Working out

There is nothing in this world that can bring my insecurity to the surface like going to the gym. Not public speaking (which would be second), not parenting, not church, nothing. Well, actually, going to an art class probably would. Or dating, which thankfully, I don't have to do. But I digress.

I am not an athletic person. I'm not a person who likes to sweat. Or move much, actually. I'm too addicted to productivity to be a couch potato but I am definitely sedentary. I was that kid that walked around running into walls because I had my nose in a book (and because, frankly, I just wasn't very coordinated.)

There was a brief time when I was a little girl when I could earn extra allowance from my parents just for playing outside. I liked playing outside, though. I liked playing "Little House on the Prairie" because it was a book. Our gym set was the house, with the girls' loft on top of the monkey bars. Our bikes were horses and we pretended we had a covered wagon. As I recall, it wasn't a terribly active game, consisting mainly of standing around acting out scenes from the book. I think my friends must have been as dorky as I was.

So going to the gym is as far out of my comfort zone as I can go. I don't like the clothes you wear to the gym--t-shirt and athletic pants--because in the rest of my life, clothes like that are called "pajamas." I don't like the feeling of confusion I get looking at all the equipment or the looks of confusion I get from other people when I'm doing it wrong. Don't even think for a minute that I'm going to tell that story. I don't like the huge mirrors they put all over everything. If I liked what I saw in the mirror, I wouldn't be going to the stupid gym, okay?

Today, I did the 30-minute circuit, partly because the only other person doing it was middle-aged and overweight like me. Then "Brunette Barbie" joined us--20 years younger, with her long ponytail, size 4 on a "fat day," doing her kickboxing and her deep lunges and that move where you jump up on the step with both feet, then jump back down and repeat for one minute. Without falling. Or dying. The other woman looked at me with a sad little look of defeat. I tried to smile encouragingly.

I think it's great that Brunette Barbie looks so great and is so strong and so healthy. I not only envy her, I admire her. I just wish she'd take her fabulous self over to the part of the gym where the fabulous people go and leave us in peace. But seriously, I didn't give up. And I didn't change the amount of weight I was using on the machines after I finished, to make her think I was using more weight than I was. I was pretty proud of myself. Maybe I'll go back someday.

We are family

Through the years, I've noticed how families will sacrifice deeply for their most vulnerable members. Parents will forego every luxury to care for a disabled child into adulthood. Children will put their lives on hold to care for ill, elderly parents. Grandparents regularly give up their golden years to take in young grandchildren whose parents can't or won't care for them.

That's what we do in families. But as a state, as a nation, as a society, we apparently don't share that same commitment. Instead, when it's time to sacrifice, we ask the most vulnerable among us to sacrifice first. The wealthy among us refuse to contribute at the rate they did during the Reagan administration, demanding ongoing and increasing tax cuts. The powerful among us continue to spout partisan sound bites to protect their special interests while demanding that others bear the burden of sacrifice. And the rest of us let it happen .

And so, as we are facing the necessity of budget cuts--and no one disputes the necessity of budget cuts-what do we propose to cut first? On the state level, it's the mentally disabled adult in a group home or the uninsured handicapped child who is asked to sacrifice first. On the national level, it's families without health insurance and women and children who lack the basic necessities of life.

Meanwhile, the rights of the unborn are receiving a great deal of attention (as they should), while the needs of the already born are minimized. The battle cry is "personal responsibility!" Yet, how is an elderly man whose savings have run out due to the unforeseen cost of a nursing home supposed to take personal responsibility? How about a mentally retarded middle aged woman whose group home is the only home she has known since she left her parents' home? How about a preschooler with cystic fibrosis with loving parents who could never cover the cost of lifesaving drugs?

I long for us to remember that we are a family. I pray for the growing realization that if we don't take care of the most vulnerable among us, we have failed our values and our God. I hope that we will decide to share the burden--all of us together, contributing what we can--to create safety nets (yes, even government safety nets) for those who otherwise have none.

Happy Valentine's Day!

21 years ago, we cancelled Valentine's Day. We were young and newly married and had what we could euphemistically call "differences" about what Valentine's Day was supposed to be about, culminating in the year I asked for a teddy bear and got a stuffed Tasmanian Devil instead. I decided then that instead of being pissed off every February 14th, I would acknowledge that C is pretty darn romantic most of the year and let him off the hook on Valentine's Day. It was a great decision.

This year, though, we've been missing each other a lot and C decided to reinstate Valentine's Day. Nothing fancy, but pretty perfect--lots of sweet words, an early steak dinner (to beat the crowds), a card, candy, a gift. It's been a really lovely night.

