Wednesday, July 8, 2009
My Feminist Husband
I am so jealous. My husband has found his calling. He is working for the Lexington Affiliate of Susan G. Komen For the Cure. He and his boss are two of the very few men who work for the organization nationally. And they are passionate and so good at what they do. His boss's wife is a 30-something year old survivor. Carl lost his grandmother to breast cancer and the loss of my mom's best friend, who was dear to us both, to the disease was the catalyst for us moving back to Kentucky. He gets to be an advocate for women on a daily basis. And he is so good at it. Women dominate his life. Sometimes to his discomfort and even misery, I am sure. I don't have enough time or space to talk about the time he has spent taking care of the women in his life and how that has affected him both positively and negatively, but I know that one of the positives is his passion for causes that affect them. I am so happy for him that he gets to spend every day fighting for the women he loves, but I am so very jealous also.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Camp Lyons, the Church of God, etc.
I drove by my old church camp a few days ago. I spent every summer for 7 years as a camper and 2 - 3 years as a counselor at Camp Lyons. I had supernatural spiritual experiences there. I developed life long friends. I had my heart broken. I prayed with a high school gang member who made a faith commitment. I talked to young girls about self-image. I laughed. I did embarassing things. I put shaving cream in people's hair. I played practical jokes. I bobbed for gummy bears in a tin of ice water. I sang. I cried. I learned about God and felt God and experienced God in all of those things.
Sights, smells, sounds all evoke vivid memories for me. I am transported to the past nearly immediately upon entering certain places and not to my surprise, Camp Lyons is one of those. There is an amphitheater that overlooks a small lake and I wish I could have sat there all day. I walked into the chapel and I nearly fell to my knees. I have prayed so many prayers in that room. For God to heal someone who was sick, for God to forgive me of my sins, for God to bring my father to know him, for God to send me a letter in the mail to tell me what I was supposed to be and who I was supposed to marry and where I was supposed to live and when it would all happen.
My faith has changed drastically since Camp Lyons. When I attended and worked there, I was a girl growing up in the Church of God (based in Anderson, IN) and I followed all the rules. I believed what the church told me to believe and while I always had lots of questions, I bought what they were selling me (for the most part). Somewhere along the way I distinguished myself and in the opinion of the most faithful followers, I might have even "turned my back" on the church, but my experiences in that tradition are the bedrock of my faith. The Church of God tradition is based on the idea that everyone has a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and that we are all members of "God's church." But it is a "holiness" tradition and places a great deal of emphasis on actions (drinking, smoking, style of dress, etc.) that tend to be moral markers for the "low church" traditions. I have mostly rejected the second half of that description, but I have never given up the first. It's what gives me heartache when I consider becoming a "member" of a church or consider identifying myself with a denomination that has a "doctrine."
It might be shocking to some people that the church and the Christian college I attended that was associated with it are where I learned to think and ask questions. I pushed and tested every boundary and while I am still in progress, and expect to be until I leave this earth, I have a much clearer vision of who I am in relation to God because I was given the space to explore, even if they didn't know they were giving it to me and as a church, probably wouldn't agree with the resolutions I came to. And despite the fact that I am so different in so many ways than the last time I sat at the amphitheater at Camp Lyons, when I sit there now, I remember how I am the same.
Sights, smells, sounds all evoke vivid memories for me. I am transported to the past nearly immediately upon entering certain places and not to my surprise, Camp Lyons is one of those. There is an amphitheater that overlooks a small lake and I wish I could have sat there all day. I walked into the chapel and I nearly fell to my knees. I have prayed so many prayers in that room. For God to heal someone who was sick, for God to forgive me of my sins, for God to bring my father to know him, for God to send me a letter in the mail to tell me what I was supposed to be and who I was supposed to marry and where I was supposed to live and when it would all happen.
