What a week, huh? I think I'm still a little giddy from watching the nation's proud moment on Tuesday. I woke up that day and intentionally decided NOT to wear mascara. 'Nuf said.
And, while we're on the topic (well, actually, I suppose just I am on the topic, but you are reading along with me, you faithful reader, you!), I have a few thoughts on the glee that spread through most of America this past Tuesday. Before I go on, though, I just want you to know that I'm not intending to go off on a political rant. I respect each person's right to make decisions for themselves and absolutely do not seek this space as a platform to espouse my own political views. That being said, though, I would like to share a few reflections. And then I'll stop ... because reflections can easily turn into soapboxing ... if I'm not careful.
So....
Most of the people I shared inauguration day with were as touched as I was by the day's events and what they may mean for the nation and the world. But I also encountered some skeptics or cynics or maybe just people who don't agree with our new President. I heard a few voices say things like, "He is just a man. People are holding him up like he's a god or something, and it scares me how idolized he is." I heard a few voices say that they were tired of all things Obama already, like it was everywhere you turned. There weren't a lot of these voices, but there were a few. And I struggled to avoid returning aforementioned comments with some sort of snotty retort. There's a lot I still don't know in life, but one thing I do know is that snotty retorts are usually just ... snotty. And they definitely don't help anyone to think any differently. So, I think I did a pretty good job of not getting reactive to such voices. But they did get me thinking.
Why did I weep as I listened to him speak about fear and perseverance? Why were my eyes glued to the tv set every free moment I got that day? Why did I skip my 8 am class to watch such a momentous event? Do I idolize Obama? Do I place my hope in him? Oh I hope not!
I know that our President is just a man. In fact, as I watched him give his speech first thing in the morning, and then see former President Bush off, and then go to a luncheon, and then ride the parade route, and then later, as I watched him dance with his wife at the inaugural balls, I thought often about his humanity. I thought things like, "Man alive, that poor man has been going all day with hundreds of thousands of eyes on him the whole time. He must be exhausted!" I thought, "I wonder if he is doing espresso shots in between events?" I thought, "How terrible would it be if something he ate at the luncheon didn't agree with him and he's having bowel issues during all this?!" (I know, gross, but I thought it.) I thought, "Adrenaline must be keeping him upright." Our President is just a man. A flesh and blood human.
But -- and here's the kicker -- we need look no further than history itself to learn that history (and each day that creates it) is shaped by men and women in leadership. Some people seek power and use it to elevate themselves and destroy others. And others seek power and use it to inspire hope and renewal and perseverance in others. And I think partly I just wept because I actually believe our new President when he says things like, "We reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals...our security emanates from the justness of our cause." And I feel so fortunate to have a leader that would have such audacity to hope like that.
As well, I don't think I idolize our new President. Two of my favorite verses in the Bible are in Psalm 147, verses 10, 11, "His (God's) pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of a man; the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love." I know God is my only hope. I know that we -- as people -- will cycle back and forth between wealth and recession. I know that I will be both sick and well. I know that security ultimately is never found in a door lock or a husband or a guard dog or even a president. I know that the only true security I have is that I am His. But this does not keep me from enjoying a President that inspires me to take a more active role in life. So that, when he says things like, "What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task," I want to actually do more ... to stop complaining about things and actually do something.
I'll stop now, because I fear perhaps I have already run far past reflective territory and am climbing the mountains of soapbox land. But somehow, I needed to share that because I believe that it is a real blessing when you can be proud of your leader. I cried when he took the oath of office not because I think he will fix everything. The natural order of creation won't be whole and healed until Christ makes all things new again. Only God can do such a thing. I wept because I recognized a companion in hoping and striving and fighting for what is audacious and seemingly unreachable, and yet, utterly important. That is why.
