every day...

My father and I never really did those "typical" things. The things that evangelical dads are supposed to do with their evangelical daughters. Those things that Brio magazine lauds as profound ways to grow your relationship with your father. Plant the seed of a contrived situation, add water and watch it bloom!

I never felt want for affection or love from Dad...I always knew -- wholeheartedly, believed it 100% of the time, no lie -- that he loved me. We did father/daughter stuff -- he took me camping for the first time, canoeing (a trip that did not fair as well with Colleen, if I remember correctly), taught me how to throw a frisbee, how to change a car tire...how to drive, build a snowman, whittle erasers down to make stamps...square-danced with me for GirlScouts, even. I never missed those other things -- we didn't do a Dad-Daughter date night, when I turned 16 I had to ask for a purity ring (instead of it being "their" idea), little things like that. And I don't miss it. We had a great relationship. We still do. It gets better and better with every passing year. The one thing that makes me wonder, makes me wish, is that Dad had told me that I was beautiful when I was growing up. Nice, I feel like I heard. Maybe a passing comment if I prompted it. But any sort of melodramatic undertones aside, I truly can't remember a time. So secretly I wished that the person I dated would call me beautiful. Unprompted. Unheeded. Wholeheartedly.

I don't blog much about my relationship on here. I generally feel that I pseudo-subtley (or non too subtley, depending on how in the know one was) angsted too much about past crushes...looking back on it seems garishly shocking -- "did I really just put myself out there like that, back then?" The answer is yes. Yes, I did. Also, I feel like I talk about my relationship enough as it is, to people who actually know me or him. And that some things work better mulled over in private. But I will say this...Every day he tells me that I'm beautiful. Every day. And every time he says that my heart leaps a little and says "really? is it true?" At the beginning, I didn't believe it. Even though my heart was singing at the thought -- my mind shot it down. "That's just what people say at the beginning of relationships." And then I believed that he believed it. But now...every day I believe him a little bit more when he tells me -- "you're beautiful." And every day I'm struck by how terribly lucky I am to be in this relationship, what an amazing gift that he is. <3

Another weekend, come and gone.
I hate that I've felt uncentered lately. A few projects coming up at work that could easily threaten to overwhelm me. Because, if they get pulled off, if they are successes...then it's like I'm doing something right, doing something that I'm supposed to do. Because, when I pause to look around, really....the little things can threathen to overwhelm me too. Life itself easily overhwelms when we pause...because it's then that we also realize that we really have no clue what we're doing. I fall into the category of having a general idea, I know what I'm about, where we're going but the nitty, gritty details...those I'm a bit sketchy on.

And, really, if we stop and think too much you begin to realize that not only do you have no idea what you're doing, but you begin to realize how small we really are, and what a big place the world really is. And how it's been around for so long. And where is heaven? And how can God really care when I feel like I'm drowning? And is there life on other planets? And what about hell? What if the sun dies out before Jesus comes back? And you get this extrapolating experience of the universe expanding all around you as you stand still and watch it.

That's why we stay busy, I think. When we stop. When we pause. When we realize who and what we really are, in the grand scheme of things...life gets real. Fast. Real like you wouldn't believe. And our brains can only handle so much of that input. So we scurry. We rush. We pretend we know what we're doing, and all that matters is this moment or this task. And while being in the moment is wonderful, I'm beginning to think that when the moment is only as big as I am, I'm missing out on where the moment is. Being in the mment of transcendence, of that "there is really some good in the world, there is possibly some good in me", of knowing and feeling what is going on, but sensing that it's more than your personal drama. ... that's something to dwell in. That's real.

Guilty Eater

I'm trying not to feel guilty. I ate pizza. For lunch.
But it was free. And in the office. And I can't really leave to get food at the moment. And all the food in my fridge is moldy. Because it's not cold enough. And Jon can't look at it until tomorrow. Which means, of course, why go buy food if it's just going to spoil? So, yeah. I ate pizza. A slice and a half. And I enjoyed it. But now I feel the carbs in my gut. And the scale scared me this morning, even though weight fluctuation is normal. Really normal.

If you can avoid it, don't be a female. I know men have weight and body issues. I wis that I didn't feel guilt for eating (or power for restricting) but that's the system. I used to not care as much, but at the same time I wasn't doing anything to actively take care of myself. I wonder if this fear, lately, is coming more from fear. Fear that I may lose, now that I am beginning to like how my body looks. That I'm beginning to see fruits of my labor and that, despite the healthy decisions that still rule the day, I'm terrified that I can be as much a detriment to my body as a help to it. It's a process (as is everything else in life). Things fluctuate, including guilt. Including power. Including elation. Hopefully the trend is towards health, towards wholeness, towards Christ. It's hard to see from the vantage point stuck in the muck of it all, I have to look back to see what is coming ahead.

Side note: my plants are really growing. It's a beautiful thing.

Hymns

This is one of my favorite parts of Wednesdays, listening to the senior's Bible study sing their way through 2 or 3 hymns. While their numbers have taken a blow thus far this year, and every week seems to bring a new hospital visit or scare, their voices bear witness to the richness of their legacy and their life history's. To be 80 and faithfully attending a small group, longing to grow more into Christ's image. There is something terribly beautiful in that.