Archive for the ‘sacred feminine’ Category

Hormones, Drama, Raw Edges, & Rambling

I’m really curious as to whether hormone fluctuations attract emotional drama or just magnify what’s been there all along so that it becomes glaringly, blatantly, unignorable.

Really.

I don’t need this.

I need my brain chatter to shut up so my body can sleep at night.

I need the sun to shine today and the temps to warm up. So far today that hasn’t happened.

I need my thoughts to shift from what I perceive to be the current state of affairs to something more along the lines of beautiful non-radioactive oceans and crisp clear mountain air… Some place where my girls and I are goddesses surrounded by people with common sense and emotional stability oozing out of their pores.

I need people in my world to stop fighting and start loving like the Christians they claim to be, because right now, I don’t want whatever it is they have.

I need to understand why I feel responsible and powerless at the same time.

Or maybe I don’t, because then I have to “feel”.

I don’t really want to feel right now. I don’t want to feel responsible. I don’t want to feel powerless. I don’t want to cry.

I don’t want to be silent. I’ve been silent. Yet if I speak, I will hurt feelings and further damage relationships. I don’t want to hurt people.

So I remain silent.

I want this almighty powerful God that everyone says is in control of all things to fix it. I want the people who say God never gives/allows us more than we can handle to be smacked upside the head. There are plenty of good people who get more than their sanity can handle. No amount of prayer or giving it to God can change that.

Crap happens (not my preferred word, but my mom reads this stuff). Good people get hurt. It’s called life. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it sucks. People take on tasks for which they aren’t prepared. Parents get a bad wrap for wanting and expecting (even demanding) the best for their kids. Kids get caught in the middle and labeled spoiled brats by people who don’t know what the hell they are talking about. (Sorry, Mom. I blame the hormones.)

And sadly, in the big game of life, none of it really matters. Not. one. bit.

This is small potatoes.

Yet before you know it, the world of a teenager becomes a huge heavy burden. People she respected and admired six months ago are now bullies to be avoided in her mind. Adults who should know better act like self-centered three year olds mid-tantrum. Instead of asking where it all went wrong and how can we make it right, revenge becomes the reaction of choice.

And another of my goddesses learns that silence is far less painful than finding your voice. And she begins to think, “If only I can make it one more year, I’m outta here.”

Pain and stress change people for the worse.

I don’t like stress. Everyday I see how it ravages our bodies, especially negative stress. It ravages our minds, too. Rational thought flies out the window and our heads crawl painfully far up our arses when stress takes over.

Right now, my body is feeling it. I want to release it, but my hormones are holding on to it like it’s the last piece of chocolate on earth.

I can’t fix this. Speaking up puts me on a “side”. I don’t want to be on a side. I just want it to go away and for everything to be right again. I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.

I want my kid to be happy, relaxed, and joyful. I want her to get to be a kid.

I want her world to rock again. All of it.

 

Who Made Christ?

Who made Christ?

Now there’s a loaded, cage-rattling question. I’d venture to bet the typical responses would range from “He’s always existed” to “God did” and everything in between.

Now here’s my loaded, cage-rattling answer.

Humans made Christ.

Yep. I said that. I went there.

“How dare she suggest such a thing?!,” you might indignantly exclaim.

Well, see, it’s like this.

There was a man. He was born of a woman. Some say she was a virgin. Science says there is no way. History presents a few problems of its own. The faithful say God can do anything he wants, including impregnating a teenage female. Maybe so, but I think going that route misses the whole point of the man named Jesus.

This man was a gifted seeker, wise beyond his years. Was he a gift from the heavens? Possibly. Extraordinary people are born from time to time:  People who do amazing things in their lifetime.

Buddha.

Mahatma Ghandi.

Muhammad.

Abraham Lincoln.

Joan of Arc.

The grieving parents of a dead teenager who choose to take a message of safe driving out into the world.

Many others.

The point is, he came, he lived, he modeled, he taught with amazing wisdom, he empowered the underdog and in many ways saved them from their own poverty mentality, he angered the ruling class, and he was martyred.

In the process, he created a very loyal (although somewhat divided and disagreeable) following of disciples. As happens frequently when a person dies much too young, his legend grew as the years passed. His goodness was magnified into the miraculous. It happens.

The stories evolved unchecked through word of mouth.

