Sabbath

It never fails to amaze me how things seem to just fall into place to point to something that needs my attention and thought. The more I try to ignore the nudgings, the more persistent they become.

The subject in my bible study this past week was the stories of creation. Every time I read those accounts in Genesis, something different strikes me. This time I was very aware of the pacing, particularly in the first story. Day one, certain things were accomplished. Then there was time of rest, time to declare it "good". Each of six days was like that, with a seventh, entire day of rest.

At another point in the week I was out for a walk as the school bus was was dropping off some children in front of a particular house. The children went their separate ways, with one child walking up the driveway. A woman, who I assumed to be the mom, came out the front door, purse and keys in hand, and they both got in the car and rode away. Now, this is not a judgement on that family,or any family for that matter, but I felt a little sad. I think the reason I did was because I saw a lot of my life in that simple occurence. So often I go from one activity to another with no pause inbetween. Do I appreciate or consider what I have just finished before I jump into another project? Usually not.


Later in the week I ran across a book I haven't picked up in awhile, called Sabbath, Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives, by Wayne Muller. I remember that the first time I read that book, it seemed to really change my thinking. As time went by, however, I got back into the habit of rushing from one thing to another.

There is a lovely little poem in there by Marcia Falk, called Will:


Three generations back
my family had only


to light a candle
and the world parted.


Today, Friday afternoon,
I disconnect clocks and phones.


When night fills my house
with passages,


I begin saving
my life.





Can it be possibly that simple, just decide to do it, unplug and claim some Sabbath time?

What would my life be like if I disciplined myself to accomplish a certain amount, then stop and be thankful for what was done? To actually enjoy what came of my labor?

And even more outrageous, what if I set aside one day a week to enjoy my loved ones, to spend time in my favorite places, to do creative things, or just to, dare I say it, rest and reflect?

Would I lose more than I gain?

Somehow I don't think so.

I Am What I Am

I'm coming clean. I will not try to hide it or deny it any more. I am:

• Chubby
• Rubenesque
• Overweight
• Portly
• Obese

Yes, I am. In the past I have been thinner. I have dieted, exercised, and devoted most of my waking hours to make myself smaller that I think I'm intended to be. I have flirted with bulemia. (I remember taking my daily 5 mile walk during a tornado warning because "no stinking storm is going to make me get fat again".)

And at the time I liked it. I looked good, I found shopping for clothing almost pleasant, and people were nicer to me.

But age, genetics, anti-depressants (and that may be a whole other post), psychological factors, and just plain old laziness have all contributed to my present weight. A number I will only disclose under extreme torture.

I have always obsessed about my weight. It seems that my self esteem and the number I see on the scale have an inverse relationship. If I had a dollar for every time I told myself, "I would wear that/go there/do that if I was thin", I would be a rich woman.

Awhile back I came across something on YouTube that got me thinking a little. It's called A Fat Rant. Here is the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUTJQIBI1oA

I've got to say, this woman rocks! I love her attitude, her spirit. She doesn't let something as superficial as our predominant culture's opinion of physical appearance get in the way of living her life. No excuses. Get on with it already. It reminds me of that Big Boned Girl song. Or that wonderful poem, "Ode to My Hips".

It is easy in this day and age to feel ashamed of not fitting the popular image of what is beautiful, particularly if you happen to be female.

And shame is an ugly thing. Alice Walker defines it as an injury to the soul. Maybe, just maybe, it isn't how some of us look, but rather, how we feel about ourselves that is unattractive.

Perhaps if our souls were allowed to heal, if we saw ourselves as our Creator sees us, full of beautiful possibilities, we could make peace with, and nurture our bodies. And that, I think, is truly beautiful.

I've Got a Gal in Kalamazoo

Again. As of yesterday, when her brother and I moved her into her dorm room to start her sophomore year.

When we arrived to her room, her roommate's dad was already there, laying some carpeting. The room seemed microscopic. If I had to guess I would have to say that the dimensions of the space is about eleven by twelve. Maybe.

Amy and Chrissy looked at each other and one of them said,"I think the room we had last year was bigger." It was obvious that two beds, two chests of drawers, two desks, a futon, a mini refrigerator, a microwave, a television and all the gear that comes along with two nineteen year old females were not going to fit into that room.

I had some ideas about what to do, and I'm sure her parents did also, but we all just kept it to ourselves while the girls worked it out.

Eventually, through some sacrifices on both girls' parts and some decisons about what they each really needed to have with them, everything they decided to keep fit very nicely in the room. I was proud of the girls for working it all out like adults; almost as proud as I was of the adults for letting them do so.

When Mark and I left, the room looked very cozy and they were busy putting everything away while catching up with each other.

Amy's roomate's mom and sister cried. I did not. But today, things at home felt strange. You know that feeling you have when there's something you think you've forgotten? Or that itch in the middle of your back that you just can't reach?

It will get better. We will fall into our routines and when she comes home on breaks we'll all have an adjustment period. It's the way things are, the way things always have been, the way they were meant to be. Part of growing up. For all of us.