aging.

i am aging. does that sound silly at age twenty-three? well, i am.

i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and see a radiant, irrepressible woman.

a month ago i noticed that the veins on my legs were getting bluer, greener, darker. some even slightly raised. i am aging, i thought, and of all the magnificent applications of my imagination i could choose from - i chose worry.* and where else would worry lead me but the infinitely credible world wide web. it is the authority of our time. i half-laughed at this instinctual compulsion to ask ask ask the omniscient google why and how and all sorts of other inquiries. i laughed because it is the first place i go when i am worried about something. i am a hypochondriac in the worst sense, don't you know? and later, in the bath and on the feller's shoulder and on my dear friend's bed, i sobbed because i am so terribly afraid of being rejected for my body - my small breasts and wide hips and tiny belly and veiny limbs. i thought i would handle aging better. i thought it was the one thing i was mentally prepared for - it will come, i thought; it is unavoidable, i reminded myself; i am more than body; i chanted. but who is prepared to age? to feel and see the good things - health and youth - pass? to know this passing gives way to the one dependable eventuality - death?

but i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and cannot help but swell with affection. she has wrinkles and grey hair and lovehandles and painful vericose veins and arthritis. she has consistently been slighted by the men in her life. she could be like so many - stalking empty beauty. but she has chosen to give herself to the needs of others - her grandchildren, her children, her siblings, her own mother. she is a well of good intentions. she is a loving cook and dedicated worker. she is endlessly interested in the lives of those she loves. and her advice is always the truest thing she knows to be helpful. she is a beautiful woman. and is most happy when plating dinner, jabbing at her eldest, laughing loud and full.

these past few weeks i can see how boring and pitiful it is to be obsessed with maintaining youth. what a dull life. my mother teaches me this. working with children gives me a means to practice this 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. i can restrain myself from interacting with the kids (i.e. not going in the water with my bathing suit on, etc.) or give myself fully to them. to be tugged on. to be a child's pillow. to become a master sand castle maker. to be hugged, squeezed and, occasionally, dragged. to tag them back-and-forth-back-and-forth because there is no such thing as "no tag backs." to be out of breath and tired by them. to save them from that-really-big-wave. to tell them no. to throw the ball hard because they can handle it. to run across the campus in search of a stuffed animal or missing sock. preoccupied with my insecurities, i could be no real help. i could offer them nothing.

so, i am aging and all good things wither and die. but my mother reminds me that fear and worry don't change this, that life is better when it is about others, that serving heals us.

*the feller occasionally calls me a "worried wart," rather than a "worry wart." it is because 6-8 months ago two warts appeared on my cursed left foot. they are since gone and the memory of them makes me laugh if only because it makes him cringe.

looked on and loved.

a month or so ago, i stumbled on a poem by doris ferleger.

it moves me.
it helps me love myself.
it brings me back.

i am memorizing this poem because of the fifth line.
i repeat it over and over again when i become anxious at another body or phrase.
and i remember that i am that tilted fir, which is looked on and loved.

Daily he told me I was beautiful,

my breast cupped in his palm cured

me of any doubt. So you see why

I cannot gaze at my own nakedness.

Mirrors tell you nothing about love.

The tilted fir outside my window

stands taller than our house. Even if

I described each tuft, counted

branches, became its mirror,

you could never love it as I do,

understand how it kept me faithful,

stood watch with me when the other tree fell.

doris ferleger, "mirrors"

good and safe

i saw this above picture on pintrest* months ago. i caught myself in the middle of smile when it came to my attention that something was awry. at first, i thought it was funny. i assumed myself the fit girl, began to question this, and concluded i was the skinny girl. i, uneasy and flustered, had been targeted by a picture with eleven words on it. guess which one is the most important? oh, you don't have to. it's been highlighted by it's designer. 

this phrase: 

dehumanizes women by reducing them to bodies,

we are physical beings, yes. but we are intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and social beings as well. relegating these aspects of our humanity to the corner is damaging. it fractures our sense of self.  we begin to forget that we have more to offer. we get confused about food and clothes and exercise. we take part in dehumanizing other women - our friends, our enemies, and strangers - when we use this language. this language does harm to how we perceive and treat ourselves and others. it is self-sabotage in the sneakiest of ways.