Many, many years after he ceased to exist in the world that we know, the stories began to be recorded. The earliest known accounts do not involve a virgin birth. They do not mention salvation. They recount the stories of a man who taught people to forgive each other and take care of one another, especially the poorest and most helpless among them, and who offered his services as a healer for free.

He overstepped a lot of boundaries that had been placed on the common people of his time. He bucked the system.

And he was murdered.

Or martyred. Whichever floats your terminology boat.

As the old saying goes, “If you can’t shut ’em up, figure out a way to get their money.”

Oh, that’s not how it goes? My bad.

Along come the second, third, and fourth century marketing gurus, a world leader looking for a purpose, and a few fast talking fourth generation prophets.

Scripture is written. A resurrection is added.

Contradictory writings are destroyed.

Haters are killed en masse.

Non-believers are labeled heretics and killed.

Pretty much everyone is killed.

And suddenly (okay, so it took 400 years), we have a world religion complete with a new deity who defied all laws of nature and a divinely inspired, inerrant canon of scripture.

Jesus of Nazareth who taught compassion for neighbors and enemies, Jesus of Nazareth who was the ultimate socialist, Jesus of Nazareth who probably studied the teachings of Buddha, is now Jesus Christ, hater of all things not Christ-y.

Jesus Christ doesn’t even really resemble Jesus of Nazareth.

Jesus Christ has evolved into a hard-line, right-wing conservative with little compassion for anything or anyone.

Jesus Christ saves people who call on his name and believe he is the son of God. And that is necessary because according to this doctrine, we are all born evil. And yes, you should be a good person and help others, but that is secondary to believing and getting someone else to believe. After all, the brightest crowns in heaven will go to those who take the most souls with them, right?

I actually believed that at one point in my life.

I wasn’t such a great “proseletyzer”, so I figured I was probably screwed on that whole heaven thing, even though I believed and was buried with Christ in baptism—the…ahem… right way. My “I’m right, you’re wrong” method of beating people over the head with a club wasn’t much of a soul-winner.

Somehow Jesus of Nazareth has gotten lost along the way. He was over-shadowed by the human creation that is Jesus Christ. The way I figure it, Naz Boy is the one who is the son of God. And I am the daughter of God. And my husband is the son of God. And my brother is the son of God. And my girls are each the daughter of God.

…Whomever God is…….that’s another post in itself.

Each and everyone is just as capable of doing amazing things to improve life on planet earth. Each and everyone is capable of being someone’s savior. Each one could easily anger the leadership to the point of being “erased”. And each one could become the stuff legends are made of.

Even to the point of having a world religion created in their honor.

Cage rattled. You’re welcome.

2010: Looking Back So I Can Look Forward

Looking back is not something I typically do. There’s nothing a person can do to change what’s been done, and spending time dwelling on it is pretty much a waste of time.

This year, however, I think it is important for me to look back at the past twelve months so that I can recognize how much has changed and how far I have come, not to mention the many adventures that I experienced this year.

Twenty ten saw me take my first REAL yoga classes.

It was during one of those yogic moments of peaceful reflection that I made the decision to resign my job of 18 years.

That decision and its subsequent public announcement led to an energy shift in my workplace that was nothing short of miraculous. I don’t know who was more relieved, me or my co-workers.

It was the year we decided that maybe building a house at the farm wasn’t the best idea. We realized my in-laws wouldn’t be with us very many more years and that no one else in the family had a desire to live in their house. We couldn’t bear the thought of it sitting empty or being sold. We began to create a vision that involved once again restoring what we had rather than buying brand new.

Twenty ten was the year my sweet man helped move his aging parents to a nursing home. We didn’t realize how quickly our prediction would come to pass.

It was also the year we said “see ya later” to his handsome daddy.  We miss you, Charlie.

I realized this year that keeping forty years worth of mail and magazines is not a good idea.

I learned that while some things aren’t mine to discard, the rest of the family appreciates not having to do as much of it.

This year I figured out that it is possible to simultaneously be mad at my man for something he can’t fix and feel guilty for being mad at him.

I discovered that when meltdowns happen, I don’t really want anyone to fix or analyze the problem. I pretty much just want to be held by my man and allowed to blubber like a moron into total exhaustion.

I also discovered that sorting through 40 years worth of mail can trigger the aforementioned meltdown.

I messaged my dad and told him I’d haunt him in the afterlife if he left all his crap for me to sort through.

