A friend just posted about how she despises her body right now, because she is more than 20 pounds up from her weight last year.
I want to affirm my friend: 20 pounds is serious. And excess weight is a big health problem. And I can understand feeling frustrated and sad that clothes don't fit. I don't think God desires her to be that much overweight; I hope she's able to get back to a healthier equilibrium.
And yet: I just saw her yesterday and thought (she's a bit older than me): God, I hope I look that young when I'm older.
Reading her post made me sad. And a bit angry (not at her).
I have three people close to me in my life that have struggled with serious eating disorders. I studied ballet for 15 years, so I was surrounded by weird body images (Once I asked if anyone had feminine hygene products in the dressing room and got a few weird laughs and: "Oh, I haven't used any for years."). Plus just years of SoCal lifestyle, spent listening to attractive, otherwise confident women express disgust with themselves.
I know for some women (and men) no matter what they do, their bodies add weight easily. For whatever reason, mine does not, so I know I can't understand how difficult this issue is for people. I really believe that bodies have their own equilibrium, a weight that is natural, healthy, and unique. Some people, (given the same healthy lifestyle) will settle at 100 pounds. SOme at 120. Some at 150. Some at 180. And I wouldn't be surprised if that weight creeps up as we get older. Yet our culture has a one-size-fits all approach to weight: 100 is wonderful! 120 is acceptable! 150 is shameful!
Though I got lucky with body type, I've had my own issues. It was kind of a point of pride in high school that I didn't have to worry about weight--and I remember (cringing, now) that I thought, when other girls were less than nice to me, well, at least I'm thinner.
Then I went to college. My weight crept up (probably by 10-15 pounds, like most people). My clothes didn't fit. I was embarrassed when I went to the store and tried on my old size, and it didn't fit. Even the new size didn't fit sometimes. I had to wear my mom's size (She's not fat, so I am not quite sure what the problem was). I remember going to the beach with a friend of mine and wearing shorts the whole time while she gamboled about in a bikini. I was embarrassed of my body.
It bears mentioning that the friend in the bikini was then struggling with anorexia, quite seriously. She was emaciated, and looks so much more beautiful now that she's gained weight. Her eyes were out of whack. But mine were too.
I'm lucky that I decided not to diet then. I'm so thankful that not dieting was a point of pride (wrong reasons, but it protected me from the rollercoaaster). I decided that my body was at a new equilibrium b/c I wasn't dancing, and that I would accept it. I bought new pants and gave away the old ones.
After I got married, I stopped drinking Coke. And started following my husband's eating patterns (he stops eating before he's full, and takes small portions). And ate less and less junk. And started noticing more and more that bad food made me feel like crap. Now, when I drink a Coke (once a week or so) I notice how terrible I feel for the rest of the day. And I'm breastfeeding. And on a restricted diet because of Lucy. And so I don't weight much.
I'ts funny, being pregnant and then not pregnant really makes people notice your weight. Nearly everyone comments "how good I look". Meaning thin. Women talk about how they want to look like I did when they're pregnant (because you couldn't really tell I was pregnant if you saw me from the back). I thought the same thing, ten years ago, when someone close to me was pregnant: she looked like herself plus a basketball. But she struggles with bulemia.
There's something wrong with all of us when being thin means you "look good". When we look at someone who's sick or outside the realm of normal (most models, some ballerinas, etc) and think "that's healthy or attractive". When we're (I include myself here) concentrating more on weight in pregnancy and after than fetal health or milk supply.
The thought has occurred to me: my weight will go up when Lucy's not breastfeeding anymore, and when I can eat bread and ice cream to my heart's desire. This thought has troubled me. I don't want it to. But it does. Will I be able to enjoy the freedom to eat and not think about how I'll almost certainly go back up to my weight pre-Lucy? When I stop fitting into my old clothes will I cringe? Or shrug?
I think women are crippled by this self-loathing and competitiveness. And by the other side: the excess weight from poor diet or lack of exercise that keeps us from being our true energetic selves. I think all of American culture has an eating disorder. We eat crappy food that makes us feel lousy, both inside and out. We don't enjoy our bodies--have awe for the marvelous machines they are. I really beleive that God desires to free us all from these obsessions.
So, my friend, I'm sorry you've been feeling bad about yourself. I hope you can find ways to lose the weight without sacrificing your health. I hope that both of us can see ourselves through God's eyes: the dear fingernails, growing on their own. The eyes that focus to different distances, without us even thinking. The friendly wrinkles on our knuckles, that have been there since birth. The heart and mind and lungs that keep us alive, so mysteriously. The moles and spots and scars that are our own private constellations.
Truly, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
Showing posts with label feminist rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feminist rants. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Monday, June 4, 2007
bitter pill
I read The Mask of Motherhood this weekend. Basically, it's an extended meditation on motherhood, with six basic focuses (or is that foci?): pregnancy, labor and delivery, new mommyhood, breastfeeeding, work, and marriage.
It's kind of in the vein of the "Dark Side of Breastfeeding" post I linked to a while ago, except a bit more bitter. The author keeps saying stuff, like "We all feel these things, even though we really do love our kids, and they give us ineffable joy," except she doesn't really go into details about any of the ineffable joys/love. Which is mostly fine, because her argument is that we sentimentalize motherhood past the point of nausea. Except if motherhood really did drive you insane (one of her points) not so many would do it.
Knowing what I know now (that mommyhood, even just with one, is hard) I've been a little surprised, the last few weeks, to look at Lucy and think, "I really like this." Not "I'm managing" or "I can see how this will get more fun later," but "This is fun, NOW".
(Are you surprised/shocked/appalled I was surprised? Perhaps The Mask of Motherhood is for you! You need some good bitter flavor! Like coffee, or beer.)
I was surprised by contentment, because now that I am a mom, I can see that this stage of momdom isn't going to be my favorite. Today, watching other peoples kids, I got to read them a book. And they understood what I was talking about (and not in the way that a comatose patient understands when you talk to them, okay? That doesn't count in terms of making me feel good, which is what I'm looking for, really, when I read to a child).
Sure, I can read to Lucy, but the age where that will be intrinsically rewarding is in the future. Along with all other kids of language-related fun.
Anyway (long digression), I decided not to give the book to a friend of mine that's expecting (happy pregnancy! Read this book, so you can decide you don't want to try parenthood! Hahahahah). The book is finally just too negative. Perhaps I'll give it to her after the initial shock of having a newborn wears off, because I think it's positive not feeling bad about not having the time of your life. I know I spent about two months getting over a comment someone made to me that a 3-to 4-month-old was great to travel with. I thought God, if this is what a great travel companion is, I'm staying home till she's thirty. Turns out her kids were good travelers, but mine was not.
Plus, I didn't really like the author's descriptions of labor and nursing. Sure, labor can be painful, but it isn't always excruciating. And her labor, which sounded positive, but painful, might have been helped if there weren't medical professionals in her face all the time, trying to check her cervix needlessly. (Perhaps "in her face" isn't the right phrase). Ditto with nursing: if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, there's something wrong. Go to a lactation consultant! Don't soldier through!