My faith has changed drastically since Camp Lyons. When I attended and worked there, I was a girl growing up in the Church of God (based in Anderson, IN) and I followed all the rules. I believed what the church told me to believe and while I always had lots of questions, I bought what they were selling me (for the most part). Somewhere along the way I distinguished myself and in the opinion of the most faithful followers, I might have even "turned my back" on the church, but my experiences in that tradition are the bedrock of my faith. The Church of God tradition is based on the idea that everyone has a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and that we are all members of "God's church." But it is a "holiness" tradition and places a great deal of emphasis on actions (drinking, smoking, style of dress, etc.) that tend to be moral markers for the "low church" traditions. I have mostly rejected the second half of that description, but I have never given up the first. It's what gives me heartache when I consider becoming a "member" of a church or consider identifying myself with a denomination that has a "doctrine."
It might be shocking to some people that the church and the Christian college I attended that was associated with it are where I learned to think and ask questions. I pushed and tested every boundary and while I am still in progress, and expect to be until I leave this earth, I have a much clearer vision of who I am in relation to God because I was given the space to explore, even if they didn't know they were giving it to me and as a church, probably wouldn't agree with the resolutions I came to. And despite the fact that I am so different in so many ways than the last time I sat at the amphitheater at Camp Lyons, when I sit there now, I remember how I am the same.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I'm not really doing it
Part of the inspiration for my writing again is this conversation I seem to be having with my friends and colleagues: at least 3 times a week someone says to me, "I don't know how you do it." This is usually in reference to my having two children, a husband, a legal career and what they perceive to be a great deal of charitable/civic activity. I am in awe every time. What makes them think I am "doing it." What is "it" anyway? I am struggling to keep my sanity at work and crossing my fingers and praying that they won't fire me at the end of the billable year when I turn up about 200 hours short, I often wonder if social services would take my children away if they saw the condition of my house, my husband and I rarely find time for a meaningful conversation (and don't even get me started on "intimacy"), we live paycheck to paycheck and make more money than the majority of people in America and I don't get to do as much community and volunteer work as I would like. And I haven't even mentioned that I see my kids for sometimes less than 3 hours a day. What is it that makes people think I have it all together? I really strive for authenticity, sometimes to a fault. How have I created an image of successfulness? I don't feel successful.
So, my response to the comment "I don't know how you do it," is "I don't."
So, my response to the comment "I don't know how you do it," is "I don't."
Back
I took a haitus from this for a while - mostly for professional reasons, but I have decided to pick it up again. I created a very uncreative "psuedonym" for myself , but then decided that I am not going through the effort to figure out how to remove all previously identifying information, and that I wanted to put that great picture of me and my boys as my profile picture, so I'll just take that risk.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
My Heroes
I need to just start getting out all the things I want to post about, so I'm going to start with something I've been meaning to do for a long time - write about the incredible women in my life. And no time could be more appropriate to start than today, my mother's 60th birthday.
Gayle
My mother is one of those women who looks younger every year. Here's an example (scroll about 3/4 of the way down)- this was just this past summer at the beach. Who looks like this when they are 59 (without really working out on a regular basis and no surgery)? I have always thought that she is the most beautiful woman I know. When I would bring boyfriends home in college, they would look at me and say, hopefully, "is this what you're going to look like in 30 years?"
Her beauty is only surpassed by her amazing capacity to love. She gives of herself completely - to a fault. Most obvious is her commitment to her daughters. I don't have enough space available on this blog to talk about how she has sacrificed for my sister and me. And she continues to do it everyday. What people don't often see is how she gives of herself to other people. I have watched her sacrifice hours of sleep driving back and forth to the town where my grandmother lived to sit by her bed in the nursing home. When she found out that her best friend since childhood had breast cancer, she practically suspended her own life to love and support her. When one of her sisters needs help canning vegetables, preparing for one of their kids weddings, or beauty pageants or church party, or hanging new wallpaper, she drives to the town they live in and helps them. She gives generously of her time and money to those she loves and those she doesn't even know.
She is respected and admired by EVERYONE. She is the financial controller of a large automobile dealership. She has been there for 23 years and I have watched a lot of sales people, mechanics, office workers, etc. come through. Each and every one of them is absolutely terrified of her, but she is the first person they come to when they need anything - whether it is a form signed for work or marriage advice or help dealing with a co-worker or advice on what house to buy. I could make a list of women who have worked for her and consider her their second mother. She cooks them meals, loves their children, throws them parties, teaches them professionalism and self-respect and prays for them.