Sometimes having an entire week with no massage clients is a blessing to allow one to work on a more important project.

I really need to clean out my crap so my children won’t have to.

This year also saw the ongoing work on my wellness center progress from slightly nicer than trashy (requiring closed doors and plastic sheeting) to something that has become downright adorable.

My massage clientele has grown from about five on January 1, 2010 to about 75 today and from a few sessions a month to multiple sessions a week.

I have a gift. I don’t know what I do differently, and many times I feel very inadequate to help someone, yet people keep telling me I really do make a difference.

2010 was the year I realized how much I need to feel as though I am making a difference.

This year was the first year since 1992 that I have not attended August Staff Development.

I miss my friends.

I don’t miss the beaurocracy and protocol.

Twenty ten was the year I said goodbye to windowless cinderblock and electromagnetic fields.

It’s the year I discovered how amazing it is to give a massage in a thunderstorm.

It’s also the year I learned that the sound of geese flying over head is another sweet background symphony for giving a massage.

This year gave me time to can 100 pounds of apples, oodles of tomatoes, more jalapeños than I will ever need, and even make some apricot jam. I haven’t done that in probably 18 years because I was always back at work by the time the garden was ready.

This year we took our cowgirl to the state horse show, sent her off to horse camp, sent our oldest to Germany for a month, and then moved her to the far corner of New Mexico to go to school.

This year found daughter number two with a drivers license and an appreciation for the freedom even a 12 year old mini-van can bring.

It was the year my baby played on her first club basketball basketball team and decided she could live with an occasional bloody nose.

This was the year I told a man in leadership that I wanted strong female role models in my daughters’ lives.

It has also been the year I’ve had to remind myself that I got what I wished for and that everything else is secondary, even though there is some frustration.

This was the year I gave up on my hybrid car and helped my oldest get her first car.

This was the year I learned to be really really patient with licensing agencies. It took three months, but we finally got my oldest licensed to practice massage therapy in New Mexico without making any state agency enemies. The holdup was one of semantics. Terminology.

It was also the year I was glad my oldest didn’t have a job, because after completely missing Christmas last year due to work and snow, she has been home with us for a whole month. I kinda like having her around.

I hope she never gets a job, but rather finds a way to make a living on her own terms.

This was the year that 85% of my 18 years worth of retirement savings disappeared. In all fairness, it did a lot. It did things that couldn’t have been done if I had continued to work at my former job. It blessed my girls.

This was the year that I finally told my story.

And the year that I released some resentment in exchange for recognizing the gifts.

This year saw me let go of the guilt of “should” and simply enjoy “being”.

I learned that sometimes procrastination simply means the time isn’t yet right.

Twenty ten is the year I learned that there is a big difference between being a Christian and being a disciple of a man named Jesus.

I don’t want to be a Christian.

I want to be  like Jesus.

This year saw my eyes open to the historical origins of the Bible and let go of my blind belief in its divine authorship.

It also saw another major shift in my belief system.

I think I might have been wrong about a few things.

Twenty ten was the year I found some amazing people who are also on a quest for enlightenment and truth: Ronna Detrick, Renae Cobb, Don Rogers, and Chris Ledgerwood to name a few. I am grateful to have made their acquaintance and experienced their encouragement.

It was the year of a broken leg for cowgirl and a broken nose for my mom. Note to both: Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes you get your wish, but with a bit of an inconvenient side effect. Good lesson for me. I wonder if I caught on or if I’ll have to learn that one for myself sometime?

Twenty ten will go down as the year that I took a leap off of a cliff and had to build my wings during the free-fall.

My wings are in place, and now the ascension begins. There’s a pretty good climb ahead, but I have a hunch the view from the top of 2011 is going to be exhilerating.

That’s a big word that means really scary but very much worth it once the mountain is climbed.

Bring it on.

What Would Jesus Say?

Most of us are familiar with the WWJD (what would Jesus do?) bracelets that burst on the scene a few years ago. They served a very useful purpose: To remind us to think about what Jesus’ reaction would be to a given situation. Were they effective? I don’t know.

They certainly made someone a lot of money.

I wonder if the vendors in the temple courts had a WWJD bracelet booth back in the day?

Anyway, it got me to thinking. Scary, I know. Me thinking is usually the equivalent to violently shaking a bottle of nitro-glycerin. Something’s probably going to blow up and someone could end up with a shrapnel (sp?) injury.

