the way we should talk about women's bodies.

(Mmmmm.  Below you will have a chance to watch the beautiful documentary that spurred this post on. Enjoy)

If you are a woman, and anything like myself, you hit points in your life when you look in the mirror - or over the muffin-top at your belt line (if those pants still button up...) and feel frustrated and exhausted.  Or those faint lines creeping across my forehead - the marks of two years, part time and grad education - but not clearly having it together at the gym.  Or in life.

I feel imperfect.  Unmotivated. A failure.  An apathetic steward.  The antithesis of health in health care professional.

I feel downright discouraged! Angry even.  Haven't  I been hard at work?  Hasn't my work been pleasing and diligent?
  How is this my reward?

The tummy that's never quite flat, the hair that's always 'too' flat or wind-swept or humidified, a chest that defies cute, teeny bathing suits, the thighs that are 'child-bearing' in appearance.

Here's the deal with how I'm thinking.  It's wrong.  All wrong.  Very wrong.

I misunderstand my body -

        and the marks of trail over it telling where I've been.  Where Christ has been - and etched His mark.

I have worry lines.  I went through a really terrible depression.  I could have lost my mind or my life.

I might not have had breath to pinken my skin, nor the

   creases, where Christ came and dwelt and saved me.

I have laugh lines too.  Where I learned the names of new friends, and gained and appreciation for red wine, and learned that life was not all about school. 

I have laugh lines,

           because God expanded the stretch of my understanding.

I have flabby arms.  Perfect for resting on a tabletop for hours as I tapped away at keys, letting the fingers be nimble without complaint,

          because God helped me focus on the tasks before me, without thought to the consequence.

I have a tummy.  Where I leaned against the back of a chair, when I wasn't lifting and turning human bodies or leaning into a hug,

         because God taught me to lean on something other than myself.

I have breasts and a bottom that with great certainty, prove the existence of gravity.  And they are just there really.  The comfort factor of the bottom came in handy, all of those long hours studying and writing,

          because God taught me that purpose is revealed in the fullness of His time.

I have the teeth and the tremor that mark me a coffee 'addict'.  And I swore I'd never be one, or possibly enjoy such a little cup of zippy pleasure,

          because God knows our frailties, and how hard it is for me vacate my cozy bed in the morning, or stay alert and oriented through a department meeting.

Sure, I have goals to shape up.  But the motivation changes, right - when we look at our bodies this way.  This film reminded me of the gift it is to be marked.  To be stretched.  To have the gift of holding life within and before us.

  Vessels, frail and imperfect, but used for good, good work, to the glory of God.

hearts&tales.

In the romantic dream of a sage who teaches you the world's and better ways
is where I often live.
With an honest, in-the-chest yearning for oldness,
history, wrinkles to tell their tales
to speak of human life. To draw me to a warm hearth - and tell me desperate stories.

I have no such formal sage.
Though I searched, and beat my breast when there was none to be found:
a bit like an orphan - wondering what daily life in Christ looks like.

No, but I am in the company of many,
and in the economy of mercy - I am one, with them.
The night of my conversion, the speaker spoke to us on the ground,
"get up, and turn around - welcome to the family of God".

I have read Lewis, Augustine, Keirgkegaard.
Theresa, my Mother of faith, Nouwen,
and His tracings scrawl across the lives of the enlivened and upon the rocks that call.
The stories, yes - desperate. The telling of them unique, human-voiced: loud, boisterous, crying, painful, laughing; and heart felt.
Mmmm, that He might make our hearts the listening hearth upon which His stories tell and resound.

gasp. touch.

sometimes they grab at my arms
hands open, gasping to touch -
in the rage of why?
or the fear of how?
the despair...of when?
movement. emotion. moment. intensity.
and each passes into the next.
to be near.

reaching out to be close.
letting go.

isn't this what we all want? to be close, to You.

unfurl

remaining
means to let go:

palms upturned,
work-fingers quieted,

and be caught up in His wild, loving embrace
made colour in His stroke
and beautiful as He blows through ash and soot,
Seeker of clay, Breather of this life

to unfurl, for All -
into All
He is.

experience celebration

neither you, nor I are likely to know what you'll get when I hit the kitchen.

And it just kills my mother, who loves the 'recipe',

that her child might regard it simply as a rough 'guideline'.

So it happened when I started my birthday cake this year-

that turned into a pie, of no-consequence.

hunting through cupboards and fridge with my nose for all that gives great, unique delight

lemons and blueberries and chocolate;

et, ma piece - nuts. Candied nuts.

and I served this, to other people... who humbly received the offering of, "what did you say that was again?"

finishing with a, "that was an experience".

Ha! Blessed!

To the God who, creates, giver of time to think, and roll and bake;

maker of willy-nillies in the kitchen,

and life,

and friends who will submit themselves to trying a piece of you-pie ;)

overcoming winning-over

John the Baptiser’s prayer is mine.
More of You,
Less of me.

So that Your love is my work.
So that Your love is my life.
So that I am me, and my actions.
So that I forgive - and know, myself.
So that I take up the mantle.
So that I don't withold a thing, as offering to you.

So that I don’t buckle under burden not my own,
But flourish in Yours.

Lord this day, I cast my cares,
For I am afraid of a torrent I can't control.

But I can take me, and give me to You.