She is magic with children. My three year old is obsessed with her. I have seen her tame the most unruly children without ever saying a harsh word. I have seen toddlers that have no attention span sit still for the first time ever and let her read books to them. And I have seen the amazing smile on her face when she is sitting in the floor playing cars, or trains, or whatever else he has come up with, with my son.
She has an unwavering faith. We disagree on nearly everything when it comes to our Christianity, except for this - that we have a God who loves us, that each and every human being is a Child of God (even if we disagree on what exactly this means), and that God never fails us. She has spent more money than I could ever count on me and given me more presents than I could possibly remember, but the most precious is the knowledge of those truths.
She is fiercely independent. And she taught her daughters to be the same. I often remind her when she is frustrated, and sometimes even appalled at my religious, social and moral values and beliefs, that she taught us to be independent and make our own choices. She only has herself to blame and can't be upset that we chose differently than her. This characteristic is the blessing and curse she passed on to us. I can take care of myself because of her. And because of her, I sometimes refuse to let anyone else take care of me.
I have patterned my life after my mother. She wouldn't believe that today. We are at a difficult place in our relationship - where we have never been. I can't articulate it, but it has been excruciating for both of us. And there have been days in the past couple of years when I have been angry at her, but I have never lost my admiration and respect for her. And I have never, ever doubted her love for me. Not one day of 32 years - not even for a second.
Gayle
My mother is one of those women who looks younger every year. Here's an example (scroll about 3/4 of the way down)- this was just this past summer at the beach. Who looks like this when they are 59 (without really working out on a regular basis and no surgery)? I have always thought that she is the most beautiful woman I know. When I would bring boyfriends home in college, they would look at me and say, hopefully, "is this what you're going to look like in 30 years?"
Her beauty is only surpassed by her amazing capacity to love. She gives of herself completely - to a fault. Most obvious is her commitment to her daughters. I don't have enough space available on this blog to talk about how she has sacrificed for my sister and me. And she continues to do it everyday. What people don't often see is how she gives of herself to other people. I have watched her sacrifice hours of sleep driving back and forth to the town where my grandmother lived to sit by her bed in the nursing home. When she found out that her best friend since childhood had breast cancer, she practically suspended her own life to love and support her. When one of her sisters needs help canning vegetables, preparing for one of their kids weddings, or beauty pageants or church party, or hanging new wallpaper, she drives to the town they live in and helps them. She gives generously of her time and money to those she loves and those she doesn't even know.
She is respected and admired by EVERYONE. She is the financial controller of a large automobile dealership. She has been there for 23 years and I have watched a lot of sales people, mechanics, office workers, etc. come through. Each and every one of them is absolutely terrified of her, but she is the first person they come to when they need anything - whether it is a form signed for work or marriage advice or help dealing with a co-worker or advice on what house to buy. I could make a list of women who have worked for her and consider her their second mother. She cooks them meals, loves their children, throws them parties, teaches them professionalism and self-respect and prays for them.
She is magic with children. My three year old is obsessed with her. I have seen her tame the most unruly children without ever saying a harsh word. I have seen toddlers that have no attention span sit still for the first time ever and let her read books to them. And I have seen the amazing smile on her face when she is sitting in the floor playing cars, or trains, or whatever else he has come up with, with my son.
She has an unwavering faith. We disagree on nearly everything when it comes to our Christianity, except for this - that we have a God who loves us, that each and every human being is a Child of God (even if we disagree on what exactly this means), and that God never fails us. She has spent more money than I could ever count on me and given me more presents than I could possibly remember, but the most precious is the knowledge of those truths.
She is fiercely independent. And she taught her daughters to be the same. I often remind her when she is frustrated, and sometimes even appalled at my religious, social and moral values and beliefs, that she taught us to be independent and make our own choices. She only has herself to blame and can't be upset that we chose differently than her. This characteristic is the blessing and curse she passed on to us. I can take care of myself because of her. And because of her, I sometimes refuse to let anyone else take care of me.
I have patterned my life after my mother. She wouldn't believe that today. We are at a difficult place in our relationship - where we have never been. I can't articulate it, but it has been excruciating for both of us. And there have been days in the past couple of years when I have been angry at her, but I have never lost my admiration and respect for her. And I have never, ever doubted her love for me. Not one day of 32 years - not even for a second.