Lately I’ve been pondering what Jesus might say to us today if he were to suddenly appear before our eyes. There’s a lot we blame/credit him for saying that historically speaking probably didn’t come out of his mouth. There is very little we know with any level of historical confidence that can be attributed to him and him alone.

So I figure if the writers of first three centuries can put something out there and give Jesus the credit, I might as well give it a shot, too. Who knows? Two thousand years from now, maybe some archeologist will find a random hard drive at an excavation sight in Houston, discover my digital record of “What Jesus Said”, then proclaim it a divinely inspired writing. That’d be some serious irony.

And who’s to say my writing isn’t inspired by God?

So what WOULD Jesus say in the days leading up to Christmas 2010? What would he utter that would inspire us, direct us, even change us for the better?

I think I can do this. I have a cynical streak….a heavy dose of sarcasm and lame humor that runs deep in my veins. Jesus was apparently a cynic and a bit on the sarcastic side, too, so we relate well.

Jesus: “Note to self. Humans will make a god out of a tree. Why didn’t I see this coming?”

Jesus: “I think maybe you misunderstood a few things. I said there are ONLY two commands. Both start with the word LOVE. Where’s the confusion?”

Jesus: “How the hell did you manage to twist love your enemies into permission to commit murder and genocide in my name? Don’t blame me for that crap!”

Jesus: “That Paul guy? Why did you decide to do things his way instead of my way? He was way too friendly with the peyote stuff.”

Jesus: “Give me a hug. Free hugs.”

Jesus: “It’s amazing how many people you can feed with a small donation. You should try it sometime.”

Jesus: “Yeah…so….I’m really not into following rules in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jesus: “Now tell me again why you keep looking for the kingdom of God in a church? I thought I was pretty clear that the Kingdom of God is within you, not outside of you.”

Jesus: “I tried leaving this thing in the hands of the women folk. The men just had to take over and mess things up with their my way or the highway methods. That one hasn’t worked out so well, now has it, Guys?”

Jesus: “Yeah, okay. So I really did like it when the chicka washed my feet with her tears and hair then put the smelly-good stuff on them for me, but these $20 million dollar church buildings are probably a little more than I had in mind.”

Jesus: “Uhm….yeah….so…..the keyword is love, not fear. What are you so afraid of? Hell? Here’s a tip for you—that hell thing wasn’t created until after I was gone. The ‘men’ in charge made that one up so you’d keep giving them money. And for Peter’s sake, how many times did I tell you ‘Do NOT FEAR?’ I fail to see how that was confusing.”

Jesus: “You people suck at translating. Seriously. If your language doesn’t have a word that means what the original says, then maybe you should just leave the original alone instead of making up something totally different and then blaming me.”

Jesus: “Y’all are WAY too literal. Chill out. Roll with the parable. Enjoy the mythology and mystery of it all.”

Jesus: “Moses is a cranky-butt. Abraham is the cool one.”

According to my twenty year old, Jesus would also be singing Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Now there’s a mildly disturbing image to carry around in your brain. Her edits: “I also think he’d smoke some weed. Every other male in Silver City with long hair and a beard does. Why not Jesus? The picture we paint is exactly that of a hippie stoner from silver.”  :)

What else would Jesus be saying?

Truth and Terror

I am terrified to tell the truth.

Not average ordinary everyday sorta truth.

My truth. The truth about what I believe at this point in my life. The truth about my faith, my thoughts, and my passions.

It’s just not a popular stance in these parts.

And so, I tip-toe around my truth, throwing nuggets out into the blogosphere, waiting and wondering what type of response I will get with each post. Most comments are supportive, their authors apparently traveling a road similar to mine. A few are challenging, compelled by years of religious training to defend God’s honor and defeat the forces of Satan, which it seems I may have become to them.

There are people about whom I care deeply who seem quite agitated by the road my faith has taken. I think they fear my spiritual destiny will land me in hell for all eternity.

If not me, then my poor un-churched children, for sure.

Yet one of my truths is this: I no longer believe a place called hell actually exists. Neither do a believe in a fallen-angel-evil-spirit named Satan. I truly believe he/it is a creation of those who would lie to the uneducated to enslave their mind, their loyalty, and their money.

That much has been put out there for the world to see.

And it stresses those whose Sundays revolve around fear of spending eternity with the evil one.