As always, though, our lives are punctuated by humor and silliness. Here's a conversation we had when I walked in from work tonight:

C: What's that? (pointing to a small bag of candy in my briefcase)

Me: A client gave me these . . . they're just like Reese's but waay better.

C: They can't be better than Reese's!

Me: Seriously, they're sooo much better. The chocolate is creamier and the peanut butter just melts in your mouth.

C: long pause But if someone got you some Reese's candy for Valentine's Day, you wouldn't think these were better, would you?

How was I supposed to know that Reese's now makes a heart-shaped box of candy? So here's my official opinion: the Reese's are better because they taste like love. (But the others are creamier . . . just sayin')

Mary and Martha

Two of my favorite Bible characters are Mary and Martha and the glimpse they give us into Jesus' domestic life and his friendships. I've always loved the way Jesus gives Mary--a woman!--a place at the table, or more exactly, a place of learning at his feet. I've always wondered, though, why Jesus didn't affirm Martha as well. On the Sojourners blog, I just read in one of the comments to an article about the two sisters: "If Mary had been the one to complain, Jesus would have said, "Well, Mary, someone has to fry the chicken.'" That made me laugh! Probably we shouldn't speculate, but it makes sense to me!

Hangin' out with the Quakers

Here are just a few more photos from the last few days. This is The Hut--the small building used for campus ministry at Guilford College. I think I remember hearing that it's the oldest building on campus (mid-nineteenth century) and it's essentially a large room with sofas and old chairs and a rag rug and a big, woodburning fireplace. Students gather there and drink coffee and think deep thoughts and then discuss them. I was there for 25 minutes of silent Quaker worship, led a discussion on dating and marriage with about a dozen students, and attended a class on Quaker theology, contributing when the teacher asked me to.

This is a picture of another on-campus space for campus worship. You can see the simplicity of Quaker spaces--the pews are all hard and the walls are bare. I preached here on Sunday and attended a Taize service last night.
One of the things Mowgli loves best about this school is its outdoor space. I walked and talked with one of the students and this is where we went. It's a small lake a short walk away from campus (owned by the college) surrounded by woods. I don't know if you can tell, but parts of the lake are covered in ice. There are Canadian geese everywhere. Apparently they are nuisances but they're truly beautiful birds.
This morning, I slept til I woke up, worked for awhile, and will meet Mowgli in a few minutes to eat lunch, buy a few groceries (that's what moms do!) and head to the airport. It's been a good trip.

My most recent adventure

I'm in Greensboro, NC where Mowgli goes to school, as the guest for the Religious Emphasis Week for his school. Mowgli picked me up at the airport and said he was ready to just hang out with me for the rest of the day. I, however, knew that the Guilford College Fighting Quakers were playing the number two team in the nation, the undefeated Virginia Wesleyan somethings so I suggested that we go to the game. Guilford won the game with pure grit and teamwork in the last 6 seconds . . . and I get to be the hero for making sure Mowgli got to go.

This morning, I preached at First Friends Meeting in Guilford, a historic, semi-programmed, "Christ-Centered, universalist" Quaker meeting here. The pastor told me, "People tell me we feel Methodist" and I think she's right . . . Methodist 40 years ago! The people were absolutely lovely and I had a wonderful experience. There is as much dissent and disagreement among Quakers as you find in any other denomination and I've been told that First Friends is in the center of the continuum between conservative ("practically snake-handling," I've been told) and liberal (humanist, even nontheist).

Tonight, we had a wonderful, organic homemade dinner at the home of Max and Jane. Max is the Campus Minister at Guilford (a Quaker school) and is an answer to our prayers. He is joyful, brilliant, funny, spiritual, and he follows Jesus. Jane is all those things too and meeting them both--and knowing what a blessing they've been in Mowgli's life--was a wonderful privilege. After dinner, Jane popped popcorn on the stove, the old fashioned way and set out tea and homemade brownies and oranges for about a dozen students who came to talk about vocation and calling and leadership as part of their Quakerism class. They asked me to tell my story, which I did as authentically as I could and I think it was a rich blessing for all of us.

More thoughts

I'm reading a wonderful and disturbing book about the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer right now. I'm reading it slowly because it is suspenseful (even though we all know how it ends) and because it holds up a mirror for me to evaluate my own courage, my own commitments, my own culture. I'm only up to 1938 but the writing is already on the wall--German culture finally slid into insanity because Christians were unwilling and unable to play the prophetic role that their times demanded.

In that light, I refer you back to one of my favorite blogs because, as she often does, Peacebang says what I want to say better than I can say it. Please read it here--it's worth two minutes of your time. And even if you don't read it, just let your mind linger on the painting. I've never seen this one before and I find it absolutely heartbreaking.