Showing posts with label From The Soapbox With Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label From The Soapbox With Love. Show all posts
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
:Unrelated:
Forgive me for writing about such an unimportant topic (skinny jeans) around such an important holiday (Thanksgiving). The two (the topic and the holiday) intersect in only one way. Their intersection? Sitting at the airport, waiting to board a flight to be with family, watching people … in skinny jeans. (not me, them)
I think it must be said that Americans are experiencing several unpleasant self-induced phenomena these days. There’s the economy, which seems to be unraveling in front of us like a run in a pair of panty hose. There’s the debt, which seems to be causing the economic failures. And then, much farther down the list, past all the significant stuff, and beyond most of the inconsequential, there’s The Skinny Jean.
I mean, really?
Who decided it would be a good idea to take jeans and make them into leggings? Who decided that it would be flattering to most figures to create a pant that tapers, tapers, tapers down to the feet so that almost any shaped person becomes a sugar cone? And when did men decide it would be a good fit for them too? When did this happen? And how did we go from jeans that sat so low on a woman’s hips that they hardly had need of a zipper to jeans that might as well be made of spandex? Too many questions, too little material.
Now, this is not to say that skinny jeans aren’t a good fit on some people. They can be. I’ve seen a mean skinny jean or two in my time. But what’s good for the goose is not always good for a gander … or something like that.
Come to think of it, this is not the first time that we’ve succumbed to believing that one very particular type of one very trendy pant would flatter all of us. Looking back over the history of Pant-dom, the bell bottom pant, the MC Hammer pant, the pegged jean, the I-can-see-more-of-you-than-I’d-like pant … all these looks have deceived us at one time or another.
But tonight, as I watch the throngs of travelers waiting for the metal birds that will carry each one of us each to open arms and familiar eyes, the jean of offense is the skinny one.
There, enough said. I have much to be grateful for. And the next post will be much more appropriate for this most blessed of holidays.
I think it must be said that Americans are experiencing several unpleasant self-induced phenomena these days. There’s the economy, which seems to be unraveling in front of us like a run in a pair of panty hose. There’s the debt, which seems to be causing the economic failures. And then, much farther down the list, past all the significant stuff, and beyond most of the inconsequential, there’s The Skinny Jean.
I mean, really?
Who decided it would be a good idea to take jeans and make them into leggings? Who decided that it would be flattering to most figures to create a pant that tapers, tapers, tapers down to the feet so that almost any shaped person becomes a sugar cone? And when did men decide it would be a good fit for them too? When did this happen? And how did we go from jeans that sat so low on a woman’s hips that they hardly had need of a zipper to jeans that might as well be made of spandex? Too many questions, too little material.
Now, this is not to say that skinny jeans aren’t a good fit on some people. They can be. I’ve seen a mean skinny jean or two in my time. But what’s good for the goose is not always good for a gander … or something like that.
Come to think of it, this is not the first time that we’ve succumbed to believing that one very particular type of one very trendy pant would flatter all of us. Looking back over the history of Pant-dom, the bell bottom pant, the MC Hammer pant, the pegged jean, the I-can-see-more-of-you-than-I’d-like pant … all these looks have deceived us at one time or another.
But tonight, as I watch the throngs of travelers waiting for the metal birds that will carry each one of us each to open arms and familiar eyes, the jean of offense is the skinny one.
There, enough said. I have much to be grateful for. And the next post will be much more appropriate for this most blessed of holidays.
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Fireplace Is Making Me All Pensive....
I think I'm gonna stop writing long explanations for these extended absences I've been taking from blogging. Perhaps what's more important than the absences is that I keep returning. Can I treat this blog like a good friend? You see, I try, really hard with my good friends to be consistent. I realize that friendship is built on all the litte, seemingly insignificant moments. But, here's part of the beauty of such friendships ... that as lovely as all the little moments, is that -- when too much time has passed -- I can call up, and we can pick up where we left off. I NEED for this blog to be that good friend. The one with whom I can be most myself. The one who will welcome me with open arms after long silences. Life is too full in this season. I wear out easily. But, I come back....