All this bitterness, is, well, bittersweet. It's good to read many sentiments I have been through in the last nine months. It's good to affirm, once again, that I don't need to feel guilty if sometimes I dream about throwing babies out the window, like the author. But it's also hard to read a book that's so down on motherhood and then look around and think, I enjoy my daughter. I like my life.
The good news: even being hard, I can still do it.
It's kind of in the vein of the "Dark Side of Breastfeeding" post I linked to a while ago, except a bit more bitter. The author keeps saying stuff, like "We all feel these things, even though we really do love our kids, and they give us ineffable joy," except she doesn't really go into details about any of the ineffable joys/love. Which is mostly fine, because her argument is that we sentimentalize motherhood past the point of nausea. Except if motherhood really did drive you insane (one of her points) not so many would do it.
Knowing what I know now (that mommyhood, even just with one, is hard) I've been a little surprised, the last few weeks, to look at Lucy and think, "I really like this." Not "I'm managing" or "I can see how this will get more fun later," but "This is fun, NOW".
(Are you surprised/shocked/appalled I was surprised? Perhaps The Mask of Motherhood is for you! You need some good bitter flavor! Like coffee, or beer.)
I was surprised by contentment, because now that I am a mom, I can see that this stage of momdom isn't going to be my favorite. Today, watching other peoples kids, I got to read them a book. And they understood what I was talking about (and not in the way that a comatose patient understands when you talk to them, okay? That doesn't count in terms of making me feel good, which is what I'm looking for, really, when I read to a child).
Sure, I can read to Lucy, but the age where that will be intrinsically rewarding is in the future. Along with all other kids of language-related fun.
Anyway (long digression), I decided not to give the book to a friend of mine that's expecting (happy pregnancy! Read this book, so you can decide you don't want to try parenthood! Hahahahah). The book is finally just too negative. Perhaps I'll give it to her after the initial shock of having a newborn wears off, because I think it's positive not feeling bad about not having the time of your life. I know I spent about two months getting over a comment someone made to me that a 3-to 4-month-old was great to travel with. I thought God, if this is what a great travel companion is, I'm staying home till she's thirty. Turns out her kids were good travelers, but mine was not.
Plus, I didn't really like the author's descriptions of labor and nursing. Sure, labor can be painful, but it isn't always excruciating. And her labor, which sounded positive, but painful, might have been helped if there weren't medical professionals in her face all the time, trying to check her cervix needlessly. (Perhaps "in her face" isn't the right phrase). Ditto with nursing: if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, there's something wrong. Go to a lactation consultant! Don't soldier through!
All this bitterness, is, well, bittersweet. It's good to read many sentiments I have been through in the last nine months. It's good to affirm, once again, that I don't need to feel guilty if sometimes I dream about throwing babies out the window, like the author. But it's also hard to read a book that's so down on motherhood and then look around and think, I enjoy my daughter. I like my life.
The good news: even being hard, I can still do it.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
nervousness
So I read The Price of Motherhood. Besides making me even more of a crazed, liberal, tree-hugging activist, the book also made me a touch nervous.
I'm really glad that I have confidence that my marriage is going to last past whatever troubles we run into, because I am a sitting duck if anything were to happen.
I've been skulking around the house lately, making sure Dyami doesn't start oppressing me. (He managed to diffuse my tension by cleaning the oven and kitchen counters on Monday, unprompted. I love this man!)
Things didn't go so well when he offered his usual incisive/devil's advocate critiques of the book when I read him quotes. Sometimes I don't think guys realize that for them it's a fun parlor game, offering critique, while for us (well, me) we're inserting our own last name for Mr. and Mrs. X, so it's a tad more personal. For example: when I mentioned some ideas regarding equitable divorce, which involved taking much of the guy's salary and giving it to his wife and kids, so that they all would be at the same crappy standard of living, here was his (joking) comment: "If that's the case, it would have been cheaper for the guy to make his wife go back to work, and pay someone else to watch the kids."
For the record, I know he was just playing devil's advocate, and he told me straight out that he agreed that the kids shouldn't be in poverty because Daddy decided he wanted a new girlfriend, but still! I resolved the argument by getting surly and weepy for a while, and then we made up.
But, nervousness. The book is supportive of the choices women make--but is very clear about the long-term consequences if you guess wrong about your marriage. Motherhood is a big factor in poverty, as is divorce; alimony is increasingly less common, and all the stay-home care you provide (or want to provide) your kids doesn't count in its calculation. People tell you you're doing "the most important job" but they don't want to pay you for it, and if you're poor, to get public assistance, you can't stay home with your kids, but must put them in daycare and take a job that pays less than the daycare costs. Social Security ignores your (very real) provision of productive, tax-paying members of society, jobs don't allow flexible time, and the women who have power (and seem to prove that feminism has changed our system) generally don't have kids. Not only that, but traditional family advocates (read: conservatives), feminists, and even regular moms often ignore or criticize or worse, fight against policies that might actually help the grand majority of us. And all these lousy policies are unlikely to change until moms get in power. Which is a bit hard to do when we're locked out by lousy policies.
All of this makes me need a large dose of wheat-free, gluten-free beer. Or a Moms Rising party. (It's happening! Whoop!)
I'm praying that my nervousness would not translate to anxiety, but to action. That Christ would help me not worry about what I can't control (the future, for example) and instead speak up for those that don't have the time or freedom to read hair-raising books.
I'm really glad that I have confidence that my marriage is going to last past whatever troubles we run into, because I am a sitting duck if anything were to happen.
I've been skulking around the house lately, making sure Dyami doesn't start oppressing me. (He managed to diffuse my tension by cleaning the oven and kitchen counters on Monday, unprompted. I love this man!)
Things didn't go so well when he offered his usual incisive/devil's advocate critiques of the book when I read him quotes. Sometimes I don't think guys realize that for them it's a fun parlor game, offering critique, while for us (well, me) we're inserting our own last name for Mr. and Mrs. X, so it's a tad more personal. For example: when I mentioned some ideas regarding equitable divorce, which involved taking much of the guy's salary and giving it to his wife and kids, so that they all would be at the same crappy standard of living, here was his (joking) comment: "If that's the case, it would have been cheaper for the guy to make his wife go back to work, and pay someone else to watch the kids."
For the record, I know he was just playing devil's advocate, and he told me straight out that he agreed that the kids shouldn't be in poverty because Daddy decided he wanted a new girlfriend, but still! I resolved the argument by getting surly and weepy for a while, and then we made up.
