Who are you that lies when you stare in my face
Telling me that I’m just a trace of the person I once was
Cause I just can’t tell if you’re telling the truth or a lie
On you I just can’t rely
After all you’re just a piece of glass

– Piece of Glass, Caedmon’s Call

For years I ignored what I saw in the mirror.  I would tell myself that it was just a bad sweater, that I had a big dinner the night before, or the lighting in this room was off.  When I would try on clothes at the store, it was the brand that ran small or this piece must have been mislabeled.  When it was time for a photograph, even though I’m short, I would try to be in the back row, or at least have a pillow or small child to hide behind; it wasn’t because of my size but rather that the camera added at least 30 pounds.  The only time I believed I looked like my true self was under a stack of blankets in bed, where I imagined myself almost invisible if anyone happened to look in.  For about 14 years, I lied to myself and the mirrors around me went right along with it because I only saw what I wanted to and ignored the rest.

Three years ago I finally looked in the mirror for real, and at the scale, and saw the 250 pounds I had been ignoring for years and years.  I looked back at those photographs and realized that I may be behind a pillow, but my hips certainly weren’t.  Old Navy, Macy’s, Nordestrom, Target, and Shopko couldn’t all have decided to run small.  And the mirror, that used to be my partner in crime, stared silently back; perhaps it gave a quiet Mmhmm.

This piece of glass has gone from partner to enemy over the past few years, as I see potential and need for change in every glance.  Sometimes I put on an old sweater and stand before it, reminding it of all that has changed but usually I just stick my tongue out and walk away, hoping that we will get to be honest friends one day.  The women of Caedmon’s Call and Barlow Girls understand this epic struggle with a thing that defines so much.

In one of the Twilight books, a main character weds another and at the altar sees and believes for the first time how much he loves her; a truth that he has been declaring for pages but she could not believe because of self-esteem issues.  I love the possibility of that moment, and not just because I’m a hopeless and hopeful romantic.  One day I want to see and love myself as God does, and to believe wholeheartedly the kind words of others about me.  The mirror may have defined me before I walked out the door this morning, but maybe tomorrow we will smile together in friendship.

Who are you to tell me
That I’m less than what I should be?
Who are you? Who are you?
I don’t need to listen
To the list of things I should do
I won’t try, I won’t try

– Mirror, Barlow Girl

The original purpose of this blog was to chronicle and share what happens after August 2011, my graduation date from Western Seminary.  I had been working a very full-time job for four and a half years while also attending school part time and teaching part time; a combination that left little time for other options and opportunities.  I wanted to be intentional about doing something with my new-found time and thought the semi-anonymous accountability of the internet would benefit this next chapter.  Plus I have this dream of one day being published on the shelf at Barnes and Noble, so the writing practice could not hurt.

The adventures so far have primarily revolved around running, an unexpected hobby / obsession I picked up a few years ago, but mixed in have been the random (first and probably last massage) and the painful (loss of Nana, possible re-emergence of Potential Dad).

This time I’m writing about one of the scariest things I’ve ever done: signing up for an on-line dating website.

Last Saturday, I signed up for Plenty of Fish; a free online dating website recommended by a friend.  I had spent most of that day grading papers and still wrestling with thoughts about my father’s message from the week before.  It was out of that mix of grading and emotional exhaustion that I thought, why the h-e-double-hockey-sticks not (usually the voice in my head just says why not, but I was feeling a bit beat up so it was a bit more liberal in its language).  The whole process took me about an hour and probably would have been much faster if I didn’t keep pausing with my finger hovering over the delete key.  I know several happy, normal couples who met through the internet so I have no doubt about its possibility, but as I’ve shared before, I have no idea how to talk to a guy I like so what in the world was I attempting to do here?  Invite more awkward situations into my life?  So I typed quickly, before self-doubt could take over, and tried to be authentically me, with mentions of running, church, the Muppets, and paradox (because I am a true WPC Knight).  After hitting that final submit key, I went back to grading a few more papers and then headed home for a movie and hopefully early bed.