divides bodies - not people - into camps, which are identified as bad or good or best,

this is important. because it does not compare the way we love well or live well, which is something i touched on here. the division is concerned with the ephemeral - bodies, which we do not have a say in (for the most part). it is concerned with flesh that will meet life-experiences (pregnancy, cancer, etc.), age, and decay. sidenote: it only follows that society dismember the woman further: to her parts. she becomes her legs, her breasts, her bottom, or her waist. all of which are up for public opinion and critique.

and it does these things while hiding behind the guise of exercise and self-care.

it pretends to champion an ideal of fitness - the goal** of which is to carry out functions well - while subervtently offering us a more tangible, obvious goal: the promise of hott bod. will a firm, toned body be the result of a life that incorporates exercise? maybe. but it isn't a guarentee and it certainly isn't the point.


Few feel 
good and safe 
in their bodies.
susie orbach

i believe that the above picture is a way for a person who feels bad to feel good, who feels unsafe to feel safe. we are fighting to feel good and safe and are, unfortunately, doing so in a way that is violent and oppressive to other women clawing for the same thing. we are waging war on those that have dismembered us by ripping ourselves apart. we are unjustly punishing those that have offended us with their bodies, which we covet.

kyrie eleison.

christe eleison.

*other pins that do similar things: this, this, this, and this. they may seem benign and funny but they are part of societal consciousness that i want nothing to do with.
**other benefits of fitness: strengthened muscles, bones, ligaments, tendons, and immune systems. improved endurange, balance, performance, circulation, and memory. lowers risk of heart disease, diabetes, cancer, osteoporosis, strokes, and high blood pressure/cholesterol. helps make rest more restful. healthier pregnancy and fewer childbirth and ovulation problems.  these are the reasons we exercise. 

a melody

my body is aching in strange places today. i'm assuming it's from yesterday evenings run at the canyon. i pushed myself, perhaps too hard. my feet were lighter with my new nikes. and the hills lost their appearance of robustness.

the earth is warmer at dusk - it has absorbed the heat of day and steams 'neath the feet of the tired and determined alike. a runner's only relief are the shadows, a chill breeze, and a swig of water. the point of my prominent chin collects sweat at dusk. and when the collection becomes too heavy it runs down my neck or drips down my shirt. classy, i know. at dawn it is different. the earth is cool from night's blanket of black-blue sky. dew is still visible on dry plants, mist still hangs low enough to wet the face. dawn has a crispness that dusk cannot bottle.

past the halfway point and before the turn out i decided to slow my pace. walking not because i needed to but because i needed to pause. selah. walking because i needed enough breath to sing a melody i have heard in familiar rooms my whole youth. a melody i have sung in a microphone, in the vastness of a congregation, and on my bed through tears.

all i have needed thy hand hath provided - 

great is thy faithfulness lord unto me. 

i may not have a full-time paid position anywhere. i may not be leading a recognizable movement of people. i may not have the excess luxuries that ease life. i may not have a large network of friends to surround myself with. i may not have notable success or talent or intelligence. but He has provided the sum of my needs. even ones i at first refused. even ones i was not and am not aware of. ones that time alone can bring to light. and He continually does so. that is enough to keep comparison at bay, to make small the beast. it is enough to loosen any anxiety that restrains me. it is enough to slow my pace and sing quietly with effort and belief at dusk. 

i've said this before but

i shall not be in want because i have not been left wanting.

period. any want i feel is usually the appetite of comparison and the beast. i know the good things in my life. and they are certainly enough. my life is full and rich on account of the people and places He has provided me with. even in my unrest and conflict He has remained faithful. almost run ins and social media and old habits and appetites might shake my confidence but they cannot shake my knowing, my experience of this. He is faithful and i am the thankful recepient of His faithfulness. 

p.s. i remember reading one time (the language is too beautiful to forget) in the psalms (psalm 37, to be exact) that we "feed upon his faithfulness." it is our food. our only sustenance. and it is enough.

the thief

yes, my dear it is.

i have bouts of comparison. remember, the beast will be fed. whether it is by calculating the going-ons of others or by analyzing the bodies of others, it will be filled. it takes one thing. a thin waist, a full bust, a flat stomach, toned ligaments. one thing.* and these bouts fight to overtake me - despite my knowledge about retouched photographs, the variety of bodies on this earth, and my own value as a dearly loved child of God.