But, nervousness. The book is supportive of the choices women make--but is very clear about the long-term consequences if you guess wrong about your marriage. Motherhood is a big factor in poverty, as is divorce; alimony is increasingly less common, and all the stay-home care you provide (or want to provide) your kids doesn't count in its calculation. People tell you you're doing "the most important job" but they don't want to pay you for it, and if you're poor, to get public assistance, you can't stay home with your kids, but must put them in daycare and take a job that pays less than the daycare costs. Social Security ignores your (very real) provision of productive, tax-paying members of society, jobs don't allow flexible time, and the women who have power (and seem to prove that feminism has changed our system) generally don't have kids. Not only that, but traditional family advocates (read: conservatives), feminists, and even regular moms often ignore or criticize or worse, fight against policies that might actually help the grand majority of us. And all these lousy policies are unlikely to change until moms get in power. Which is a bit hard to do when we're locked out by lousy policies.
All of this makes me need a large dose of wheat-free, gluten-free beer. Or a Moms Rising party. (It's happening! Whoop!)
I'm praying that my nervousness would not translate to anxiety, but to action. That Christ would help me not worry about what I can't control (the future, for example) and instead speak up for those that don't have the time or freedom to read hair-raising books.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
I feel bad about my shampoo bottle *
I have a bottle of shampoo that is giving me feminist/ethnic reconciliation problems. It's special curl-enhancing shampoo (I know, curl-enhancing shampoo?!! What the heck!!?? I bought it by accident, okay? Thinking it was my curl cream. And was too embarrassed to return it). It's by a company called Bumble & bumble, and here's what it says (besides curl-enhancing shampoo/for fine to medium hair):
DEMURE DAMSEL BABY DOLL BOTTICELLI MUSE NORDIC ANGEL ENGLISH
1) So having curly hair (or, perhaps more accurately for this product) desiring to have curly hair) makes one demure? A baby doll? A muse? A painting by Botticelli? Do no women with curly hair desire to be, say, powerful or kick-ass? Mature? Wise? None of the adjectives make me think of competence or power. All conjure images of helplessness (baby doll/ damsel), doing what they're told (demure) or only good for inspiring men to creativity (botticelli/muse).
2) What about women of color? Do they not have curly hair? Why is it that having curly hair must be associated with particular nationalities/ethnicities (nordic/english)? This I have a bit less problem with, since it's conceivable that African-American women would laugh at this product at being wholly unsuitable for their curls, and women with actually curly hair have no desire to enhance said curls. However, the english/nordic labels makes me feel like the curls are also supposed to be blonde (since botticelli's curly-headed Venus is, too), which I also have a problem with.
I have been using this product for a while (since before Lucy was born) and I've never been wild about the label, but it has been bothering me more and more. I think I've been reading a bit too much Betty Friedan. Or something.
I don't think I'm going to buy the product again (too expensive, anyway) but I am going to use up the bottles I have left. I'm too cheap not to. Maybe I'll say something to my hairstylist.
Help! I'm becoming like my old roomate's husband, unable to watch movies because of the exploitation of women! Help!
*Today's post title is a hidden reference to Nora Ephron's new book (I Feel Bad About My Neck). That I haven't read. I haven't read any of her books. Unless you count seeing Sleepless in Seattle or When Harry Met Sally. Which I guess I could, seeing as she wrote them, too.
DEMURE DAMSEL BABY DOLL BOTTICELLI MUSE NORDIC ANGEL ENGLISH
1) So having curly hair (or, perhaps more accurately for this product) desiring to have curly hair) makes one demure? A baby doll? A muse? A painting by Botticelli? Do no women with curly hair desire to be, say, powerful or kick-ass? Mature? Wise? None of the adjectives make me think of competence or power. All conjure images of helplessness (baby doll/ damsel), doing what they're told (demure) or only good for inspiring men to creativity (botticelli/muse).
2) What about women of color? Do they not have curly hair? Why is it that having curly hair must be associated with particular nationalities/ethnicities (nordic/english)? This I have a bit less problem with, since it's conceivable that African-American women would laugh at this product at being wholly unsuitable for their curls, and women with actually curly hair have no desire to enhance said curls. However, the english/nordic labels makes me feel like the curls are also supposed to be blonde (since botticelli's curly-headed Venus is, too), which I also have a problem with.
I have been using this product for a while (since before Lucy was born) and I've never been wild about the label, but it has been bothering me more and more. I think I've been reading a bit too much Betty Friedan. Or something.
I don't think I'm going to buy the product again (too expensive, anyway) but I am going to use up the bottles I have left. I'm too cheap not to. Maybe I'll say something to my hairstylist.
Help! I'm becoming like my old roomate's husband, unable to watch movies because of the exploitation of women! Help!
*Today's post title is a hidden reference to Nora Ephron's new book (I Feel Bad About My Neck). That I haven't read. I haven't read any of her books. Unless you count seeing Sleepless in Seattle or When Harry Met Sally. Which I guess I could, seeing as she wrote them, too.
Friday, May 18, 2007
how I spend my time
I spent a lovely midmorning with my friend Abi and her daughter Ginger (five days Lucy's junior). We walked along the beach for nearly an hour and chatted.
One thing we chatted about was how both of us are a little nervous claiming housewifedom as our identity. I've been thinking about homeschooling, and am still really not sure if I can/will do it, and part of the reason is I get nervous about thinking of making raising kids my full-time job for the next ten, eighteen, twenty years. Not that I have to commit that full time now, but the idea of it scares me.
I realized recently, too, that I have the best time parenting Lucy if I try to hang out with at least one person a day, and try to get out of the house once a day. At the very least, this provides distraction; at best, I actually enjoy myself a lot.
Sometimes I feel irrationally guilty, though, getting to hang out with friends every day. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? I hang out with people rather than, say, dusting. Or getting other things done around the house.
This guilt ignores the fact that it is often difficult and frustrating to try to be productive with a baby. So one might as well be out with friends as sitting home, not being productive, whilst frustrated.
Why do I feel guilty, then? I think it's because hanging with friends (new ones, of course, not my old ones, many of whom I miss, but don't get to see very much) sounds relaxing and easy and decadent. I have this sense that if I'm a stay-at-home mom, I should have my nose to the grindstone as much as someone at a job.
This also ignores the fact that I used to like my job, generally. That I really enjoyed being in school.
So why the guilt? Why shouldn't I be able to make my life as a mom fun and varied?
Perhaps it's partially that I would also like to be useful.
This ignores the fact that I am extremely useful to my daughter, given that I'm her only food source. It's a very short food chain.
Okay, now we're getting closer to the truth. I want to be useful to other people, in that larger world out there. I want to be important, to feel important. And wiping baby's bums, important as it is in real terms (no wipe=skin problems, infections, etc), doesn't count in our world.
I'm reading The Truth Behind the Mommy Wars right now. The author points out how little mothering is valued, in real terms, by our society. For example, welfare makes moms of infants work at minimum wage jobs while they are given daycare vouchers. If you think about this, it makes absolutely no sense. Daycare is expensive. For what purpose, then are these women working? Is caring for a child worth no credit? (From a purely pragmatic view, wouldn't it be a good idea to support the moms as mothers, so that their kids don't cost the system money when they become delinquents?)
My friend Abi told me she has never really cared about what people thought about her before. But she cares when she tells them she's staying at home with her kid.
