I blog constantly. The trouble is that because [good] writing is so arduous and time consuming, most of it never makes it out of my head and on to the screen. Here are a few relics to prove it. Now's your chance to tell me if you would me to flesh out (pardon the pun you'll soon recognize) any of the following (italicized bits are transitions between posts):
What's Missing from the Modesty Debate
I'm an unabashed card carrying member of the modesty patrol, but I'm about to jump off the bandwagon and start my own band of vigilantes, because I'm starting to see where we've been coming at this all wrong....at least from the view of what it means to follow Jesus. Behind every virtue is another virtue, so if we track modesty back, we get to humility, and if we trace that to its root, we get to love. As C.S. Lewis said, true humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less."
You can't be humble and immodest at the same time. The attitude of "if you've got it, flaunt it" isn't humble. So what is? It's seeking to help others rather than draw attention to ourselves. Putting on a low cut shirt or skin tight jeans or a short skirt cannot be done from a place of humility. It's either insecurity, vanity, or another -ity that is self-centered.
...On a kind of related note...though I didn't get far enough to make the connection, and to be honest, I've rather forgotten what it was right now, but considering I was willing to embarrass myself, it must have been profound...
Of Dainties and Danishes
To some women, God gives dainties, and to others, danishes. I confess to having coveted my neighbors' danishes, while failing to appreciate my own dainties. It didn't help that when my children depended upon my dainties for nourishment, they still didn't grow to the size of danishes, and they turned out to be low fat!
...More bodily related stuff...what is the fixation?? I think I'm digging myself deeper here...
What If We Prayed As Often As We Peed
I'm a master at two things, which go hand in hand: procrastination and inconsistency. Take, for example (actually the point of this post), the prayer closet I created in the spring. Most days it collects dust, much like my soul. Distractions trump good intentions almost every time. And then I go looking to recalibrate my spiritual life, which is what happened three weeks ago, when I went to the reflective retreat at Mount Hermon, which was, for the second time, like entering the wardrobe and coming out in Narnia, minus the animals and the drama. I've been meaning to blog about my experience ever since I returned (which is what I meant to do a year ago when I went the first time). Obviously it hasn't happened…yet. There's that word I'm always saying: "not just YET…"
…So a funny thing happened that has nothing to do with spending time alone with God, but it's affecting it…in a good way. Even more than my soul, I neglect my body. One thing I don't do enough of is drink water. I was reading a book (being so theoretical is largely responsible for my YET life) and it talked about the importance of getting enough H20. So we bought a fancy alkalizing water filter (to help balance out our acidity) and now I'm trying to drink more water…and tea, and sometimes coffee (but caffeine
...Yup, I stopped mid-sentence. Probably the kids' fault. Life is a series of interruptions. But at least I got that far, unlike this next post which is a mere title...
How Homeschooling Liberates Women
I was tempted to title this "My Recurring e-Harmony Nightmare" because that's what it feels like. At first it was humorous. Then amusing. Eventually annoying. And now agonizing. Just when I think it's gone for good, that I've worked through whatever issue it stems from, it returns. Again. And again.
It goes like this: I am 40 (before I was 40, it was my late thirties), I am single, I am depressed, I am feeling my biological clock tick. I feel scared and lonely and desperate. Just when I am going through this panic/dread, I have an epiphany: e-Harmony! But of course! Why didn't I think of that sooner?! I need to get online right now and meet the man of my dreams.
Sometimes it ends right there. Other times just as I'm planning to try it, I realize that I am married and have children...and I am very happy to suddenly remember that. The other night - it had been a while since my last e-Harmony dream - I actually didn't even get as far as e-Harmony, and there was a bit of twist, because this time it was all about wanting children, and being afraid I wouldn't be able to. It was a horrible feeling, so I was whimpering in my sleep, and my husband woke me up and comforted me. That was a better ending than usual, but I still can't figure out why I have this dream over and over, albeit sporadically. It's been happening for the last three or four years or maybe even longer. I would say I've dreamt it at least ten times, about once a quarter, sometimes in clusters, sometimes with long stretches in between.
My theories thus far:
1. During my decade long quest for my soulmate, searching for "the one" became part of my identity and purpose in life, so those roots are resurfacing (read more here).
2. When e-Harmony came out, shortly after I met my husband, I thought it was really cool, since it used Myers-Briggs personality typing to match people. Part of me was disappointed that I didn't get to try it - not because I didn't think my husband was the right guy for me, but because of my insatiable curiosity.
3. It's somehow representative of all my deepest fears - of unfulfilled longings, unmet expectations, abandonment, inadequacy, etc.
4. It's a sign for me to pray for my single friends and to encourage them to sign up for e-Harmony. I've actually done this. Both praying and nudging.
