I guess it's 9/11.

I work with people who are hurting, and oftentimes within that hurt are questions of forgiveness. What is forgiveness? How does a person forgive? What does forgiveness mean? And I never answer those questions for another person, because those are deep questions about faith and belief, and it's incredibly important for a person to be able to make decisions about forgiveness autonomously, without the interests of other people getting in the way.

Larger issues of peace are incredibly complex. Forgiveness and peace may be inextricably linked, but how one goes about finding peace is also a deeply personal issue. Sometimes we get very sidetracked with blame, and wanting answers. Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes life sucks and we just have to keep going.

In Bikram last night, the teacher (or supreme yogi, or whatever they're called) reminded us that Bikram helps us to find stillness, or forces us to be still. All I know is that at the end of the class, I want to jump up and run out the door. I want the hot to go away. I want to breathe cool air. But I heed those words (because what am I there for if I don't listen?), and I lie as still as I can, for as long as I can (probably less than the recommended three minutes), before I hurry to test my sugar and get some fresher air.

When I lived in the jungle, I had few moments of cool crisp air to breathe. When I came off the plane, I thought I would die. It felt like an oven (it was the equator, after all). And my body suffered in the heat, and my soul suffered with loneliness, but I survived. Sometimes all we can do is survive, and hope that God really is there and real, or else none of it means anything anyway and there is no point.

So breathe the hot air, because it's all you have. Be mad if you want, because it won't make the hot air go away. I like to be mad at God. God can handle it.

You need some love :)

 
1. Orphans
2. Widows
3. Aliens
4. Prisoners
5. Prostitutes
6. Homeless people
7. Mistresses
8. Foreigners
9. Prophets
10. Foster kids
11. Divorced women
12. Single people

Don't throw 'em away.

Vulnerability...the true monster

Love with your whole heart, even when there is no guarantee. Be grateful; to feel vulnerable is to feel alive. And always remember, you're enough.

Those are not easy things to do, so read that list through a few times before you walk away.

Bootstraps, anyone?

 

This story kills me.

People offer us love, and we deny it. People offer us help, aid, and we throw it away, saying we'd rather find it ourselves. I have an image of a toddler in my head, practicing the art of independence-"Do it myself!"

There's a TED talk on vulnerability I'd like to watch today and perhaps respond to tomorrow.

Sometimes I say "yes", when I want to say "no", not because "no" is the right answer, but because I know that I am resisting the love of another person, wanting to avoid attachment. Sometimes we need to accept the love that is offered to us, even if it comes in a form that is unpleasant (e.g. I give my neighbors meat even though I don't believe I should; I buy Hershey chocolate because the man that put up my shelves asked for it, even though I believe that they practice slavery). Sometimes I think we need to take more time to make decisions. Sometimes those decisions will end up bringing us closer together.

And we need eachother. Life is tough, remember?

Shame in me

Shame is an awful thing. I can feel it in my chest. It's like a fist grabs my heart, and then wrenches it to the right. Ouch.

I am feeling shame at this very moment, and I am trying to talk myself through it. I feel the shame of a little kid who is tattling, something I don't directly remember doing, but imagine I did quite often. Doing the right thing is very important to me. And when I see it out there, possible, I want to grab it and make it mine. I want to own the essence of being right. I want to own it and let it define me. I want to be right. I want to be right. I want to be right. Ad infinitum...

Being right makes us feel safe. It makes us feel in control. When that is questioned, when we make small mistakes, we are struck with the uninvited wrenching fist in the chest.

I have to talk to myself often, remind myself that I am fallible, remind myself that I cannot know the right and perfect way to do everything. All I have is myself, and whatever faculties are available in that particular moment.

In all reality, I am human and flawed, and I never do the right thing. But so are you, so at least we're all in this thing together.

The pain can't last forever.

Have you ever felt debilitating emotional pain? Have you ever done everything in your power to then cover up or numb that awful feeling(s)? If so, you are not alone. And I am here to tell you that that numbing that you seek is perfectly understandable. Those terrible feelings are oftentimes the reason people attempt suicide. Sometimes those feelings do indeed feel worse than one imagines death could ever possibly feel. "Hell? This is hell."