Tagged
I haven't posted here in forever. I have a lot going on in my mind that I could write about, but I haven't found the energy - emotionally or physically. In the meantime, I thought I would do something fun. My friend Jill, at Desperately Seeking Spawn "tagged" me. I am supposed to post 7 random facts about myself and then Tag 7 other people, so here goes:
1. I went into labor with my first child at the nail salon. I got a pedicure, had moved on to my nails and the woman told me to go wash my hands. I stood up and my water broke. And I mean BROKE. Not in a trickle, but in the dramatic way that you see on T.V. I wasn't really having contractions, so I called my husband who was bartending at the time. A bus boy answered the phone. I, quite calmly, asked to speak to Carl. He replied "There's no Jessica that works here." Puzzled, I said, "no, I'd like to speak to Carl. "There's no Jessica that works here." Now I was irritated. "I NEED TO SPEAK TO CARL. IT'S AN EMERGENCY." They tell me he dropped the phone and ran to the bar. I told Carl to meet me at the hospital. I knew I had time to drive myself and I didn't want to sit and wait on him. He agreed. The Vietnamese man who owned the nail shop, however, did not. He insisted he was driving me to the hospital, and so he did. On my way out the door I told them I would come back and pay them. They motioned me out the door and said, "don't worry about it." We pulled up at the hospital at the same time as Carl. As I was getting out of the car, I said to the nice man, out of politeness, "please let me pay you." He quickly replied, "OK, 35 dollars."
2. I was 17 years old the first time I got on an airplane. This makes me laugh since my 3 year old has flown 3 times already.
3. I spent a semester in college in Northern Ireland (Londonderry). The trip there was the 2nd time I had been on an airplane. When I left to go to Northern Ireland, I was 19 and engaged. When I returned, I was 20 and single. My fiance broke up with me over the phone just 2 weeks after I got there. Don't ask why I was engaged at 19. That's another post.
4. I have played two instruments in my life - I played the flute in the middle school band. Pretty sure I don't remember how to play. I took piano lessons for 9 years and really suck at playing the piano.
5. If God told me I could have any artistic talent, I would want to sing. Like Sheryl Crow or Alecia Keyes.
6. I sold cars for 3 months in Indianapolis after graduation from college.
7. When I was a little girl (up until I was 12 or so), when people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say, in all seriousness, "a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader."
OK, so here are the 7 (actually 4) people I tag:
1. Darah @ A Girl Named Gus
2. TAG @ Tea Worthy
3. Melissa @ Just Me
4. Dawn @ Renaissance Mama (I know we don't know each other, but I love following your blog - and you should meet my friend, Darah, above, by the way)
5. Yikes! I don't know if I know 3 other people who keep blogs and read this one. There are only 3 of you who read it to begin with! So, to be continued . . .
1. I went into labor with my first child at the nail salon. I got a pedicure, had moved on to my nails and the woman told me to go wash my hands. I stood up and my water broke. And I mean BROKE. Not in a trickle, but in the dramatic way that you see on T.V. I wasn't really having contractions, so I called my husband who was bartending at the time. A bus boy answered the phone. I, quite calmly, asked to speak to Carl. He replied "There's no Jessica that works here." Puzzled, I said, "no, I'd like to speak to Carl. "There's no Jessica that works here." Now I was irritated. "I NEED TO SPEAK TO CARL. IT'S AN EMERGENCY." They tell me he dropped the phone and ran to the bar. I told Carl to meet me at the hospital. I knew I had time to drive myself and I didn't want to sit and wait on him. He agreed. The Vietnamese man who owned the nail shop, however, did not. He insisted he was driving me to the hospital, and so he did. On my way out the door I told them I would come back and pay them. They motioned me out the door and said, "don't worry about it." We pulled up at the hospital at the same time as Carl. As I was getting out of the car, I said to the nice man, out of politeness, "please let me pay you." He quickly replied, "OK, 35 dollars."
2. I was 17 years old the first time I got on an airplane. This makes me laugh since my 3 year old has flown 3 times already.