And speaking of absences, well, ahem ... so that whole Top Ten List??? I seem to have only made it through the first five. I was gonna apologize for that too. Only here's the thing ... if I continue along the same striving-for-authenticity/be-myself-line of reasoning, 5 out of 10 is probably kinda realistic. I try. I really do. But, I am so so flawed. And sometimes I don't finish things. And sometimes I only make five posts when I strive for ten. But I give great hugs. And I affirm my friends. And, sometimes, I crack a pretty fun joke. And I don't mind snot and tears. And I make a killer key lime pie. But, sometimes I don't finish things....
My birthday. It was really great. I had multiple celebrations with friends and family, which is always a fun thing ... when your birthday stretches out over the course of a full week. A few highlights included: a hike in the golden leaves of the San Francisco peaks with Mom and Dad, a midnight skinny dip in the Pacific Ocean with a few girlfriends, gathering a few gals from my cohort at my house for Baboudi (an awesome Middle Eastern communal dish), and a full heart's worth of cards and calls. I am thirty. And I did a little bit of necessary grieving for all that never was before it came, such that, when it arrived, I was able to celebrate all that has been.
In a completely different vein, I want to share a thought that's been flipping around in my head recently. I don't feel like I'm being my truest self in relationships these days. And it's not because I'm trying to hide. I think maybe it's a combination of a few things:
1) I'm undeniably weighted down by the fluster and buster of this season (I'm fulltiming it in grad school, doing a therapy internship at a clinic that requires me to be there about 20 hours a week, and tutoring to make ends meet).
2) Perhaps because I am new at this whole hearing-the-pain-of-others thing, I think I'm a bit more somber than normal.
3) The longer I'm single (which inevitably entails more time out of each day spent alone), there's something very independent and loner-esque that develops in me. I've gotten used to doing things alone, and as lonely as that can be at times, there's a part of me that likes it. Or at a bare minimum -- that is comfortable in it. And I think there's a part of me that very easily tucks herself in and doesn't come out with friends. Because that's what she's used to doing.
Sidenote for #3 -- Sometimes I get afraid that I am going to grow into this incredibly socially awkward person, and then, 50 years will pass, and I'll be The Old Cat Lady (no offense to any elderly women with cats). I told my sister that the other day, and she graciously pointed out, with much laughter, that I don't even really like cats. And she also reassured me that I'm not gonna be an Old Lonely Cat Lady, but still, the fear is there, and it whispers to me sometimes at night before I climb into bed.
4) I spend so much freaking time on the hellish freeway systems of Los Angeles that I get exasperated on a fairly regular basis. Ok, so maybe that doesn't really affect the way I am in friendships, but I needed to rant a minute. They suck. Seriously. Like, a lot.
5) In this whole striving to be an adult and take care of all the responsibilities that come with it thing, I just don't laugh as much. And ... I'm not sure how to say this. Laughter is a big part of who I am. BIG. If I'm not laughing together with people regularly, I'm not entirely being myself.
So ... all of that to say, I have this understanding, in my mind, of who I am. But, many days, realistically, I'm not her. Or at least not entirely. And I've begun to wonder if maybe that is actually just how life is. Not in a cynical-hopeless kind of way. More just in a coming to peace with what is kind of way, while at the same time, giving myself and others a lot of room in the garden to grow.
I saw a wonderful little quote the other day, and I should've written it down, so I could quote it all eloquently. But I didn't. But it said something to the effect of: "Joy is not in finding yourself, but in creating yourself." There's wisdom in that, I think. Some days I do better at stretching myself out into all the little places that feel right and true. And other days, I curse at traffic, and forget to smile, and worry about acquiring too many cats. Maybe those are both parts of me. And maybe I can trust that there is grace for all of me. Or maybe, what I'm really wishing is that I could bring the child out of me, while staying true to all the wisdom learned, battles fought, scars acquired. Because I remember her, all uninhibited and full of wonder. And some days, maybe I just miss her.