i am beginning to shape a healthy concept of the body. and the body in relation to beauty, which is learned by comparison. well, i have been worked over by comparison. exhausted and disheartened by it.

the other day at a water park with the daycamp i work at, a coworker asked if she should take off her shirt (she was wearing a two piece and was worried it might be too revealing). please, no was all i could think. i am well aware of her near perfect body (see my language here? indicative about my relationship with bodies.) and would rather it not be displayed. but of course, i told her it was fine as long as she felt comfortable. and she was. off with the shirt! sigh. i promptly turned to watching the children. well, to pretending i was watching the children. i was actually looking at the bodies around me. old. young. tight. loose. wrinkled. pudgy. muscular. rail-thin. voluptuous. there was so much diversity in size and shape.

i pondered their beauty. and their bodies. i watched the way the held their children. the way they enjoyed the water. the way they spoke to strangers and family. and i decided that loving [people, God, yourself] well is the goal. there is no point in maintaining a flat stomach or spending inordinate amounts of money on implants if i don't love well. the aim of life is not the preservation of some aspect of youthfulness, is not the attaining or replicating of some cultural consensus of what a beautiful body is.

fact: i, having been given new life through Christ, no longer have to answer the

demands of dominant culture. but can instead dismantle the idealogies

that oppose the gospel - that reduce me to only a body, to only my appearance.

and in doing so, i have the gift of choosing other than what 

is demanded of me by the principalities and powers of this world.

that day at the water park, i decided that their body has nothing to do with mine. their size and shape and allure (read: attractiveness, sex appeal, down right cuteness) is entirely their own. it has nothing to do with my size and shape and allure. their beauty does not negate mine. the two are separate and should remain that way. i have no business comparing myself to them. pay attention to your own life stacey. don't look to the left or the right. i resolved that self-care (eating well, exercising to maintain health) is important. and realized how self-loathing often parades around as self-care. desire for a perfect body masquerades as desire to take care of yourself. i decided that what makes someone beautiful has very little to do with their shape or size. i decided that worrying about if i come across as beautiful, the most beautiful, the most sexy and appealing is foolishness. and that i cannot continue to pick and choose parts of peoples bodies and put together an ideal body by which i measure myself by and try to emulate. i also must stop assuming that others are measuring my body against this ideal. again, pay attention to your own life stacey. don't look to the left or to the right. i can hardly handle my own comparisons, why should i be curious about how others compare me? foolishness.

more than a beautiful body, i want a well-lived life that is permeated by love. love that releases me of any fear or insecurity produced by years of comparison.

lord jesus, thank you for showing me what matters and what doesn't. thank you for providing a way out for me - one who is addicted to the praise of others, one who believes she isn't good enough the way she is. thank you for releasing me, little by little, from a life burdened by comparison and competition with others. father in heaven, thank you for being my joy, my steady - the One from whom my identity is derived. you are good. and desire that i be formed into the image of your son by the power of the holy spirit. and that image has nothing to do with my size or shape or allure. and has everything to do with the kind of person i am in light of the gospel and your great love. 


*comparison is not limited to bodies. but you already knew that. it can attack a person's talents, life situation, relationship status, economic status, job security, intelligence.... the list envelopes every aspect of a person's life. and so while i am thinking about bodies, here, i can apply it to all of these areas i find myself scrutinizing and measuring up against any and all ideals.

p.s. i always hesitate in pressing "publish" on a blog. i fear i am not as thorough as i should/could be. or that i forgot to say something. but there will be other posts. and there will be other things to consider. and there is ample time.

but straight through

the past week has been fun, to say the least.
pushing through (never around or over or under but straight through) hard days or moments is becoming easier in the sense that i am pushing though. rather than wishing i could. or feeling wobbly with tiredness. or feeling woozy with insecurity. whatever wobbliness or wooziness i am presented with (or have created over time and is now surfacing. ahem, the beast?) i know that i can.
it occurred to me at around 5:48 am a few weeks ago, sweat on my brow and the marine layer dissipating, that i have the tendency to give up right before i reach a goal. or perhaps i should say, i cease putting forth my best effort near the completion of a goal.