I've not had the experience, yet, of not caring what other people think. But I, at least, am mostly in social circles (conservative Christian) where my choice is valued (some might argue a little too much). And even I'm sometimes embarrassed to say, "No, I don't earn a wage right now". Or maybe more: "I don't plan on earning a wage anytime soon."
My problem is compounded by the fact that the work I want to do (write poetry, say*) also doesn't earn a wage. So I feel like a diletante or hobbyist if I say I'm a writer. And a nobody if I'm a mother.
I've also had an idea for a business (helping people write memoirs) that I would like to do at some point, if I ever have an hour of time on a regular basis to actually accomplish things. And yet: part of me knows I want to start this business to justify myself, somehow. Like the work I'm doing isn't enough in itself.
What's ridiculous about my embarrassment is that I'm working harder now than I ever have in my life, in many ways. And this is only my first child. Perhaps the mantle of motherhood gets more comfortable or commodious or normal as time goes on.
I would like to be proud of what I do. I would like to be proud to tell people I stay home, and know that they respect me for it.
Today I looked at my prayer site and this phrase from Ezekiel leapt out at me: "O mortal, eat what is offered to you." It's spoken to a prophet, and God is telling him to be a prophet in the way God wants him to be, even if it's hard. And Ezekiel eats, and it is like honey in his stomach.
I would like to eat what God offers to me, and speak what he speaks to me, and have it be sweet in my stomach.
*In other news: I got another poem published! And yes, I'm getting paid. In contributors copies, of course.
One thing we chatted about was how both of us are a little nervous claiming housewifedom as our identity. I've been thinking about homeschooling, and am still really not sure if I can/will do it, and part of the reason is I get nervous about thinking of making raising kids my full-time job for the next ten, eighteen, twenty years. Not that I have to commit that full time now, but the idea of it scares me.
I realized recently, too, that I have the best time parenting Lucy if I try to hang out with at least one person a day, and try to get out of the house once a day. At the very least, this provides distraction; at best, I actually enjoy myself a lot.
Sometimes I feel irrationally guilty, though, getting to hang out with friends every day. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? I hang out with people rather than, say, dusting. Or getting other things done around the house.
This guilt ignores the fact that it is often difficult and frustrating to try to be productive with a baby. So one might as well be out with friends as sitting home, not being productive, whilst frustrated.
Why do I feel guilty, then? I think it's because hanging with friends (new ones, of course, not my old ones, many of whom I miss, but don't get to see very much) sounds relaxing and easy and decadent. I have this sense that if I'm a stay-at-home mom, I should have my nose to the grindstone as much as someone at a job.
This also ignores the fact that I used to like my job, generally. That I really enjoyed being in school.
So why the guilt? Why shouldn't I be able to make my life as a mom fun and varied?
Perhaps it's partially that I would also like to be useful.
This ignores the fact that I am extremely useful to my daughter, given that I'm her only food source. It's a very short food chain.
Okay, now we're getting closer to the truth. I want to be useful to other people, in that larger world out there. I want to be important, to feel important. And wiping baby's bums, important as it is in real terms (no wipe=skin problems, infections, etc), doesn't count in our world.
I'm reading The Truth Behind the Mommy Wars right now. The author points out how little mothering is valued, in real terms, by our society. For example, welfare makes moms of infants work at minimum wage jobs while they are given daycare vouchers. If you think about this, it makes absolutely no sense. Daycare is expensive. For what purpose, then are these women working? Is caring for a child worth no credit? (From a purely pragmatic view, wouldn't it be a good idea to support the moms as mothers, so that their kids don't cost the system money when they become delinquents?)
My friend Abi told me she has never really cared about what people thought about her before. But she cares when she tells them she's staying at home with her kid.
I've not had the experience, yet, of not caring what other people think. But I, at least, am mostly in social circles (conservative Christian) where my choice is valued (some might argue a little too much). And even I'm sometimes embarrassed to say, "No, I don't earn a wage right now". Or maybe more: "I don't plan on earning a wage anytime soon."
My problem is compounded by the fact that the work I want to do (write poetry, say*) also doesn't earn a wage. So I feel like a diletante or hobbyist if I say I'm a writer. And a nobody if I'm a mother.
I've also had an idea for a business (helping people write memoirs) that I would like to do at some point, if I ever have an hour of time on a regular basis to actually accomplish things. And yet: part of me knows I want to start this business to justify myself, somehow. Like the work I'm doing isn't enough in itself.
What's ridiculous about my embarrassment is that I'm working harder now than I ever have in my life, in many ways. And this is only my first child. Perhaps the mantle of motherhood gets more comfortable or commodious or normal as time goes on.
I would like to be proud of what I do. I would like to be proud to tell people I stay home, and know that they respect me for it.
Today I looked at my prayer site and this phrase from Ezekiel leapt out at me: "O mortal, eat what is offered to you." It's spoken to a prophet, and God is telling him to be a prophet in the way God wants him to be, even if it's hard. And Ezekiel eats, and it is like honey in his stomach.
I would like to eat what God offers to me, and speak what he speaks to me, and have it be sweet in my stomach.
*In other news: I got another poem published! And yes, I'm getting paid. In contributors copies, of course.
Monday, May 7, 2007
active
I've had an idea for a while of hosting a party.
I was inspired by this website, momsrising.org, an advocacy group for family-friendly policies. They produced a documentary about the issues, and I got a DVD. They recommend that people hold house parties and show the movie, then have conversations about the issues/ideas it raises, to try to raise awareness about the current state of affairs, and some ideas for how to change things.
All good, right? Fun party, being active and helping other moms, helping other people to find a better life, and making our society more livable for everyone. And with a movie, we could even make popcorn!
So I haven't actually planned anything yet. Part of it is that it's hard to have projects when your day is divided up into 10 minute chunks.
But that's not the only reason.
I have never really been an activist. I've always thought I should be spending time doing dogooderness of some kind. But I've never really done anything. Sure, I serve in my church, and give money, and be kind to people, but it's not the same thing. I've never really had a cause (except for my faith, which calls me to do dogooderness as part of showing God's work in my life).
I've always been a bit uncomfortable with causes. I think to be active in stuff, you really have to be sold on something, and willing to put yourself on the line to make something happen. You have to be full-bore about something and identify yourself with it.
I'm always so wishy-washy I am never sure about really committing to causes.
Actually, I think a lot of it is fear of looking stupid.
I kind of have a pathological fear of looking stupid. So much so that if I play games with Dyami and lose frequently, I get bent out of shape, because I am so afraid of being "bad" at, say, Duck Duck Goose.
So to invite a bunch of people to my house and show a video, I have to say, This is my cause! Join me! Aren't you excited about this too? Isn't this important?
What if everyone yawned? Or said, hmmm, I don't find this very compelling? Or, why are you sending me an invite for a cause? I need to go do something better with my time.
Okay, this is all sounding like a really bad case of "everyone like me" syndrome.