But there is so much more. My truth is unfolding on a daily, even hourly basis. There is more to be told. More to be confessed. More to be revealed. More reactions to fear.

More reasons to hold back my truth.

And then an encouraging word from a spiritual mentor arrives in my email…questions prodding me to speak my truth and acknowledge my faith where it is today, boldly, fearlessly.

As I sat at my desk reading the words composed in Ronna Detrick’s newsletter, these words grabbed me and yanked my complacent brain cells back into reality. These words left me once again feeling the passion and fire that begs me to share my truth….my reality.

“Lies were perpetuated; lies that have existed for thousands of years; ones that (we are) asked to bear the weight of. Though not spoken nearly so blatantly, this is what was ultimately being said: A woman only has value when connected to a man, when submissive. A woman is dangerous. A woman should recognize and acknowledge that her gender, through the sin of her forebear Eve, is single-handedly responsible for The Fall and all of humanity’s subsequent separation from Eden, God, and all that is good. No pressure. All lies.

And that is when I realized that I am not wrong. I am not evil. I am not dangerous. I am simply seeking the truth…..telling the truth……accepting reality rather than myth.

There is nothing wrong with myth until it is accepted as absolute truth….as law….and is used to abuse, confine, restrict, and terrorize people in their ignorance.

The truth is, I cannot understand why otherwise rational, skeptical, and even occasionally suspicious people have allowed themselves to accept as legally binding ancient traditions that require suspension of the known laws of nature and common sense. I cannot understand why even I did this for years.

We have adopted traditions and beliefs about a period of time that cannot be corroborated by historical evidence, and in fact in many cases has been shown to be an embellishment by writers with an agenda and an authoritative mandate.

That mandate certainly didn’t come from divine inspiration delivered by an omnipotent God.

The truth is, I would love to see a restoration to the original purposes and intentions  of a human being who lived 2000 years ago whose name is translated into English as Jesus.

The truth is, this thing we have created called Christianity isn’t/wasn’t his doing.

The truth is, we are not inherently sinful, but inherently good. Those ideas of sinfulness were created by men to financially support their temples, their churches, and their religious dynasties by creating fear in the masses and demanding payment for forgiveness of sins. Yes, Jesus hoped to end the insanity, but alas, the old enslaving ideas were re-created using his goodness as justification.

The truth is, we would probably come closer to understanding the teachings of Jesus by studying the teachings of Buddha, not Paul or Moses.

The truth is, the Jesus portrayed in most of the New Testament probably isn’t the Jesus who walked the earth. The Christ of the New Testament was created by men some 100-300 years after the legendary man made his escape from a physical body. I doubt Jesus would even recognize that creation as himself, nor would he approve.

The truth is, resurrection has become a distraction from the true purpose of Jesus’ life and message. We have made it about resurrection and salvation when in fact, it is about imitation and service to others.

…..because believing, accepting, and proselytizing is much easier than giving, doing, and becoming.

The truth is, we are all connected. That “one body” stuff isn’t church talk. We are interconnected like the cells, tissues, organs, and systems that make up the human body. We are parts of a body that is God. God is not something we seek. God is within us. We are God and God is us. When we take care of hungry, homeless families in Honduras, we are sending life-giving blood with it’s oxygen and nutrients to a part of our own body that is suffering.

When we attack each other through wars and abuse, we are nothing more than a cancer or autoimmune disease within the human race.

I am tired of the lies that divide the cells of the body that is the Universe. I am tired of believing the man-made myths that were never intended to be taken as divine truth. I am tired of feeling as though I must either love “The Church” or love people from all walks of life, but not both.

I am tired of persecution and destruction in the name of God. I am tired of being afraid of those who disagree with me.

I want to heal the body (the world) as Jesus did.

This is my truth, terror and all.

Building My Wings On The Way Down

A friend/client messaged me earlier this week asking what I had planned for her personal training session. My response?

“IDK.”

Yep. Twenty four hours prior to her arrival for her personal training session, and I honestly had no idea what I was going to do with her or for her. Now, before you freak about how unprofessional this was, keep in mind I’m doing it for free. She’s my guinea pig for a personal training class I am taking…er…uh…I mean….teaching myself. I’ve sorta been dreading it because I feel so unprepared, and since the instructor is requiring it, yet has refused to prepare us with anything other than “read the book”, I have few options besides “winging” it.

It seems like I am doing a lot of “winging” it lately. I don’t know that I ever feel fully prepared for anything anymore.