Skip to a few hours later as I’m chilling on the couch and enjoying an episode of Suits from Netflix.  I decided to pull up my email, in hopes of a message from Potential Dad or my Enrollment Counselor, or just a random friend (because that’s what email is for).  Instead I find four new messages from Plenty of Fish and six guys who clicked that they liked my photo.  Oh my gosh…male type people liked my photo.  Members of the opposite gender who don’t know me sent a message with the possibility of relationship.  I didn’t go online that night because the exact words and the people who wrote didn’t matter.  What mattered was that I have never had this giddy feeling before.  I floated through the rest of the evening and into a 10K the next morning, randomly smiling from time to time at the thought of the guys who clicked they wanted to “Meet Me.”  Even now, a week later and after discovering those fist guys were absolutely NOT GONNA HAPPEN candidates, I can smile at that experience, at that moment of possibility.  And now, a week later and with a few more religion papers graded, I can connect that feeling of hope with the reality of God’s love for me, of my family’s (even the crazy ones) care, and of friends who read through my strange adventures.  How amazing it is to be loved by real people today and to have the smiling hope of tomorrow’s Meet Me possibilities.

So the afternoon before my first marathon I should probably be thinking and writing about how I’m feeling.  I should be writing about what it feels like to have my mood swing back and forth between confidence and terror every five minutes.  Perhaps it would make sense to write about those friends I am so grateful for; people who have encouraged me every step of the past two and a half years, without ever judging or expecting anything other than friendship in return.  Sitting in a church coffee shop on a sunny Saturday, all of these things would be perfectly logical and lovely to write about.

But instead I want to write about love.  Not sure why, but I do.

Now I have no experience with romantic love.  None.  Nada.  Zippo.  But I’ve seen it in action and in absence in the relationships around me.  One couple I especially admire has been married for a few years and offers the honest example of what a partnership looks like.  It is obvious they love each other, they enjoy spending time together, and they complement each others strengths and weaknesses.  And they are not glued to each other’s hip, recognizing that a few separate activities or sitting apart at a social event does not spell doom for their relationship.  In contrast there is a marriage in my family where I often wonder why they are still together.  The two individuals are more business associates than beloved.  It seems like the only common ground is the house they live in, otherwise their schedules, interests, and social circles are totally distinct.  When I look to this second marriage, I mentally declare that singleness is better than that.

Now singleness in your 30’s is far from a piece of cake.  The church culture says something must be wrong that you’re not married, but that you should just focus on God and pray because that’s when Mr. Right shows up.  And the Bible says that singleness is better because it allows more time for service and worship (just over Song of Solomon on Valentine’s Day because nothing good can come from that devotional time).  And the rest of the world seems to be having lots of romantic fun if Match.com ads are any indication.  There are kind, well-meaning voices everywhere telling you what to do, not do, think, not think, and how great being single is (don’t get me wrong; having complete control over my schedule and bank account is pretty nice).

The one voice you won’t hear when it comes to love is mine, specifically when I’m around a guy I like.  I have memories back in high school where I would suddenly and completely clam up around the guy I liked.  I actually had a crush on one classmate for years and never said a word about it, thinking that nothing I said would work out as well as in my imagination.  Instead I attempted to develop ESP and watched while he dated other girls.  College and beyond were not much better with just three blind dates to my name and having not gotten that rush of a guy actually asking me out (rather than friends of friends).  I may argue in meetings, lecture in class, and meet with students all day long, but put my crush in the room and you might as well put duct tape over my mouth.  And if I do actually let a few words escape my lips, well then I starting having a Homer Simpson “Doh!” soundtrack playing in my head for the next few minutes as I splice and dice every word I said and how he reacted.

My head fully knows that life is so much more than romantic love, and that even those marriages I admire have their real struggles.  But as a single girl who is just a bit bored with her life, it sounds like a worthwhile challenge to try out.

Of course, if I can’t seem to speak to single members of the opposite sex, I might have to wait on a more dramatic option…

 Ah well, in the meanwhile I have a class to prepare for, doctorate studies to consider, a marathon tomorrow, a messy apartment, a few letters to write, a conference in November.

Starting last Spring, I’ve started listening and even obeying one of the voices in my head.  Let me share a few examples before you decide whether I need a padded room or not…

During a chapel service at Warner Pacific, a few weeks before lent, Stephanie shared about different community service projects that we could start acting on right now.  They were shared within the context of repeatedly reading through Christ’s talk about the branch and the vine, as well as the upcoming Lenten Season.  She shared about Blood Water Mission, and their program 40 Days of Water, which challenges participants to give up all purchased beverages for 40 days and donate the saved funds to building water in Uganda.  No soda.  No milk.  No chai.  No bottled water.  No way!  I sat there thinking there was no way I could pull off my life without caffeine.  After sitting there for about 10 seconds in my smiley faced confidence, a voice inside asked, “Why not?”  Why couldn’t I survive without a drug in my system for a few weeks?  What about my lifestyle or strength of character was so out of balance that I couldn’t do something real this year for Lent?  Two days later I was signed up online and waiting for my bracelet to come in the mail that would serve as a daily reminder of my commitment / insanity.