Sigh. Will I never get out of junior high?
The thing is, I am tired of being so wishy washy. I am tired of being cynical about causes. I am tired of not being willing to put myself on the line. I don't think being cowardly about letting people know I care about things is a good way to spend my thirties. (I'm almost thirty, by the way. At the end of the month. !)
Today Dyami and I were talking about feminism, and some of the issues the movie raises (he hasn't seen it), and in typical Dyami fashion, he raised some good points of critique with the way I described things. And then I got all bent out of shape because he was critiquing me.
I realized, after I calmed down, that it's that same fear of looking stupid. Because I am a baby, learning about all of these issues, and I don't really understand them all that well. And I don't know that much about them yet. So who am I to "raise awareness"? Who am I to invite people to a party about them? Doesn't that just smack of the novice, getting super excited about something she doesn't even understand all that well?
Anne Lamott descirbes the voices in her head as a radio station, called KFKD. (FKD stands for a bad word, okay?). The station plays all negative commentary, all the time. Shooting down any idea she has as stupid, irrelevant, hopelessly naive, etc.
I have no idea what the woman is talking about. Really, I don't.
I'm turning off the radio! I am taking a stand!
I am making an evite! I am inviting people! Whether or not they will judge me! I am joining a cause!
Just as soon as I get back from vacation.
Note: If you would be interested in coming to said party (or parties--I might hold more than one, since our house is small), you should comment, saying so. It will motivate me to get off my keister and actually follow through. And no, I have no idea what I will be doing about childcare (have kids there? Take kids to park? Who knows?). But I know we can figure something out.
I was inspired by this website, momsrising.org, an advocacy group for family-friendly policies. They produced a documentary about the issues, and I got a DVD. They recommend that people hold house parties and show the movie, then have conversations about the issues/ideas it raises, to try to raise awareness about the current state of affairs, and some ideas for how to change things.
All good, right? Fun party, being active and helping other moms, helping other people to find a better life, and making our society more livable for everyone. And with a movie, we could even make popcorn!
So I haven't actually planned anything yet. Part of it is that it's hard to have projects when your day is divided up into 10 minute chunks.
But that's not the only reason.
I have never really been an activist. I've always thought I should be spending time doing dogooderness of some kind. But I've never really done anything. Sure, I serve in my church, and give money, and be kind to people, but it's not the same thing. I've never really had a cause (except for my faith, which calls me to do dogooderness as part of showing God's work in my life).
I've always been a bit uncomfortable with causes. I think to be active in stuff, you really have to be sold on something, and willing to put yourself on the line to make something happen. You have to be full-bore about something and identify yourself with it.
I'm always so wishy-washy I am never sure about really committing to causes.
Actually, I think a lot of it is fear of looking stupid.
I kind of have a pathological fear of looking stupid. So much so that if I play games with Dyami and lose frequently, I get bent out of shape, because I am so afraid of being "bad" at, say, Duck Duck Goose.
So to invite a bunch of people to my house and show a video, I have to say, This is my cause! Join me! Aren't you excited about this too? Isn't this important?
What if everyone yawned? Or said, hmmm, I don't find this very compelling? Or, why are you sending me an invite for a cause? I need to go do something better with my time.
Okay, this is all sounding like a really bad case of "everyone like me" syndrome.
Sigh. Will I never get out of junior high?
The thing is, I am tired of being so wishy washy. I am tired of being cynical about causes. I am tired of not being willing to put myself on the line. I don't think being cowardly about letting people know I care about things is a good way to spend my thirties. (I'm almost thirty, by the way. At the end of the month. !)
Today Dyami and I were talking about feminism, and some of the issues the movie raises (he hasn't seen it), and in typical Dyami fashion, he raised some good points of critique with the way I described things. And then I got all bent out of shape because he was critiquing me.
I realized, after I calmed down, that it's that same fear of looking stupid. Because I am a baby, learning about all of these issues, and I don't really understand them all that well. And I don't know that much about them yet. So who am I to "raise awareness"? Who am I to invite people to a party about them? Doesn't that just smack of the novice, getting super excited about something she doesn't even understand all that well?
Anne Lamott descirbes the voices in her head as a radio station, called KFKD. (FKD stands for a bad word, okay?). The station plays all negative commentary, all the time. Shooting down any idea she has as stupid, irrelevant, hopelessly naive, etc.
I have no idea what the woman is talking about. Really, I don't.
I'm turning off the radio! I am taking a stand!
I am making an evite! I am inviting people! Whether or not they will judge me! I am joining a cause!
Just as soon as I get back from vacation.
Note: If you would be interested in coming to said party (or parties--I might hold more than one, since our house is small), you should comment, saying so. It will motivate me to get off my keister and actually follow through. And no, I have no idea what I will be doing about childcare (have kids there? Take kids to park? Who knows?). But I know we can figure something out.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
equal vs. difference
I just finished reading a not-so-great autobiography, called Not One of the Boys by Brenda Feigen. It was made more entertaining by the notes my friend Michelle wrote in the margins in red. At one point, Feigan meets Madeleine Albright and says, "I was impressed by [Albright's] command of foreign policy." Michelle observed, "I'll bet Madeleine was gratified."
Anyway, as many books do, it started out fine, chronicling Feigan's time in law school, suffering under blatant sexism. Then it sort of got less interesting as the book went on (lots of name-dropping, less personal connection, I think). What made me think, though, was one of the final chapters, where she discusses two types of feminism: difference and equality feminism.
Feigan is definitely an equality feminist. I think I'm a difference feminist.
She discusses pregnancy leave and various Supreme Court cases and their effects on women. Apparently, some people (difference feminists) advocate for specific pregnancy leave, while others (equality feminists) want pregnancy to be covered by disability leave (those of you who know more about this than me, forgive me if I'm getting it wrong). By making a special case of women and pregnancy, equality feminists argue, you make it easier to discriminate against women. Better to treat women absolutely equal--no special priviledges or categories--and avoid that.
While to some extent I understand the rationale behind this argument, it is one of the reasons I've decided not to be a feminist all of these years. And after actually being pregnant and nursing, I have even more of a problem with it. Here's why.
1) Why categorize pregnancy as sickness or disability? This is a perfectly normal state of humanity. Perhaps it's just semantic; pregnancy certainly disables women in that while pregnancy we aren't able to do certain things, like drink, or lift heavy objects, or ride mechanical bulls. But on the other hand, it kind of rubs me the wrong way, like having to be a "patient" at a doctor's office for prenatal visits (when you're not sick at all). Our whole society--doctors, employers--feminists--seem to view pregnancy as a problem, a disease, something out of the ordinary. But what could be more normal than procreation?
2) Don't a lot of European countries (which are arguably more progressive on womens rights issues than ours) offer specifically maternity leave? I could be wrong, but it doesn't seem that offering this keeps women down.