I have lots of good information to share, and I know I can lead/guide in lots of situations, yet I am really hesitant to jump into something when I feel inadequate.

Lately, however, it seems as though I need to lose the control freak thing about being fully prepared and just jump. I need to trust that the knowledge and skills I already possess, combined with the ones I am continuing to acquire are sufficient to meet the needs of the people who are choosing to be served by me.

Teachers always have to live through being a dreaded “first-year” teacher. There is always the “newbie” stage at a new job during which time “lost and confused” seem to reign supreme.

And now, I find that after months of talking about what I’d like to do, and after a few attempts to prepare myself to do it, it is time for me to jump off this cliff and build my wings on the way down.

So, Thursday evening, October 7th, you are invited to watch me do some cliff diving. After months of talking about it, I have actually decided to open up my space to all who are interested so that we can begin to explore the benefits of a yoga-type class. I say “yoga-type” because I am no expert in yoga, yet I have lots of good information to share, lots of great feel-good stretches, and oodles of awesome energy exercises. We are going to throw it all together in a big pot of togetherness and see what kind of gentle deliciousness we get.

I trust you will join me if your schedule permits. I also trust you’ll throw me a life jacket if I get in over my head.

It will be fabulous, because my mid-air wing construction projects always are.

Up, up, and away!

Permission Granted

Are you tired of always doing “it” the “right” way? Have you always wanted to march to the beat of your own drum instead of to the beat of other’s expectations?

Here’s what you’ve been looking for:

Danielle LaPorte’s Permission Slip from the Universe

Permisson granted. Now go live.

Allowing

One of the most powerful lessons I’ve had to learn in my life is that my way isn’t necessarily the right way or the only way.

Shocker, isn’t it?

The other thing I’ve had to learn is that others can be right even when their right is different from my right.

There is usually more than one right way……

…and the world doesn’t come to an end nor do heaven’s gates slam shut just because someone uses a different right way.

On my spiritual journey, I’ve had to do a lot of allowing: Allowing myself to change my mind about what I believe, allowing myself to realize (and…gasp….ADMIT) that maybe others were right 20 years ago when I thought they were completely wrong, allowing others to remain where they are and not attempt to pull them along on MY journey, allowing them to have an opinion that is different from mine and not attempt to convince them otherwise, and on and on it goes.

It hasn’t been easy, nor all that successful. It’s certainly not in my nature. It has required a lot of patience over the years from those I care about. I can be a real wench when I’m convinced I’m right.

I’ve done a lot of “beating over the head” in my 42 years of life.

I’m pretty sure I started that favorite pastime as soon as I could mutter my first words.

And as I sit back and recognize the many recent changes that have occurred in my ways of thinking, most without my really asking for them, I realize that there is a force in the universe that leads us where each of us needs to go, be, or do at a particular time in life.

Sorting through my mother-in-law’s papers has re-opened my eyes to this. She wielded a mighty pen in the name of traditional Catholicism, right to life legislation, seat belt privacy (there’s a contradiction if I ever saw one), and no sex education in schools. I find myself wavering between a tinge (okay, a LOT) of bitterness (my views are quite different in many ways), and respect for her passions…..allowing her to be what she needed (needs) to be and respecting her own version of rightness.

That same force that I believe opened my eyes to other perspectives  is the force that led me to walk away from a church rather than try to change it. The awareness in my head said very clearly that their ways are right for them and that while I might disagree, it’s not my job to change them. They are beautiful people who do many good things in this world. Leave them alone and let them be.

And so, I did. Sorta.

Yet I have much work left to do on that whole allowing thing. Too often I find myself criticizing their beliefs, methods, procedures, and more. It makes me wonder what’s still at work inside of me if I feel the need to be so defensive about my own beliefs and critical of theirs.

I guess when the time is right, I will be ALLOWED to figure it out.

How’s that allowing thing working for you?

A Tale of Many Paradoxes

Things have continued to progress this week as I sort through the many artifacts and memoirs found in my in-law’s home. Also continuing are the a-ha moments and the reminders of my mother-in-law’s many passions.

…and the paradox of contradiction so many of her passions hold.