Earlier this summer I started to think about my grandparents’ yearly trip to Hawaii and how often they had invited me to join them for a week.  I had turned them down over and over due to school or work commitments.  The voice questioned me again while sitting at a stranger’s house, listening to a testimony during a community gathering. “Why not?”  I was more prepared this time to respond: because, my grandparents and mother have been fighting for years and this would hurt my mother’s feelings, plus its expensive to fly to Hawaii and it might be boring when they need to rest for most of the afternoon.  Ha!  Argument over; I win.  Then I remembered the other trip I took with my grandparents a few years before that caused temporary hurt but was okay, and my grandparents would probably help with the cost, and I could go for a swim during their nap, and what would I truly regret the most.  Within a week I was having an awkward 20 minute phone conversation with my mom while wandering though Fred Meyer, and within a month I had my plane ticket purchased and time saved on the calendar for a trip in January.

I share these two previous stories all because I want to focus on one from the past two weeks, when I finally learned to listen to the voice the first time and got to participate in a miracle for one of my students.  I’ve been working with Heidi for over two years as she has pursued her Bachelors Degree.  During that time she has visited the hospital for heart issues, back pain, migraines, the attempted suicide of a family member, lupus (which I thought only existed on House) and other traumas.  She has remained strong through all of these crises and remained committed to school, even as we’ve had to turn her schedule upside down several times to try and make it work.  About three weeks ago she called again, which unfortunately is never a good sign, because her daughter was going in for brain surgery, her financial aid had not come in as expected, and she was in danger of losing her truck and home without payments by August 30th.  Working with our Director of Financial Aid and a member of the Business Office, we were able to figure out what went wrong with the aid within a few days and get the missing money to her student account within a week, but there are governmental rules and regulations about when and how funds can be given to students, and there was no way for that money to get to Heidi by August 30th.  The brick wall was high and solid on this one.

A few days later I sat in a Faculty Retreat, hearing about the upcoming year from various departments, including the President of the college.  My mind drifted to Heidi and wondering what could be done to help with this real life crisis; without a truck she was going to have to quit school.  My mind wandered to my different communities and who I could ask for help, when it come upon Imago Dei Community, my church for the past five years, and its Change for a Dollar program.  I knew these funds were used to help individuals in the community with immediate real world needs, and those helped didn’t have to be part of the church.  But I had no idea how to ask, who to ask, or how those funding decisions were made.  “Why not?”  During one of the presentations (sorry Andrea), I went onto the church’s website and emailed the general info email with my request and a short description of the need.  At worst I wouldn’t hear back or it would be too late, but at best then we would be able to help Heidi focus on her daughter and not this looming deadline.  A day later I heard back from one of the staff members, and a few days later I was talking with a pastor about Heidi and why she needed this help to give hope, to give peace, to give support during a time of crisis.  A week later I was walking away from the church office with funds from strangers; money given in belief that the hands and feet of the church can truly make a difference in this world.

When Heidi and I met later that morning, she shared about her daughter’s surgery and how her healing was progressing, then she sat back in her chair, “Now I have no idea why we’re meeting…?”  I responded that I had some very good news and handed her the envelope from Imago Dei.  I explained the program, the gift, and how much I wanted her to get to earn this degree she had been working and fighting so much for.  I don’t think she really believed me for at least 10 minutes, as she didn’t touch the envelope on the table between us.  Finally, as she picked it up and started to leave, she shared that she had been hoping and praying for a miracle, but had no idea how this was going to work out.  I smiled, knowing that my church, my community, had been that miracle for her.

For the past few days I’ve been thinking a lot about Santa Claus.  To be specific I’ve been thinking about when a child learns the truth about Santa (for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, please stop reading and go play outside instead).

I don’t remember exactly when or how I learned about Santa.  I think it had something to do with the Toys R Us price tags that would show up on my presents sometimes.  It seemed pretty odd that Santa, with all of those elves, could find time to build presents for thousands of children around the world, but had to go to a toy store for mine.  Plus it turns out my mom has the same trouble with price tags when it came to my birthday presents.  However I figured it out, it was a pretty gentle transition.