3) It seems fictitious to say that women aren't different. Faigen argues that expecting women to do the nurturing of the child (by offering maternity leave) keeps men from having to commit to their share of the parenting. I'm all for men doing their part (in fact, some paternity leave would be nice) but in reality, women's burden of childcare is biologically heavier. We're the ones who are pregnant, we're the ones that nurse. Faigan's answer to this is that "nursing mothers might be an exception: perhaps the breast pump is the answer". Again, nothing against pumping (for other people, anyway), but pumping is sort of a fiction, too. Does that mean that we need technology to make our society equal? That unless women use some sort of technological intervention, there's no way to make their burden less onerous? The reality is that women have a 10-12 hour a day burden after their child is born for the first few months. A pump helps, but only somewhat: it means you don't have to be physically there for all the feedings, but you still have to 'nurse' the machine. So is that really the answer? And what about those women (myself included) that don't want to leave their children?
4) This is kind of related. It strikes me that the 'equality' answer is to neuter everyone and treat everyone as kind of replacable cogs. Or, really, to neuter women and make them into pretend men. We aren't pretend men. Our reproductive systems are far more complicated, and the full range of our bodies' possibility far wider. Not that you must be a mom to be a 'real' woman (no sirree!) but the possibility of it is only ours. So to say that you have to treat everyone the same: as if there was no pregnancy, no breastfeeding, is to strip us of part of our humanity. Why must we pretend that part of ourselves doesn't exist in order to get equal treatment?
Okay, that's enough ranting for the day. Dyami wants to go to bed, and I should probably talk to him some before we close our eyes.
Anyway, as many books do, it started out fine, chronicling Feigan's time in law school, suffering under blatant sexism. Then it sort of got less interesting as the book went on (lots of name-dropping, less personal connection, I think). What made me think, though, was one of the final chapters, where she discusses two types of feminism: difference and equality feminism.
Feigan is definitely an equality feminist. I think I'm a difference feminist.
She discusses pregnancy leave and various Supreme Court cases and their effects on women. Apparently, some people (difference feminists) advocate for specific pregnancy leave, while others (equality feminists) want pregnancy to be covered by disability leave (those of you who know more about this than me, forgive me if I'm getting it wrong). By making a special case of women and pregnancy, equality feminists argue, you make it easier to discriminate against women. Better to treat women absolutely equal--no special priviledges or categories--and avoid that.
While to some extent I understand the rationale behind this argument, it is one of the reasons I've decided not to be a feminist all of these years. And after actually being pregnant and nursing, I have even more of a problem with it. Here's why.
1) Why categorize pregnancy as sickness or disability? This is a perfectly normal state of humanity. Perhaps it's just semantic; pregnancy certainly disables women in that while pregnancy we aren't able to do certain things, like drink, or lift heavy objects, or ride mechanical bulls. But on the other hand, it kind of rubs me the wrong way, like having to be a "patient" at a doctor's office for prenatal visits (when you're not sick at all). Our whole society--doctors, employers--feminists--seem to view pregnancy as a problem, a disease, something out of the ordinary. But what could be more normal than procreation?
2) Don't a lot of European countries (which are arguably more progressive on womens rights issues than ours) offer specifically maternity leave? I could be wrong, but it doesn't seem that offering this keeps women down.
3) It seems fictitious to say that women aren't different. Faigen argues that expecting women to do the nurturing of the child (by offering maternity leave) keeps men from having to commit to their share of the parenting. I'm all for men doing their part (in fact, some paternity leave would be nice) but in reality, women's burden of childcare is biologically heavier. We're the ones who are pregnant, we're the ones that nurse. Faigan's answer to this is that "nursing mothers might be an exception: perhaps the breast pump is the answer". Again, nothing against pumping (for other people, anyway), but pumping is sort of a fiction, too. Does that mean that we need technology to make our society equal? That unless women use some sort of technological intervention, there's no way to make their burden less onerous? The reality is that women have a 10-12 hour a day burden after their child is born for the first few months. A pump helps, but only somewhat: it means you don't have to be physically there for all the feedings, but you still have to 'nurse' the machine. So is that really the answer? And what about those women (myself included) that don't want to leave their children?
4) This is kind of related. It strikes me that the 'equality' answer is to neuter everyone and treat everyone as kind of replacable cogs. Or, really, to neuter women and make them into pretend men. We aren't pretend men. Our reproductive systems are far more complicated, and the full range of our bodies' possibility far wider. Not that you must be a mom to be a 'real' woman (no sirree!) but the possibility of it is only ours. So to say that you have to treat everyone the same: as if there was no pregnancy, no breastfeeding, is to strip us of part of our humanity. Why must we pretend that part of ourselves doesn't exist in order to get equal treatment?
Okay, that's enough ranting for the day. Dyami wants to go to bed, and I should probably talk to him some before we close our eyes.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
thinking
My friend Hack Mommy was kind enough to name me a Thinking Blogger. Her blog is literate and funny and a little sassy, so I was Quite Pleased by the accolade.
Except Melissa wants me to tag other people. But I only know two bloggers personally. I will admit that I've started following some links to blogs and being entertained by them (Dear Lord! More reading to distract me, along with Dear Abby?) but I feel embarrassed tagging people I've not been formally introduced to, and who have been blogging for years, and have actual readers and such.
But I like The Lactivist. She's thoughtful, and sassy about being a brave breastfeeder, and she doesn't take any crap! If you're reading this, Lactivist, you are nominated! Congratulations! Think!
Melissa threatened to post a book review for her 'thinking nomination' post, but didn't actually do it, so I will do it for her.
I read The Feminine Mystique last week, and was quite influenced. A few notes:
Okay, hope I've made you all think today. Now I've got to go read Dear Abby. And some blogs.
Except Melissa wants me to tag other people. But I only know two bloggers personally. I will admit that I've started following some links to blogs and being entertained by them (Dear Lord! More reading to distract me, along with Dear Abby?) but I feel embarrassed tagging people I've not been formally introduced to, and who have been blogging for years, and have actual readers and such.
But I like The Lactivist. She's thoughtful, and sassy about being a brave breastfeeder, and she doesn't take any crap! If you're reading this, Lactivist, you are nominated! Congratulations! Think!
Melissa threatened to post a book review for her 'thinking nomination' post, but didn't actually do it, so I will do it for her.
I read The Feminine Mystique last week, and was quite influenced. A few notes:
- My mom was a home economics major when the book came out, and it was required for a class. She said she and her classmates thought the book was radical. (When I read it, most of it seemed pretty straight-forward to me, like "well, of course."). This is one generation, people.
- Though I found most of the book compelling some of it seemed like overkill. Friedan goes into a lot of (fairly ridiculous) examples of how women are exploited or pandered to by magazines, "experts", advertising, etc. When I say ridiculous, I mean it's incredible that they're real. However, the amount of change in our culture means that they seemed kind of removed from reality for me, (for example: it's no longer okay to assert that women can get over their husband's affairs by dying their hair blonde). After the shock wore off, I couldn't identify with most of the examples. Happily, this means things have gotten better.