And speaking of absences, well, ahem ... so that whole Top Ten List??? I seem to have only made it through the first five. I was gonna apologize for that too. Only here's the thing ... if I continue along the same striving-for-authenticity/be-myself-line of reasoning, 5 out of 10 is probably kinda realistic. I try. I really do. But, I am so so flawed. And sometimes I don't finish things. And sometimes I only make five posts when I strive for ten. But I give great hugs. And I affirm my friends. And, sometimes, I crack a pretty fun joke. And I don't mind snot and tears. And I make a killer key lime pie. But, sometimes I don't finish things....
My birthday. It was really great. I had multiple celebrations with friends and family, which is always a fun thing ... when your birthday stretches out over the course of a full week. A few highlights included: a hike in the golden leaves of the San Francisco peaks with Mom and Dad, a midnight skinny dip in the Pacific Ocean with a few girlfriends, gathering a few gals from my cohort at my house for Baboudi (an awesome Middle Eastern communal dish), and a full heart's worth of cards and calls. I am thirty. And I did a little bit of necessary grieving for all that never was before it came, such that, when it arrived, I was able to celebrate all that has been.
In a completely different vein, I want to share a thought that's been flipping around in my head recently. I don't feel like I'm being my truest self in relationships these days. And it's not because I'm trying to hide. I think maybe it's a combination of a few things:
1) I'm undeniably weighted down by the fluster and buster of this season (I'm fulltiming it in grad school, doing a therapy internship at a clinic that requires me to be there about 20 hours a week, and tutoring to make ends meet).
2) Perhaps because I am new at this whole hearing-the-pain-of-others thing, I think I'm a bit more somber than normal.
3) The longer I'm single (which inevitably entails more time out of each day spent alone), there's something very independent and loner-esque that develops in me. I've gotten used to doing things alone, and as lonely as that can be at times, there's a part of me that likes it. Or at a bare minimum -- that is comfortable in it. And I think there's a part of me that very easily tucks herself in and doesn't come out with friends. Because that's what she's used to doing.
Sidenote for #3 -- Sometimes I get afraid that I am going to grow into this incredibly socially awkward person, and then, 50 years will pass, and I'll be The Old Cat Lady (no offense to any elderly women with cats). I told my sister that the other day, and she graciously pointed out, with much laughter, that I don't even really like cats. And she also reassured me that I'm not gonna be an Old Lonely Cat Lady, but still, the fear is there, and it whispers to me sometimes at night before I climb into bed.
4) I spend so much freaking time on the hellish freeway systems of Los Angeles that I get exasperated on a fairly regular basis. Ok, so maybe that doesn't really affect the way I am in friendships, but I needed to rant a minute. They suck. Seriously. Like, a lot.
5) In this whole striving to be an adult and take care of all the responsibilities that come with it thing, I just don't laugh as much. And ... I'm not sure how to say this. Laughter is a big part of who I am. BIG. If I'm not laughing together with people regularly, I'm not entirely being myself.
So ... all of that to say, I have this understanding, in my mind, of who I am. But, many days, realistically, I'm not her. Or at least not entirely. And I've begun to wonder if maybe that is actually just how life is. Not in a cynical-hopeless kind of way. More just in a coming to peace with what is kind of way, while at the same time, giving myself and others a lot of room in the garden to grow.
I saw a wonderful little quote the other day, and I should've written it down, so I could quote it all eloquently. But I didn't. But it said something to the effect of: "Joy is not in finding yourself, but in creating yourself." There's wisdom in that, I think. Some days I do better at stretching myself out into all the little places that feel right and true. And other days, I curse at traffic, and forget to smile, and worry about acquiring too many cats. Maybe those are both parts of me. And maybe I can trust that there is grace for all of me. Or maybe, what I'm really wishing is that I could bring the child out of me, while staying true to all the wisdom learned, battles fought, scars acquired. Because I remember her, all uninhibited and full of wonder. And some days, maybe I just miss her.
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