I do remember when my brother Mark found out.  It was about a week before Christmas and he was in elementary school.  He came into the living room so angry with our parents for lying to him.  I remember clearly that he declared that there was no Santa, no Tooth Fairy, and no God.  So so angry with us!  I’m not sure which parent talked to him and calmed him down, explaining the reasons for the stories and reminding him that there were still presents under the tree.  I realized in the experience that if I have kids someday, perhaps Santa should not be part of the holiday if a child can connect the telling of a fable with doubt in a Creator.

The reason this has been on my mind so much this week is a variety of conversations with friends and co-workers about the business world works.  As a company, any company, makes changes to grow and improve, I understand that those changes can have positive and negative impact on those involved.  I get the logic of this process.  What I do not get is how, when a friend is the one who is negatively impacted, you are just supposed to go back to normal the next day.  While in high school, one of my favorite math teachers lost his job due to district finances.  Around the same time, our Youth Pastor at church was let go for reasons never shared with the youth (which led to some wild and random rumors).  A few years ago, due to the struggling economy, 13 members of the college I serve at either lost their jobs or had a reduction of their hours.  Right now we are going through transitions again as part of a strategic reorganization to be more focused on the needs of our diverse urban population of traditional and adult students.  New programs and structures are being put in place while other programs, and some of their leaders, are having to move on.  Again, I get the logic that this how the business world works.  And I get that I do not have the authority, experience, or education to make these types of choices yet.

I can’t help feeling like a child being told there is no Santa Claus; I’d like to hand my rose-colored glasses to the grown ups and show them that maybe its better from my worldview.

This week has been one of paradox.

On the one hand I’m on vacation and exploring some new parts of Portland with my mother.  I’ve taken her to some of my own favorite areas, like the Grotto and Main Street in Gresham, while also exploring a few new to me places as well.  My two non-negotiable sites for the week were eating at the Multnomah Falls Restaurant and going to Pittock Mansion.  I’ve lived in Portland for almost six years and am glad to finally have these two crossed off the To Do list.  An unexpected triumph came yesterday during a training run when I wandered for 13 miles throughout NE Portland, and a little into SE.  My legs have been sore all day, but nothing like the pain of my first half-marathon over a year ago.  Yesterday was my longest solo / non-official run ever and the first time I’ve run with water bottles strapped to my side (a necessity in 70+ degree weather).  Like I said, unexpectant triumph.

On the other hand, this has been one of my least favorite weeks ever.  If you know me in the real world in Portland, you probably already know details of changes taking place at work.  And if you don’t know me or know the details, then simply imagine the sound of losing at Jenga and you get the gist.  It is not that the world has fallen apart, simply that the noise and heart rate make it feel that way right now.  With the tiles scattered across the table, its time to decide how to rebuild the tower.

It was with this paradox in mind that I wandered through Pittock Mansion this afternoon.  This building and grounds regularly showed up in every Portland travel guide I looked at, or any “Top 10” lists on the internet.  What I loved most were the “how did they do that” discoveries, like a shower with five nozzles or an office with two different phones (because apparently at one point Portland had two phone companies and you only call those people with the same company as you).  The weather was perfect and the gardens just amazing; I definitely want to head back soon to head out on the trails.  When I got to the basement, there was an exhibit celebrating 100 years of women’s right to vote in Portland.  Paintings lined the wall celebrating the woman’s voice and some famous women in Oregon history.  Two pieces especially stood out as I walked through and then for the rest of the day.  The first I admit I cannot remember the image of, only the name: Resolve.  That one word struck a chord inside as I considered this week and the ones ahead.  I turned it upside-down and sideways in my mind, trying to discern what that emotional verb means.  It is more than just a promise, a belief, or an action.  It is a gantlet.  The word declares “Here I stand.”  Tonight I pray for the strength of character found in such a word.

The second piece was entitled “Ripples of Hope.”  It had the silhouette of a girl on the end of a pier, with one foot just tapping the water, sending waves out into the lake.  With one touch, she was making a significant impact to her world.  Sometimes we are that touch of hope in the world, and sometimes we need someone to step in and remind us of the light at the end of the tunnel.  This week, I think I’m in both places as are many around me.  We want to be brave, to be supportive, to be the change we wish to see in the world.  And we need someone to lean on.  Tonight I pray for us all to experience good ripples.