So this is a shout out to all those who have felt those debilitating feelings of awful, unspeakable pain. You are not alone. Ride it out.

Someday the pain will end. It has to. It really must end at some point. I'm beginning to think that if I equate emotional pain with physical pain, I can begin to imagine that this awful feeling in my chest that makes me want to die is actually my heart healing from a horrific injury. It has been blasted, and now it is doing the difficult work of putting itself back together. I'm not going to pour salt into it by sleeping around and making it worse. I'm not going to start drinking excessively. Alcohol will only make it worse.

All of things we do to ease the pain only prolong the feeling(s). And in order to get over those feelings, we must FEEL them. We must do the awful, heartbreaking work of sitting with those feelings and waiting.

So wait, dearies. It will end. Someday, somehow, it will end.

A life of thrift

"You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you. You're blessed when you're content with just who you are - no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought."

Matthew 5:4-5 (The Message)

Thrift means never having everything you want, all at the same time. Thrift means sacrificing what you want for the greater good. Thrift means being content with who you are, no more, no less.

 

Living a life of thrift means not selling your soul, the invaluable, intangible part of you.

Costly, long-suffering, hope

After this weekend's horrible events in Northern California, I've really been struggling to hold on to my stringent peace position. I have made my life about the work of peace and justice in the world, and for the first time, I'm wavering. I'm beginning to understand those who call cops "pigs". I'm losing my grip on my own beliefs. When I see indifferent violence being carried out in my own world, to my friends, my brain gets fuzzy.

Please recognize that I know that there is horrific violence in the world every day. I know that in my being; I have known it my whole life. And short of banging on soft surfaces with my fists and screaming alone in an empty room, I am not a violent person. I don't believe in violence. I think it's silly, that we as a species would resort to harming one another to solve our problems. I actually don't understand it. I resist it in my very soul. But something changed inside of me when I saw that video on Saturday morning. Perhaps the door in my heart, that I'd shut long ago, had been opened, and I began to see that violence is not just something I hate, but something that is real.

This is not a naive experience for me. I was not born into my beliefs; I have had to earn them. And they have come at a very high price. Violence is real to me, but perhaps I've been looking at it with compassion all this time. I try desperately to understand the aggressor in every situation, to feel compassion for them, to find empathy for the pain that they must experience as a perpetrator, and then later as a survivor of that perpetration. But to see the indifference with which that cop calmly shook that can...my soul cannot contain it.

I wish that I could give you some kind of resolution to this issue (I myself have found a little here and here). I wish I could give you all the hope you need for your own life. That is my life's work. But today, I will fail you. I'm so very sorry.

Well, this sucks

This one goes out to my reselling peeps.

Sometimes, I find the most awesome stuff whilst thrifting. Actually, I am always finding awesome stuff. That's why I buy it, and put it in my store. But when I take it out to list it, I have this pain of longing, wishing I could keep it for myself. I keep finding awesome vintage crewel kits, and I wish I had the time and energy to complete them, but I don't. I found an old family bible in mint condition, and it would be awesome to have a bible like that at home, open to a Psalm or something equally tranquil, but no. I reject hoarding. I reject it!

Of course, eventually, the pain passes. The item goes to someone who will love it as much, or more, than I would, and my soul returns to its previous state of equilibrium.

I think sometimes this happens in other areas of life. We fall in love with someone or something, and for whatever reason, we can't keep it. I have been having to say "No" more often lately. It seems like I'm saying it more than I ever have in my whole life. It is painful every stinkin time, because every time I do it, I feel like I'm letting someone down, or I'm letting myself down. But I always say it because it's for the best. If I did everything, I would die from exhaustion. If I loved everyone the way I want to love them, I would die from a broken heart.

So my list of things I want goes untouched, not because I've stopped wanting those things, but because I'm not ready yet to have everything I want. Someday I will be ready. I hope some lucky dog is ready too.

My life- a regular soap opera

So for some reason, I have received several insulting criticisms over the past few days via the internet. Some were veiled with false praise, while others were just blatantly unkind and unnecessary. Add to this some very passive-aggressive behavior by other people in my immediate life, and you've got yourself a regular soap opera, courtesy of Megan's world.

