man transition from a sedentary life of overeating and television to walking an 11 mile trail for fun on his birthday, just because he can now.  This work is filled with triumph and disappointment, and I'm there for both on any given day, whether the number on the scale goes up or down...

But the real work I do with my clients is much deeper than calorie counts, body fat percentages, and proper form.

It's the inside stuff.

The Born Identity

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As many of you know, I’m in graduate school earning a masters in counseling.  I’m loving (almost) every minute of this season in my life, but I must say that it’s not entirely what I expected. 

I expected psychology and am getting a lot of it.  History, theory, application, research, counseling techniques.  I expected an in depth exploration and analysis of the human psyche, complete with a richer understanding of emotional patterns reflecting in healthy or unhealthy relationships.  Expectations met!  I expected to consider and understand the human animal more clearly, more compassionately, more powerfully.  Yes, yes, and yes!

I didn’t, however, take into account that I am also a member of this human race.

The Bag

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Sunrise.

She blinked.  Another day.  She winced as she slowly sat up.  Her body hurt from sleeping on hard places.  Still a young woman, she was starting to feel old.  She glanced around her to see if anyone was watching then pulled two rolls out of her coat pocket and ate them in silence.  The sounds of hunger ceased.  The first rays of light reached her cheeks and feeling their faraway warmth, she shivered.  Standing up, she hoisted the Bag over her shoulder and shuffled out of the alley.

Rest 'n Peace

I remember a time in my 20s when I passed out cold in the middle of a meeting.

I was working somewhere between 60-70 hours a week, forgetting to eat, drinking lots of caffeine to keep me going, and ignoring all kinds of physical signs that my body was reaching a breaking point.  A very patient internist gave me a crash course on physical health after I'd come back to consciousness:

The body is made up of several systems: digestive, nervous, circulatory, respiratory, immune, skeletal, muscular, etc.  When one system is taxed, the others will compensate.  When all are overly taxed, the body starts shutting down.

That's the state I was in. EXHAUSTION.  SHUTTING DOWN.

Trying on Different Hats

Brief thoughts today... "The Female Animal" wasn't sitting well with me.  I started this blog at a time in my life when I was very humanistic, very in touch with my primitive side.  Hence the title.  But it's not me. 

All my life I've been searching for truth.  I seek it in relationships, in moments of time, in God and His revelation of Himself to me.  "Out of the Grey" represents what I try to do every day and the theme of my life.  Keep pushing through in search of truth, in search of pearls of wisdom.  Every once in a while, I find one ;)

So I beg your patience while I work out the title.  Who knows, in one week I'll name it "Bibby's Peanuts."  I don't know.  But this questioning and changing and finding the right fit is... coming out of the grey.  You get it. 

Thanks for your patience!

Out of the Grey

In two days I'll celebrate one year of walking with God.  I feel embarrassed that it's only been one year.  I was raised in the Seventh Day Adventist church from birth until age 17 and then did a stint in a radically fundamentalist (and otherwise very strange) church in New York for most of college and a few years after, so you would think I'd have some kind of track record in the faith by this point.  But I don't.  Those were not years of knowing God  but rather knowing about God.  I look back and see how He was trying to break through to me... through loving, compassionate people, through music.  I can remember moments of genuine Spiritual insight and perhaps a tingling of His presence, but it seems His gentle voice was consistently engulfed and drowned out by lists of things to do, people watching my every move, and the weekly schedule of services, meetings, and requirements.  I left the church and God  in May of 2003, and "walked in the grey" for eight long years.