- Friedan asserts that children of working women do better (less neuroses, for example) than kids of traditional, mystique-style homemakers. While I don't completely disagree with her, (fulfilled moms are certainly better than bitter, bored ones), I think kids can lose out big-time if parents are more invested in careers than home. (This is equally true for men and women). I think my generation has gone more 'traditional' in their parenting choices because we lived through the surge of moms working, and realized that sometimes, it can really suck to have both parents plugged in to American corporate culture.
- To go along with that observation, I don't want to live a frantic, scheduled-to-the-max life. Two parents working forty hours a week seems too frantic to me. (Of course, I'm blessed to have the luxury of choosing). Not that that is what Friedan calls us to do, but I think it's what a lot of professional women live with.
- I read another book a while ago called The Two Income Trap. The authors point out that when families depend on two incomes to make car and mortgage payments, there's no way out of the hole if one spouse loses a job or becomes ill. And with so many families now having two incomes, our suburbs with good schools have experienced bidding wars on houses. So now even if you only wanted to live on one salary, it is increasingly hard to do so if you want your kids in a decent school.
Okay, hope I've made you all think today. Now I've got to go read Dear Abby. And some blogs.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
straw poll
So I've been doing an informal straw poll of friends to see if they think I'm crazy. Results are still pending, but no one has suggested stoning.
Yet.
I'm heartened!
I'm sure some of you more independent thinkers find it amusing that I survey friends to see if it's okay if I think differently. Whatever. It helps me sleep better.
Yesterday, we had dinner with my old roomie and her husband. Shoshana challenged God to find her a husband that was a charismatic and a feminist; she was a little taken aback when she met James. (She forgot to specify that he be taller than her. So she went barefoot at her wedding. Problem solved.) When they watch moves (Shosh prefers buddy comedies or action flicks) James is always appalled at the objectification of women that Shosh doesn't notice.
Anyway, I explained to them how I've arrived at thinking more about feminism and God and all those issues, and thought I'd share my explanation with you all. (The three of you! Huzzah!)
See, being a mom really made me realize for the first time that I'm a woman. That my life will be limited by being a mom for the next few years. (Sure, expanded in some ways, but also limited, as in: I want to go to the bathroom/eat/hang out with friends now. Whoops! The baby needs me!) And a lot of this is pure biology: ie; my body produces milk. Dyami's does not. End of story.
And because of some patriarchal experiences in college, I had this sneaking suspicion that God was male. Or at least very, very masculine. CS. Lewis' essay about how women can't image God like men didn't help.
And through all of this, motherhood has been the most intense spiritual discipline I've ever undertaken. And I've understood God's kind creative powers and sustaining power more than ever because I, myself, birthed a person and sustain her.
And I've been praying more (partially out of desperation, partially out of boredom, and partially out of a sincere desire to know God more--hey, one of three ain't bad).
So why, in the midst of a spiritual rebirth, did I feel less and less like God understood me? That I was included in His image? That he valued what I was going through?
That pesky masculinity thing. If God is more accurately imaged my men, then where am I? Does that mean men are godlike? If so, then aren't women inferior by definition?
I didn't want to think any of these things, but my brain kept going over them.
Now that I've researched these issues more (I'll give a full reading list soon) I don't feel so shut out from the Trinity. And I am reminded how much Jesus shattered the patriarchal assumptions of his age. And that God created me in His image, too. So take that, CS Lewis!
In some ways, I'm comforted. But in some ways, I'm profoundly uncomfortable. I liked my not-so-thought-out images of God that didn't challenge conventional wisdom (or my husband's opinion). I'm still searching, and know that I'm not likely to find definitive answers until I meet this God of mine when He comes again or I go to meet Him face to face. Then shall we know, even as we are known.
Yet.
I'm heartened!
I'm sure some of you more independent thinkers find it amusing that I survey friends to see if it's okay if I think differently. Whatever. It helps me sleep better.
Yesterday, we had dinner with my old roomie and her husband. Shoshana challenged God to find her a husband that was a charismatic and a feminist; she was a little taken aback when she met James. (She forgot to specify that he be taller than her. So she went barefoot at her wedding. Problem solved.) When they watch moves (Shosh prefers buddy comedies or action flicks) James is always appalled at the objectification of women that Shosh doesn't notice.
Anyway, I explained to them how I've arrived at thinking more about feminism and God and all those issues, and thought I'd share my explanation with you all. (The three of you! Huzzah!)
See, being a mom really made me realize for the first time that I'm a woman. That my life will be limited by being a mom for the next few years. (Sure, expanded in some ways, but also limited, as in: I want to go to the bathroom/eat/hang out with friends now. Whoops! The baby needs me!) And a lot of this is pure biology: ie; my body produces milk. Dyami's does not. End of story.
And because of some patriarchal experiences in college, I had this sneaking suspicion that God was male. Or at least very, very masculine. CS. Lewis' essay about how women can't image God like men didn't help.
And through all of this, motherhood has been the most intense spiritual discipline I've ever undertaken. And I've understood God's kind creative powers and sustaining power more than ever because I, myself, birthed a person and sustain her.
And I've been praying more (partially out of desperation, partially out of boredom, and partially out of a sincere desire to know God more--hey, one of three ain't bad).
So why, in the midst of a spiritual rebirth, did I feel less and less like God understood me? That I was included in His image? That he valued what I was going through?
That pesky masculinity thing. If God is more accurately imaged my men, then where am I? Does that mean men are godlike? If so, then aren't women inferior by definition?
I didn't want to think any of these things, but my brain kept going over them.
Now that I've researched these issues more (I'll give a full reading list soon) I don't feel so shut out from the Trinity. And I am reminded how much Jesus shattered the patriarchal assumptions of his age. And that God created me in His image, too. So take that, CS Lewis!
In some ways, I'm comforted. But in some ways, I'm profoundly uncomfortable. I liked my not-so-thought-out images of God that didn't challenge conventional wisdom (or my husband's opinion). I'm still searching, and know that I'm not likely to find definitive answers until I meet this God of mine when He comes again or I go to meet Him face to face. Then shall we know, even as we are known.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
heresy
So last night I prayed to Mother God in my head.
Actually, I called Her (gulp) Mommy.
To be honest, it felt awfully, awfully good. Like, suddenly, this light turned on in my head. I could look to God to tell me how to be a mother.
Not that a masculine pronoun should have stood in the way of God teaching me to parent. But to be honest, it kind of did, conceptually. And not that I wasn't asking God for help. But He didn't seem--available, somehow. Or (this is going to sound really bad) qualified.
So, I've been thinking a lot about heresy. I mean, if you're edging on the border of it, you think about it some.
Mostly, for me, heresy means What People Will Think. I have lots of little conversations in my head about WPWT. Especially when I'm putting my private thoughts out on a publicblog. (What a great idea, Heather!)
Ms. A stands in for all my non-Christian friends. She's wondering: what's the big deal, anyway? Why shouldn't you call God Mom? And why the heck would you stay in a faith that has problems with it?
