Prodigal : “It is Good : An Ode to My Body”

Hey, friends. I’m over at Prodigal Mag today writing about dancing and yoga and learning to love my body. This is a topic I’ve kind of avoided in my writing, so publishing this kind of feels like a big deal to me. I’m not one to call myself fat or lazy, but I do struggle to love myself the way I was made. In the next few months, I hope to explore more issues around my body image and getting rid of my fear. If you can relate, I’d love for you to join the conversation and share your story.

The instructor at the front of the room arches her hands high above her head and jumps up and down in time to the music, some Top 40s hit I don’t recognize. The class dances along in pace before me while I’m hoofing it at the back, missing half the moves despite how hard I’m concentrating. I’m a mess of sweat and wheezy breaths and heavy limbs and I’m a full measure offbeat, swinging my arms left when I should be going right.

My feet hit the wooden floor, stumbling into rhythm again just in time for our dance instructor, a tiny Asian woman with the energy of a rabbit and the voice of a drill sergeant, to yell,

“Follow my turn!”

We hop around at 90 degree increments and suddenly I find myself leading the whole class, flailing wildly out of sync as I crane my neck backward to keep my eyes on the instructor.

My plan to be invisible has failed miserably, not having accounted for the dance turns when I chose my spot at the back of the room. (Read the full story here.)

On Being Found.

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My brother found this sweet boy abandoned on a country road last weekend. He was scraped up and filthy, no collar or microchip to guide him “home.” The vet told Jacob that from the looks of his wounds that he had been tossed out of a speeding vehicle. He’s only a few months old. Isn’t that sad?

But Jacob decided to keep him and we all got to meet him this weekend at the lake house. His name is Gunner, which seems fitting for his rambunctious personality.

A friend commented that Gunner may have been abandoned, but being on the side of the road like that when Jacob drove by was like winning the lottery. Watching the two of them go out on the lake in Jacob’s kayak this weekend, Gunner sitting peacefully between his legs, I couldn’t agree more.

Sometimes life is surprising that way, cruel and wonderful all in the same moment. We find ourselves at the intersection of the worst and best moments of our lives. Down on our luck, beat up, starved, abandoned, lost, and then we are found, swept up by unconditional kindness, healing hands, a place and people to call home.

P.S. I think I have a thing for writing about dogs. Look at that puppy face! Can you blame me?

Labor Day Weekend.

It’s Labor Day / Annual Family Lakehouse Weekend. (One of my favorite weekends of the year and one of my favorite places on earth with some of my favorite people.) We leave tomorrow but my bags have been packed since Sunday, that’s how ready I am for a few days off (of work and of internet access.) If that’s not a sign of how desperate I am for rest and relaxation, then I don’t know what is … except maybe the fact that I’ve suffered from insomnia for four nights running. As in, I lay wide awake between the hours of two and five a.m. with Fergie’s “A Little Party Never Killed Nobody” stuck in my head for no apparent reason. I liked that song until it became the soundtrack to the cycle of my anxious, deranged, sleep-starved-at-three-a.m. thoughts. I get up in the morning feeling like my brain has been running a marathon all night long. I’m verging on insanity.

So, the blog is a little neglected and I’m in need of a major rest and reboot. I’ll be back next week with some new words, though. Have a fun holiday weekend, friends.

Where Have All the Millennials Gone? Entitlement in the Economy and the Church.

One of the first things I noticed when I met my husband was his kindness. He can have a good laugh just as much as the next guy, but he never does it at anyone else’s expense. Sensitive girl that I am, I was immediately drawn to that quality. I felt safe. I trusted him.

This same sensitivity to others’ feelings is what makes him such a great musician and songwriter. He’s attuned to beauty and art. He tells me he’s not articulate about his feelings, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. He sings it.

But those same qualities that inform and inspire his talent as a musician are the things that keep him from thriving in his job as a security officer. It’s just not the work he’s cut out for. He’d rather use the talents God has given him to work as a full-time musician. And yet, for the past six years since he graduated college, he’s pretty much worked any job he can so that we can make ends’ meet, even the ones he hates. When we first got married, we held seven part time jobs between the two of us. From August to March of the past year, he worked as a security guard part time, taught guitar lessons, and led worship at our church. Today, he works full time as a security guard and teaches guitar lessons after his shift ends. He does odd jobs to make a little extra cash. He knows he has to get creative about earning an income as a musician. He’s no stranger to working hard.

But I’ve lost count of how many times our “loved ones” have made that implication whenever Matt talks about work. He’s been told everything from “you’re lazy and entitled and selfish” to “your music is just a hobby, now go out and get a real job” to “suck it up and stop being a pussy about your work ethic.” (Yes. Someone actually said that.)

Some men look at him and see his traits of kindness and creativity as weakness. But I look at him and see strength.

The narrative that my husband is lazy because he pursues a different kind of work than his father, a construction foreman, is the same one that the rest of my generation is being told when we talk about our desires to thrive in our work and pursue fulfilling careers.

You’re entitled” has become a straw man argument for why a large percentage of millennials  are struggling in the job market.

But is it really the job market we can’t hack? Or is it the 9-to-5/mortgage for a house in the ’burbs/2.5 kids + Fluffy the Dog lifestyle that is unrealistic? (The very same lifestyle in which even our parents are getting taxed out of affording?)