Giving thanks for:

• organization :)
• food for the day.
• Nutmeg bouncing over for apples - so happy

the way of disciplines.

tapping away at the final paper of the year. in twenty-four hours, I will begin two months free of school demands.
it's always the suck and the push at the end, yet I am enjoying this final time of writing.
It's defined in a bit of chaos, chair-sitting, and (this paper-writing session), Lindt pear dark-chocolate with almonds - just as I have learned to like it.

knowing that change is soon upon me, makes me reflect on these past months.
Nursing changes before me with every turn of page, every conversation, every touch to a patient's arm and press into a syringe.
Nursing has changed me. And so nursing changes.
the way of disciplines.


Today, I am thankful for:
The way that the gentle procures the blush.
The way forward that creates space.
The way of discipline and focus and long-suffering that creates perspective.
The way of hurt that makes us want for health.
The way of kind that stands beside, and creates.
The way of God that grows, and gives hearty to our laughing.

saucy ribs.

It's Rib Fest in the city.
Friends and I sat on the street edge, fingers slick and faces messy - and enjoyed the finest offerings of spare ribs. Mmm.
These two friends were guys, and were rooting for the 'manly' meal choice for the evening.
But, without hint of gender identity crisis I conceded, because I really do like ribs.

And here's where we go for the stretch, but track with me :)

I do acknowledge that it's pretty confusing to be a man or a woman nowadays - this topic consistently comes up in conversations I have with male and female friends alike.
The shelves at bookstores devoted to the topic hints at the trouble.
I was part of a gender studies reading group in my last year of university: grappling with men, women - girls and guys, who (to my thanking heart) were just as confused at who they were and what they were to be doing.
Men struggling to find place for impulses to provide for women who slam the door of their chivalry; women struggling to find a place for desires to be settled who are disrespected for not having goals. And there are a whole host of other tensions to navigate without the bounds of clear roles of how to go about it anymore.
In one respect, what a freedom to be celebrated.
On the other hand, what a landscape to navigate - to risk vulnerability in.
Who will be your guide?
at this point I am not suggesting any prescriptive material here (issues, I have issues with such things...), but to wonder at who you are, and who man is.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made.
To wonder is to ask Him.

The creation story tells of woman,
being made by God, from the rib of a man.
A companion and helper - the woman to work the ground and tend creation with man.
Her to fill in the space she came from with a womb.
Him to keep her near the ground he was raised from.
Dirt and bone worship.

I'm celebrating with a couple this weekend that are soon to be married.
They are so great - they worship and wonder at their Creator. Each as their own self, and soon together as one, bound together by Him whom they worship.

What is so striking about this friend is her assuredness - I'm not sure she sees it that way, but from a friend's perspective, I have watched her grow in confidence and transform in love.
She is sweet, playfully giddy, affirming and yes... even, in the cleanest possible of ways, a bit saucy at times. I've seen the pleased smile as she finds the perfect peices to adorn God's already-made beauty.
In love. And she draws us in - him in.
It is the becoming more of woman; in deepening touch with with deep-in-bones self, who invites another - others into space.
Space where God does His work - fashions, molds, builds into the bones.

Today I give thanks,

• for reconnecting with L.
• playing tag, late at night with bunny.
• chance to pray.

housework.

Today - the third day of summer, I spent part of the day on housework.

Some might call this anal - I stay on top of it as I go along. And, with the change of a season comes new priorities.

Dusting, scrubbing, laundering, sweeping unseen corners, taking into account stock in the cupboards, and, my summer edition to household chores: checking, setting, and fine-tuning mouse traps (yes, what a fun thing to discover on my foot the other night...ugh).

Life is like that - at the change of a season, God shines His love-light so I see all of Him in me, and the streaks of friction on over-used parts and dust gathering where work has stopped.

And together we take account and prioritize steps ahead: Him shining and sharing, judging and redeeming; and me, thanking, resting, wanting and willing to be wiped clean again, so I reflect better - to be rolled through the wash cycle and set out to dry warm in the sun, so I smell of His fragrance.

I am thankful for:

• laughing - because it's ironic when you are feeding the mouse you are trying to catch.
• floating soap bubbles.
• big, dark storm clouds.
• surprise.
• a hidden book of prayers.

her of Him.

Settling down to homework and soon bedtime.
I am listening to the beautiful work of Helma Sawatsky.
So striking. So rich. So home for me.
Drawn to the mother-breast of God - in an infant's awe that memorizes her face; drinking in everything about her in touch, and smell and taste.
"Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!"
Psalm 34: 8

I am thankful for:

• the resonating words of my mother.
• the book I can hardly remember, written on child-painted paper, telling things she loved - simple things.

sign of seal

I need to know that I am protected, looked out for.
For all of the independent ventures of modern women, there remains a tenderness needing to be cherished in its delicacy. Same goes for our brothers too.

Sometimes (…lately, with work), I find my soul and heart feeling so raw, so over exposed as I'm working out the call to love God and others.
The rawness is disorienting and disturbing, and so I am given a critical opportunity to reflect and meditate upon this - deep in the Song of Solomon,
‘...Me as a seal upon your heart…’

I am getting more deeply acquainted with how great this truth is:

A seal: something used both for the marking of an impression in a soft substance, and also to the tenacious substance itself; a method of authentication or security, confirms, ratifies – making stable, assured – preventing the loss of contents and the infusing of impurities; that which affixes paradoxical edges.
(thank you Webster’s dictionary)


Aside from secluding oneself: building up walls of defense or veils of secret & superfluous that the Lord's only desire is to take down, is the option to sumbit ourselves to the impression of the One who desires to guard us, His treasured possessions - His weak children, as we encounter all that we do in the lives and calls He's placed before us.

Today, I am thankful for:

• an air conditioner waiting for hot days - bring it!
• together prayers and dinner.
• an opportunity to learn.
• the Rain (thank God! thank God!)