example: when i run the canyon with my friends i set markers. run to the tall teetering teal plant (excessive, i know). jog to the forrest green bench still covered in dew. walk to the 2.5 mile marker on the wooden fence. markers. goals. often, usually on the running markers, i stop. i stop right before i cross the marker. my heart rate increases. my breath feels tight. and though my body can make it to the marker (further, if i dare to be honest), i stop. i slow to a heavy trot, which slows to a walk.
running, i have determined, is an exercise in discipline. i don't much care for the figure i achieve. but i have more energy after my 5:30 runs. my body feels lighter. headaches are less frequent. and i am learning discipline. i am learning perseverance. i am learning to have integrity, even in my running.

come on stacey, you could have done that.

you could have gone further.

be honest with yourself.

push through.

i am not after a self-masochistic regime, where i beat myself into achievement. i am aware of my limits. i have high regard for self-care. but i know that when i begin to trot or walk before i reach a marker, i'm just not giving my best. and because i've allowed that habit to become a sort of life philosophy, i am fighting it back. and teaching myself new habits. because if i don't learn these virtues now and begin ordering my life by them, then i will bear no fruit. all my efforts will be in vain, will be for sport. and soon, all my efforts will end with an apathetic oh well that relinquishes me from caring about the my own fruitlessness. i refuse to be a branch that is cut off. instead, i will offer the parts of me that bear no fruit to God and leave the cutting to Him. He is gentle but He does what is best. knowing this, i can trust Him with these decaying branches. i can trust Him with an axe. and i can trust that it is for my good and the good of His kingdom. 

this mammoth

sitting on the swings in a cherry button down and a choker around my neck (do you remember those?), i moved the sand below methodically in circles, in squares, in zig-zags. it was the summer before fifth grade and the sun was in limbo between high noon and dusk. i was pondering the costs of plastic surgery. that same summer, a group of almost fifth graders sat atop beige lunch tables. the game to be played was truth or dare. and being almost fifth graders the subjects tended towards grown up matters. mercedes, a blonde, athletic, obnoxious girl, began that days festivities. even though i despised her meanness, i wanted to be a part. and when the subject of body image came up, when i chose truth and mercedes, malicious in tone and intent, asked about contentment with size and shape and all things i feared and had begun to hate only months before... i lied. mercedes had a knack for extracting the truth, as most bullies do. her perception, her easy way of sifting through steady eye contact found me out. the next day, tshe said quite bluntly that i wished my body was different and began to make comparisons to the pop culture icons of the time. i was embarrassed. i was ashamed. and that afternoon i developed a skill for hiding behind laughter and sarcasm. this would later turn into hiding behind academic achievement - achievement in general. and the spokes on the wheel spun faster faster faster.*

there are parts of my body that i feel intense shame for.

parts that i am not sure i will ever learn to celebrate.

and while i can concede that i am beautiful - sexy, even - i can only do so with hesitation, with a shuddering "... except for this part or that part of me." i can only concede because i've known myself to beautiful and sexy on the lap of a male - as an object of someone's affection and pleasure. i can only concede because others have told me, because i have felt their approval. but i do not approve.

the past few months i have finally had time to revisit this area of my life, this mammoth of a subject: beauty and the acceptance of one's own beauty and the celebration that follows. so i have been reading articles and visiting websites of women - young and old - who have dealt with similar issues. i have been educating myself on the place the media has in this tormentous struggle for self-love. i have been buying lovely delicate items that force me to accept the smallness and bigness, the shapelessness and shapliness of my body. i have been attempting to treat my body well in diet (read: consistent and healthy eating habits) and exercise (read: consistent and healthy bodily exertion).

earlier this month i stumbled upon a post by meg fee.

i adore her blog. her words. the honest place she speaks from.

here is a quote:

"what i look like will change with time. my weight will fluctuate. the lines on my forehead will crease. the gray hairs will take hold and multiply. but my mind, my intelligence, the light behind my eyes--that (God willing) will remain. more than that (again, God willing) it will grow and burgeon.

[...]

the opinions of others regarding what i look like will matter only with my consent. it will be how i feel from within my body--inside the sweet-spot of life that will dictate my response. i won't need a mirror or a scale or any of the trappings to provide me with what i've somehow always known but often doubted: that i am, in fact, yes, beautiful. "

*this excerpt is one of many moments - mostly small - that i have confronted. sad sad sad. hopefully, if courage permits, i will be able to share more. the degree of body shame i feel disallows me to talk in specifics. for that, i cannot apologize. i have wasted years apologizing for my body and apologizing for my shame.