If the rest of our generation is anything like Matt and I, they’ve been working their asses off in crappy, unfulfilling jobs for close to a decade in a broken economy, and it has come down to two choices : surviving or thriving. Either we work the job we’re not fulfilled in and weren’t cut out for so that we can fit the lifestyle, or we adjust the lifestyle to thrive in the career to which we were called. And it is almost inevitable that changing our lifestyle means moving. To somewhere less costly, to a community less bent on pressuring people into living a certain way.

The job market hears us expressing a desire to work fulfilling jobs and pay our bills, and responds by telling us we have a false sense of entitlement. But I listen to it and hear my generation saying that they want to create a system in which classism is the system that gets broken so that the economy can thrive for everyone equally.

When Rachel Held Evans posted her article for CNN a few weeks ago “Why Millennials Are Leaving the Church,” social media and the blogosphere erupted with reactions, and reactions to those reactions. On and on it went, while I watched quietly as a familiar pattern emerged.

The same people looking for more fulfilling jobs in a broken economy are the same people looking for more fulfilling faith communities in an abusive and apathetic church culture.

And as younger generations expressed disillusionment with the system in which they’re expected to function, older generations decried their laziness and entitlement. The straw man argument returns.

Indeed, my discussions with my husband about finding more fulfilling work and a less expensive place to live feels eerily similar to the discussions we had when we were desperate to find a healthy faith community. We found ourselves in church after church where we were expected to function within the system without asking too many questions or seeking too many changes. We’re asking ourselves the same question, “Is it time to move on?”

Millennials see these abusive power structures and harmful theologies and say, “This system is broken and unless it changes, I can’t thrive here,” but their concern is met  with shaming and silencing tactics. We’re being told to “suck it up” and “work harder” and “stop acting like a bunch of pussies” and “in a few years you’ll realize that this is where you belong,” and “I don’t have a problem with it; why should you? This is just how things are.”

If the parallel between an economy suffering in the hands of the corrupt and a Church suffering in the hands of the abusive makes you uncomfortable, GOOD. It makes us uncomfortable, too.

Older generations of believers look at millennials’ desire to engage culture as catering to secularism and weakness toward sin. But I look at it and see a desire to embrace the marginalized and oppressed.

Let’s get real. It isn’t the millennials’ attitude that broke the economy. It isn’t the millennials’ mass exodus that is breaking their churches. The cracks in the system originated much earlier than that.

The cycle of shame that perpetuates hurtful comments about my husband’s manhood and work ethic is the very same one that oppresses our economy and sends masses of people heading for the church exits. There are huge, ugly parallels between “man-fail” shame and the “laziness” and “entitlement” shame that older generations are heaping on younger ones in a broken economy and the way that churches shame their fleeing congregants. It’s called patriarchy, and it functions for no one, not even the men.

It isn’t how we’re meant to live. It’s not how we’re called to thrive.

Yet at the same time, this discussion is not about pointing fingers and blaming the older generations for corruption and abuse, either. Are these the same struggles that generations before us experienced? Absolutely. Will we deal with it the same way as they did, too? Definitely not. Every generation is different. Even amongst members of our own generation, it will be as varied as unique as we are.

We have to get creative about all of it – about the ways that we earn our living and the ways that we thrive in the workplace and the ways we experience God and the ways we engage our culture.

Some of us will need to go off into the wild in order to better hear the voice of our Shepherd. Some of us will stay and tend His sheep. Some of us will keep watch for wolves. Some of us will tell stories and sing songs of the peaks and valleys of this faith and this time. Let us remember that no matter what each of us choose, all of us belong to the flock, and that the Shepherd doesn’t say to His sheep, “Suck it up.” A healthy community doesn’t shame its people into functioning within the established order when it fails to keep everyone safe.

We need to take an honest look at our strengths and our weaknesses – double-edged swords that they are – and learn to wield them well. I have hope that this is possible.

Some people look at all of this, the broken economy and dying churches, and see the end of everything. But I look at it and see a new beginning.

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Four Years.

Yesterday I made him take the Myers Briggs test for the first time, and we discovered that he’s an ISFJ. (I’m an INFJ.) Reading through the personality description was one big Oooooh. I get it now! 

Today we celebrate four years of marriage. We’ve officially been married longer than we dated, and we’re closing in on a decade of this relationship. We met when I was 18 and he was 21, and we got married when I was 21 and he was 23. We’ve spent most of these years growing up together in order to grow old together. Despite how often our family (however lovingly) badgers us about when we’ll have kids, I’m so thankful for the time we’ve had together, just us, to work through things (mostly ourselves) and figure out what we want, together.

When we got married, I thought that by the time I turned 26 and we had been married for four or five years, we’d be ready to have kids. Now that we’re there, I’m laughing at my 21-year-old self (and I suspect Matt is breathing a sigh of relief.) We’ve both realized that while it’s good to set out with a plan in mind, it’s okay to change those plans and decide what works better for us, no matter how much people badger or how much time it takes to figure out how to make things work. Slowly, over four years, we’ve realized that our life will be uniquely ours, and that means we can make really different choices to lead us there. Different than we ever thought we would choose. Different than any choice our family and friends would make.

Sometimes it is so freeing to throw out old expectations and start over. 

We both sense this leading us toward new adventure in the coming year. We’re not exactly sure what it looks like or how we’ll get there, but we’re excited and ready. Here’s to another year (or eighty). I love you, Matthew Jason.