I was once very sensitive to critique of any kind. But now I hear criticism and I have to let it go, or else I would crumble. I have to suck up my defenses that immediately bristle. Instead of saying, "Hey bee-otch. Why do you find it necessary to be so rude to someone you've never met?" No. Instead, I say, "I am so terribly sorry that you are unhappy. Please let me know what I can do to make this right." There was no response to that particular email. Success! I was somehow able to diffuse a very hostile situation with total submission.

Finally, I take a deep breath, remind myself of the numerous people who appreciate me, and move on with my day.

Mental health day

I have so many things to do-important things to do-things that must be done. But I don't have it in me. I don't have anything in me. I don't know where it all went, but it's not here. So I'm going to sit in one place until it returns. See you when I see you.

Note: Today is Drug Disposal Day. Go here for a nearby location to drop off your unused and/or expired medications.

We are never alone

"Jiddu Krishnamurti, one of the most revered spiritual teachers of [the 20th] century, once asked a small group of listeners what they would say to a close friend who is about to die. Their answers dealt with assurances, words about beginning and endings, and various gestures of compassion. Krishnamurti stopped them short. 'There is only one thing you can say to give the deepest comfort,' he said. 'Tell him that in his death a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you go also. He will not be alone.'"

Larry Dossey (The Sun,  Feb. 2006)

Hello Thursday!

The recycled tape is everything I dreamed it would be. It's like big strips of envelope that needs to be licked in order to stick. And it makes my packaging completely recyclable! I feel so good about that. I'm usually a 90-95% kind of girl. I do a lot, but not everything. I split my lot between two worlds. I do this because it keeps me sane. I do it because it's who I am.

This means that I am not a protester. I do not compost my own feces. I drive a car. I shampoo my hair. I use electricity. I shop at the grocery store. I do not have a vegetable garden. I humbly eat food that I am given, and shop at stores with picketing-protesters in front. I eat pre-prepared food and Mexican drive-thru burritos. I have $10 in my bank account, and am currently using my credit card to eat. Yup. That's me.

I am not perfect. I am human. I'm also awesome. True story.

I give up....give in...whatever

Note: This was written while coming out of a particularly scary hypoglycemic episode. I'm leaving it up because it was therapeutic to write, and expresses how I feel sometimes.

I've been told by my three wisest confidantes that I should fight the good fight, hold strong for the long haul, that my patience will be rewarded with some kind of gift of internal strength. Well, I don't got it. I know that I have to be patient in order for life to turn around, but there's just been too much crap for one month.

I give up. I quit. I'm throwing in the towel. I'm going against everything I stand for (i.e. my insistence that nothing should be thrown away) because maybe what I stand for is impossible. Maybe I have impossible standards. This wouldn't surprise me. I'm no catch. I'm too intense, too much, too everything. That's how I come to the place I am right now. I'm too much for my own good.

I'm sorry dear readers, to disappoint you with my humanness. But I messed up. I fell in love with someone I had no right falling in love with. And now I'm stuck with this mess I've made, a mess of my own making, a mess that no one else can see but me. The mess is in my soul. Before August hit me like a freight train, I was having an amazing relaxing summer. I was so burnt out on school that I allowed myself to do whatever, whenever, and it was wonderful. I was happy and confident. I was my best self. Then I foolishly allowed that best self to go out and see other people-big mistake.

Lock up your daughters. Raise them to be nuns. Love is death; it's a killer. It brings no good to anyone. Just ask every tortured lover in the world. Romance? It's pain. Love? It's an illusion brought by hormones. Commitment? Good luck, because you're not that easy to live with either.

Honesty is clearly my best quality. I welcome all commentary.

When is enough, enough?

There was a time, in the early part of my illness, before I knew about my semi-retarded pancreas, when I gave up hope. I actually gave up. I stopped taking my medication. I stopped caring about what I ate. I gave up. This was a pretty short period of time, but I remember it seeming like longer. I wanted to stick it to all the people who thought they knew what was going on, who thought I was lazy and manipulative, the people who called me a liar. I don't know how not taking care of myself showed these people much of anything, but I remembered feeling powerful. I was taking control of my own life.