...Well, when I told my husband what my bad dream was, he had the best explanation yet:
It's so that I'll wake up thankful to God for my family.
Why is that during the most serious part of the church service, I feel the most silly? Well, it came to an embarrassing crescendo last Sunday...
It started months ago with the big pieces of crackers. I didn't mean to grab the one the size of Texas, but there I was crunching away for what seemed like an eternity. The generous portions of matzo continued, and my husband and I started noticing that not only were they the size of large states, they were the shape of them also. So naturally we had to show to each other - "I got Florida." "Mine looks like Utah." "Giggle, giggle, quack" (okay, there were no duck voices - I just know way too many children's book titles). Sometimes we played it safe and had small half moons of gluten-free rice wafers.
Then there was the wine - ruby port actually - encircled by its non-alcoholic counterpart. Having only ever experienced Baptist flavored churches where all we got was Welch's grape juice, and only once a month at that, as soon as we joined a Presbyterian church last year, I knew I would always choose the real deal, just like Jesus drank at the last supper (don't let the teetotalers fool you). Probably because it's still new, it makes me a slightly giddy, like tee hee, I'm drinking *real* wine in church. Silly, I know, but I'm that girl.
My husband, who is funny ninety percent of the time, mentioned to me that he likes taking the communion cup in the exact center of the tray. So I began noticing whether it was there or not when we would get up to the front, and every so often, I would take it just for fun. We'd have a silent chuckle over that - or if he got it, he would give me those smiling eyes and nod of victory.
As if it weren't enough with all the whispers and stifled giggles between us, my mom and stepdad started sitting next to us during the service. They volunteer to prepare communion, so she has the inside scoop on details I would have been better off not knowing. For example, when I showed her the ginormous piece of cracker I ended up with one morning, she told me that it's really hard to break up the matzo. This is funny in itself, but moreso because we're Jewish by birth. She's also the one who told me that it's not kosher wine (I had thought it was Manischewitz) but port that they pour into the tiny plastic cups.
Well, one week ago today, the humorous energy that had been gradually intensifying reached critical mass, and the amusing details combusted into utterly uncontrollable hilarity. I went up to receive the elements, and as I always do, I made eye contact when the person holding the "bread" tray said "His body broken for you," but as I grasped the cracker, I realized I had two pieces. For a split second, I thought of putting one back, but they felt stuck together, and I had already touched them...and I couldn't hold up the line, so concealed my double portion and my amusement, took the cup and looked up for "his blood shed for you," and made my way back to my seat, grinning widely.
I couldn't help but show my husband and my mom the extra cracker, which they also found funny. My mom then mentioned that there are always lots of leftovers, so not to worry, and that my stepdad drinks the extra wine. So there I got this ridiculous visual of him guzzling these tiny glasses of port in the church kitchen, and I could feel the laughter welling up in me. I tried to suppress it but suddenly I noticed all these white crumbs on my black pants, which I battled to brush off of me. A few seconds later, I saw my mom doing the same thing - dusting her lap with her hands.
It was all just too much. My body began heaving and I had to bury my quivering face in my hands, my head shaking and tears beginning to escape the corners of my eyes (later I was to discover I had raccoon eyes from my smearing my mascara). My stomach suppressed the hysterics, but I faintly emitted a sound like sobbing, which is what I sheepishly wished people would think I was doing instead of laughing!
It took me the rest of the communion time to pull myself together, and only just barely. I wish I could say it was holy laughter, but on the surface at least, it sure seemed carnal. I had, week by week, let my mind wander into these trivial details - the literal aspect of the ritual - rather than staying focused on the symbolic significance of the Eucharist. Not that I hadn't tried, mind you, to shut out these distractions (and, in fact, they occur throughout the whole service), but I had not forced myself into submission. In a way, I see what happened as evidence of grace. Yes, I was embarrassed, but I also felt a sense of release and relief - both emotionally and in terms of not being able to project any sort of pious image. That's me, people, showing you that I don't have it all together, not even in the moment when I "should" be closest to the throne of God. Then again, who's to say that in his presence, in the fullest experience of the most important release of all - from sin to freedom - there wouldn't be uninhibited rejoicing? Tears and laughter are made of the same stuff, I've heard it said, or if I didn't, I'm saying it now.
Afterwards, a lovely woman (who happens to be the director of children's ministry) came up to me and said she just had to ask what made me crack up. I told her the whole story (well, not as detailed as this) and we couldn't help but laugh together. Apparently joy is contagious - I almost wish I had let it all out and that the whole room had burst into laughter, but that will probably have to wait until heaven..."therefore, let us keep the feast"...and our sense of humor.