3. I spent a semester in college in Northern Ireland (Londonderry). The trip there was the 2nd time I had been on an airplane. When I left to go to Northern Ireland, I was 19 and engaged. When I returned, I was 20 and single. My fiance broke up with me over the phone just 2 weeks after I got there. Don't ask why I was engaged at 19. That's another post.
4. I have played two instruments in my life - I played the flute in the middle school band. Pretty sure I don't remember how to play. I took piano lessons for 9 years and really suck at playing the piano.
5. If God told me I could have any artistic talent, I would want to sing. Like Sheryl Crow or Alecia Keyes.
6. I sold cars for 3 months in Indianapolis after graduation from college.
7. When I was a little girl (up until I was 12 or so), when people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say, in all seriousness, "a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader."
OK, so here are the 7 (actually 4) people I tag:
1. Darah @ A Girl Named Gus
2. TAG @ Tea Worthy
3. Melissa @ Just Me
4. Dawn @ Renaissance Mama (I know we don't know each other, but I love following your blog - and you should meet my friend, Darah, above, by the way)
5. Yikes! I don't know if I know 3 other people who keep blogs and read this one. There are only 3 of you who read it to begin with! So, to be continued . . .
Friday, November 21, 2008
Home
I love reading my old journals. I wish I still wrote in one regularly, but I don't. It's very, very sporadic. For instance, I have a journal that is almost half full. The first entry in it is from 8/19/04 and the last is from 7/20/08. I re-read all of the entries recently and I was stuck by the first one, so I thought I would re-type it here. Remember that we moved from L.A. to Lexington in June of '04
8/19/04:
I am on the plane, on my way to L.A. It's very surreal. I wish I was staying for longer than 3 nights. Even though I have peace about our move to Kentucky, something about the thought of the plane landing and stepping off into that place I love and hate, makes me incredibly happy. I have such an affection for so many places I have lived. I fell the same when i drive into Indianapolis or arrive in South Bend. I often dream of the tears of joy if I ever get to go back to Northern Ireland. Every place feels likes home. I think it's because of the flood of emotions and memories that come up each time - they are so real, I can almost taste, touch, hear them. In each place, a new piece of me has been formed. For L.A., there is a particular affection. I started my career, I met my husband, I lived as an adult for the first time. When I met Carl I was more self-aware, more comfortable in my own skin than I ever had been - and more so than I am now. Sometimes when I think about us living in Lexington, I think, "I am finally home." But then every time I step off the plane or drive into one of those familiar cities I feel like that place is home. I suppose it is. Home is where I grow and change - where I love and get my heart broken, where I make friends and lose friends and I meet people who see the me that is when I am in that place. I used to think only one place could be home - where you could feel safe and loved and be "yourself." But in each of those places, I am my self - the self that has evolved as a result of my experiences there. And each time I come home, I am reminded of who I was when I first arrived and who I was when I first left and I know better who I am now.
8/19/04:
I am on the plane, on my way to L.A. It's very surreal. I wish I was staying for longer than 3 nights. Even though I have peace about our move to Kentucky, something about the thought of the plane landing and stepping off into that place I love and hate, makes me incredibly happy. I have such an affection for so many places I have lived. I fell the same when i drive into Indianapolis or arrive in South Bend. I often dream of the tears of joy if I ever get to go back to Northern Ireland. Every place feels likes home. I think it's because of the flood of emotions and memories that come up each time - they are so real, I can almost taste, touch, hear them. In each place, a new piece of me has been formed. For L.A., there is a particular affection. I started my career, I met my husband, I lived as an adult for the first time. When I met Carl I was more self-aware, more comfortable in my own skin than I ever had been - and more so than I am now. Sometimes when I think about us living in Lexington, I think, "I am finally home." But then every time I step off the plane or drive into one of those familiar cities I feel like that place is home. I suppose it is. Home is where I grow and change - where I love and get my heart broken, where I make friends and lose friends and I meet people who see the me that is when I am in that place. I used to think only one place could be home - where you could feel safe and loved and be "yourself." But in each of those places, I am my self - the self that has evolved as a result of my experiences there. And each time I come home, I am reminded of who I was when I first arrived and who I was when I first left and I know better who I am now.
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