Feeling in control has become a hidden, but vital, part of my self-concept. When I feel in control, I feel calm. I feel like I know what's going to happen, and I don't have to be afraid. Relinquishing control to other people, letting other people drive the car for example, is difficult for me. Being in the driver's seat gives me the satisfaction of knowing that all will be well, and if it's not, I can blame someone else...or myself; this isn't really a well-thought-out personality structure.

Within intimate relationships, I am black and white, all or nothing. I get what I want or I don't get anything at all. These two extremes are both satisfactory options. But this is an impossible way to live. No one, I repeat, No One, can successfully live this way. No one can be in control and in relationship with other people. This brings me to my current predicament.

I want it all. I want it all right now. And if I can't have it, then I'm going to forget about it, because in the middle of black and white is longing and pain-painful longing. That gray area means that some things are not set in stone, that circumstances and people may will change, that I don't have control. My heart aches at the thought. I am one who needs firm plans: What are we doing; where are we going; and when are we leaving. I won't die if I don't have the answers, but I will feel some anxiety. I'm working on that.

Putting my life on display means relinquishing control. It means allowing people to judge me, to create opinions of me, and even speak those opinions to others. It means setting aside my ego and allowing people to be people, me to be me, God to be God, and knowing that somehow, in the midst of all of that, everything will be okay. I'll keep you updated.

"I am one who has seen affliction"*

Have you ever been so sick that you wished you were dead? I got really sick when I was in junior high or maybe early high school. I don't think I've ever had a headache so bad. I don't remember anything but the pain. I remember looking out the window and thinking, "Death would surely be better than this." And then a couple years later when I had my heart broken for the first time, the pain was different, but I had that same wish again.

I figured that as I got older, pain would be easier to bear. I would be stronger, healthier, maybe even smarter. But today, as I feel some old pain flaring up, I realize that pain is pain no matter how old or young you are, and that a heart can be broken at any age, and for any reason, however strange.

My good friend reminded me today that the pain of grief is not something to run from. When we look outside ourselves to find ways to ease the pain, or numb it, or disassociate from it completely, the pain sticks with us. We may think that we're outsmarting it, but the opposite is true. We are only delaying the inevitable. The feeling of your heart, dead in your chest, cannot be escaped. "Can't go over it...can't go under it...must go through it!" the bear hunt song goes (circa 1987, at least, because I remember it from kindergarten).

So now I begin the process of bearing my pain without hurting myself or others, or trying to escape from it. Funny enough, this is the best way. The pain will pass, eventually. Even when you feel like you can't breathe and you're crying on the shower floor, it will pass.

*Lamentations 3:1 (NRSV)

Keep her Barefoot and Pregnant

I'm not one for blog hype, but when Christians start talking about sex, I'm all over it. Donald Miller's blog posts about love this week have set the blogosphere on fire, from angry feminists to angry conservatives; every one of them was pissed, and every one in between was in love with Miller's Eldredge-meets-Driscoll brand of romance.

Now I was offended too, not because I didn't agree with Miller, but because I did. I am easily lulled into the new-reform movement's ideas about love: boy is in charge of the love story, boy woos girl, girl stands back and lets it happen, making sure that she doesn't get too power-hungry and spoil the whole thing. And I was that girl that wanted too much, that did too much, that thought too much and talked too much. I was all wrong inside that model, and now I'm bearing the fruits of my sin, of my lack of desire to be submissive, to be invisible.

Now I'm all for submission in marriage, but by teaching that women must submit to their husbands in all things, we perpetuate a culture and gender-promoted view of men-on-top. It's not as easy as "The bible says it...that settles it." Submission is bigger than "Do what you're told." Submission is about trust in a relationship, and trust can never be established when we initiate a relationship in this inegalitarian way. Maybe at some point, the relationship can handle that kind of restructuring, but for a woman to make herself less to be attractive to men is to take away her God-given identity in order to conform to a chapter and verse.

As a good friend reminded me yesterday, we Christian women love to talk about being a Proverbs 31 woman, but we like to forget how strong that woman is: "The heart of her husband trusts in her...(v. 11)."

That's all for now. Don't trash yourself.