It fascinates me that a woman who is so passionate about the right to life movement is also very anti-government regulation when it came to seatbelt laws. Even late into her seventies she would sit across the street from the local Planned Parenthood office with her right to life poster. She sent letters to every Catholic congressman scolding them for their Democrat views on abortion. And yet, a couple of days ago when I took her back to her house to pack a few more things, she gave me that look of disgust when I reached for the seatbelt to buckle her in.

It fascinates me that someone who was such an avid co-producer and preserver (with my f-i-l) of locally grown food was quite the cheerleader for the proposed nuclear waste dump site near our community. (Thank God we were deprived of that one.)

It’s both a fascinating and fortunate-for-me paradox that this beautiful lady who carried no less than eight babies, delivered six live births, and saw five of the most handsome men on the planet into adulthood is very outspoken against anything that resembles sex education in the schools.

And the one that strikes me as most ironic and yet which links us in so many ways…..

This amazingly passionate woman so fiercely believed in maintaining all of the traditional Catholic ways. She wrote letters to priests and bishops. She stood up strongly and with great conviction in the face of people who weren’t very nice to her, and eventually walked away from her church home because it didn’t seem right to continue participating in something that didn’t align with her conscience.

Then a few years later, she acquired me into her family: Staunch Church of Christ and anti-Catholic, right-to-lifer who prefers women have freedom of choice (no legislating morality for me), total seat belt advocate (hey, it’s a safety issue, not a morality issue), health educator who participated in teaching the sex ed classes at school, grateful user of non-hormone birth control methods (yes, I really did use something–if I hadn’t, there might be 15 instead of just four!), and the real kicker……

A daughter-in-law who ultimately left “The Church” because of it’s refusal to change at a rate with which I was comfortable. Or maybe it was because I changed and the church couldn’t, wouldn’t, or wasn’t supposed to keep up with me. Either way, it seems sort of funny that both of us walked away from a church, yet for reasons that are so polar opposite .

So many conversations have gone unspoken or unheard (if they were spoken) because it has always been easier to ignore the differences than to engage in a passionate hurtful debate. We have instead simply chosen to love (or sometimes tolerate) one another. Our common link is a gorgeous hunk of a man whom she birthed, I caught, and we both adore.

And for the record, I was, of course, ALWAYS right. ;-)

Confessions of a Middle Aged Mommy Jogger

Warning all males: Gross female commentary follows. Read at your own risk.

It’s time you know the truth.

I have a lot of truth to tell.

Middle-aged mommy truth.

You see, a little over a month ago I started jogging. I haven’t jogged since I was in my EARLY 20’s. There is a very good reason I haven’t jogged since that time.

I HATE running, jogging, or anything that resembles the aforementioned beast.  Loathe is another word that comes to mind.

Yeah….

You might be wondering why I would be doing something I loathe. It’s really quite simple.

I am determined to chase down and tackle the 20 year old who stole my body. I’m not worried about the jerk who stole my laptop, ipod, and air conditioner last month. I figure God will take care of that one for me, or he’ll eventually meet up with on of my pistol packin’ friends and regret his birthday. Meanwhile he gets to burn his brain cells out smoking something he bought with the money from hocking my stuff….something that my hubby probably tried back in the 70’s (and wishes he could enjoy again).

But the teenie bopper who stole my bod needs to be tackled, beaten, and forced to return the hot merchandise.

Therefore I must get in shape enough to chase her sorry thievin’ butt down and inflict the aforementioned punishment. If cattle rustlin’ is serious enough in Texas to warrant a good old fashioned hangin’, female goddess body snatching is surely worth at least as much.

And so I jog.

And with a 42 year old bladder that’s supported four oversized uteruses, it’s always an adventure.

Note to self: three glasses of iced tea consumed in the two hours prior to running is not the most intelligent thing to do with the aforementioned equipment.

It’s just not.

Matter of fact, I’m seriously considering a modification to my massage pay scale. Instead of payment in Jackson’s, I may want to require payment in Depends.

Or maybe I’ll just take tips in Depends. I kinda like those Jackson’s. The bill collectors probably prefer Jackson’s, too, unless they are female, 40+, and have recently taken up jogging.

Or maybe someone will just give me a tip that says, “Hey Genius…..don’t drink tea before you run.”

I really hope that little hard body jogger that kept passing me recognized the dark gray on my light gray shorts as a serious sweating problem.

That’s what it was…..sweat.

Yeah.

Sweat.

Because middle-aged mommy joggers …ahem….sweat….down there. A lot.

And that’s all I’ve got to say ’bout that.



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