Miss B. stands in for all of my more conservative Christian friends. She thinks it's a little suspect that I go to a church that not only ordains women, but used to have a woman as a head pastor. She has been worried about me, but never so much until now. The Bible never uses a feminine pronoun for God. Jesus doesn't call God Mother. So how can I? The Bible is the basis for our faith. If we don't take it seriously, we'll all end up shaving our heads and wearing purple robes. Or worse, spandex!
And sometimes I myself am Ms. A or Miss B. And to be honest, Dyami falls more in the Miss B category. (Though he's fine with ordained women).
When I was little, taking dance, I took both jazz and ballet. For years, I liked jazz best, but at about 12, I started taking ballet more seriously, and got really into it. So much so that in later years, when I tried taking jazz classes, I no longer could get the hang of the steps.
Bear with me: this actually relates.
See, ballet is codified. It's a dance that relies heavily on tradition. So the steps in ballet aren't really much different then the ones performed in the 18th century, in Russia. They even have the same names.
Whereas jazz kind of morphs. It owes a lot to ballet, but more to musical theater and Bob Fosse. And nowadays, probably even more to hip-hop. So the jazz I danced to Paula Abdul (so nasty) in the eighties would look kind of ridiculous now. (So would some of my costumes: bright orange taffeta with polka dots!)
Christianity is like ballet. It relies on authority. The Bible, of course. But also tradition, to help us interpret documents that stand at a cultural, temporal, and lingual remove of thousands of years. And the authority of our church leaders. And also social authority--the authority and opinions of our friends and families (and the inner voices that stand in for them).
In American culture, authority is made to be questioned (or sued). Not so much in Christianity. See, none of us wants to question so much that the dance we're doing bears no relation to the one danced by Jesus. Or Paul. (Or Aquinas or Luther or Wesley)
It's a fine line.
Now, the next issue all this raises (I'm already far out on a limb here, so I might as well inch further over and really risk pissing everyone off) is homosexuality. What gives with Christians getting so worked up about it? And if you start questioning the treatment or place of women, questioning the place of gays follows not too long after.
'Cause a lot of me really agrees with current popular opionion: it really sucks that gays seen as sinful for something that they don't choose (I don't think they do) and is such an integral part of their identity. And to not be accepted in church? To be told you are sinful just for being something?
See, this is where the Bible really gets us into trouble, because unlike with women, there isn't a lot of wiggle room. No depictions of gays that are positive. No gray areas, or problems with translations. No interpretive loopholes.
I heard a pastor of a Presbyterian church in San Francisco speak about this topic. His church has a lot of gay members (big surprise), and he embraces them, and respects them, and I believe they serve in leadership, but he tells them that, much as he'd like to think differently, he does not think it's a lifestyle condoned by God. Because it just ain't in the Bible.
This pains me, too. Because if this whole femininity problem bothers me, being gay and trying to find your place in the church must just be unbearable.
But what are the alternatives? Chuck the Bible and not be Christians anymore? Chuck our (admittedly nuanced) dependence on its authority?
Oh, dear Lord. Help us to understand.
Actually, I called Her (gulp) Mommy.
To be honest, it felt awfully, awfully good. Like, suddenly, this light turned on in my head. I could look to God to tell me how to be a mother.
Not that a masculine pronoun should have stood in the way of God teaching me to parent. But to be honest, it kind of did, conceptually. And not that I wasn't asking God for help. But He didn't seem--available, somehow. Or (this is going to sound really bad) qualified.
So, I've been thinking a lot about heresy. I mean, if you're edging on the border of it, you think about it some.
Mostly, for me, heresy means What People Will Think. I have lots of little conversations in my head about WPWT. Especially when I'm putting my private thoughts out on a publicblog. (What a great idea, Heather!)
Ms. A stands in for all my non-Christian friends. She's wondering: what's the big deal, anyway? Why shouldn't you call God Mom? And why the heck would you stay in a faith that has problems with it?
Miss B. stands in for all of my more conservative Christian friends. She thinks it's a little suspect that I go to a church that not only ordains women, but used to have a woman as a head pastor. She has been worried about me, but never so much until now. The Bible never uses a feminine pronoun for God. Jesus doesn't call God Mother. So how can I? The Bible is the basis for our faith. If we don't take it seriously, we'll all end up shaving our heads and wearing purple robes. Or worse, spandex!
And sometimes I myself am Ms. A or Miss B. And to be honest, Dyami falls more in the Miss B category. (Though he's fine with ordained women).
When I was little, taking dance, I took both jazz and ballet. For years, I liked jazz best, but at about 12, I started taking ballet more seriously, and got really into it. So much so that in later years, when I tried taking jazz classes, I no longer could get the hang of the steps.
Bear with me: this actually relates.
See, ballet is codified. It's a dance that relies heavily on tradition. So the steps in ballet aren't really much different then the ones performed in the 18th century, in Russia. They even have the same names.
Whereas jazz kind of morphs. It owes a lot to ballet, but more to musical theater and Bob Fosse. And nowadays, probably even more to hip-hop. So the jazz I danced to Paula Abdul (so nasty) in the eighties would look kind of ridiculous now. (So would some of my costumes: bright orange taffeta with polka dots!)
Christianity is like ballet. It relies on authority. The Bible, of course. But also tradition, to help us interpret documents that stand at a cultural, temporal, and lingual remove of thousands of years. And the authority of our church leaders. And also social authority--the authority and opinions of our friends and families (and the inner voices that stand in for them).
In American culture, authority is made to be questioned (or sued). Not so much in Christianity. See, none of us wants to question so much that the dance we're doing bears no relation to the one danced by Jesus. Or Paul. (Or Aquinas or Luther or Wesley)
It's a fine line.
Now, the next issue all this raises (I'm already far out on a limb here, so I might as well inch further over and really risk pissing everyone off) is homosexuality. What gives with Christians getting so worked up about it? And if you start questioning the treatment or place of women, questioning the place of gays follows not too long after.
'Cause a lot of me really agrees with current popular opionion: it really sucks that gays seen as sinful for something that they don't choose (I don't think they do) and is such an integral part of their identity. And to not be accepted in church? To be told you are sinful just for being something?
See, this is where the Bible really gets us into trouble, because unlike with women, there isn't a lot of wiggle room. No depictions of gays that are positive. No gray areas, or problems with translations. No interpretive loopholes.
I heard a pastor of a Presbyterian church in San Francisco speak about this topic. His church has a lot of gay members (big surprise), and he embraces them, and respects them, and I believe they serve in leadership, but he tells them that, much as he'd like to think differently, he does not think it's a lifestyle condoned by God. Because it just ain't in the Bible.
This pains me, too. Because if this whole femininity problem bothers me, being gay and trying to find your place in the church must just be unbearable.
But what are the alternatives? Chuck the Bible and not be Christians anymore? Chuck our (admittedly nuanced) dependence on its authority?
Oh, dear Lord. Help us to understand.
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