#RendTheHeavens Day 5: Stained

The Sins of the Daughters of Zion

My people—children are their oppressors, and women rule over them. (Isaiah 3:12)

"I think putting a wife to work is a very dangerous thing." 

"Women in military: bad idea." 

“That’s why there are some unintended consequences of the women’s liberation movement. In fact, the women that would lead this country would be pro-family, they would have husbands, they would love their children. They wouldn’t be a bunch of dykes that came from the Seven Sisters schools up in New England." 

"For years we have gotten the message from the popular mouthpieces of culture that you can have it all: career, kids, and a two-car garage." 

"I fear my wife more than I fear voters." 

“I would never buy my wife any decent jewels or pictures. Why give her negotiable assets?” 

"And then there is the calculating woman who refuses to sign the prenuptial agreement because she is expecting to take advantage of the poor, unsuspecting sucker she’s got in her grasp." 

"You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever."

Because the daughters of Zion are haughty and walk with outstretched necks, glancing wantonly with their eyes, mincing along as they go, tinkling with their feet; the Lord will afflict with scabs the heads of the daughters of Zion, and the Lord will lay bare their secret parts. (3:16-17)

"It doesn't really matter as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." 

"I’m going to get the bathing suits to be smaller and the heels to be higher." 

"You could have gotten her, right? You could have nailed her?" "I think I could have." 

"All of the women flirted with me - consciously or unconsciously." 

"When women see me, they’ll walk up, and they’ll flip their top, and they’ll flip their panties.” 

“If she weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her.” 

“It must be a pretty picture. You dropping to your knee." 

"You'd fuck her, wouldn't you? I'd fuck her. C'mon, wouldn't you?" 

"And when you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Whatever you want. Grab them by the pussy."

In that day the Lord will take away the finery of the anklets, the headbands, and the crescents; the pendants, the bracelets, and the scarfs; the headdresses, the armlets, the sashes, the perfume boxes, and the amulets; the signet rings and nose rings; the festal robes, the mantles, the cloaks, and the handbags; the garments of gauze, the linen garments, the turbans, and the veils. Instead of perfume, there will be a stench; and instead of a sash, a rope; and instead of well-set hair, baldness; and instead of a rich robe, a binding of sackcloth; instead of beauty, shame. (3:18-24)

“I really understand beauty. I mean I own a lot of different things. I do understand beauty, and she's not." 

"Look at her - she's a slob. She's a very unattractive person both inside and out." 

"This is the face of a dog!" 

"Sadly, she's no longer a 10." 

"She's a fat pig, with a fat ugly face." 

"I call her Miss Piggy - she's an eating machine." 

"Look at that face. Would anyone vote for that?" 

"She doesn't have the look. She doesn't have the stamina."

"And when she walked in front of me, believe me, I wasn't impressed." 

Seven women shall take hold of one man in that day, saying, “We will eat our own bread and wear our own clothes; just let us be called by your name; take away our disgrace.” (4:1)

"And they expect us to believe that her ingenuity and courage were enough to carry her to military success on an equal basis with her cloddish cohort." 

"I fully understand why her husband left her for a man - he made a good decision." 

"If she can't satisfy her husband, what makes her think she can satisfy America?" 

"There has to be some form of punishment." 

"I'm going to ram it down her fucking throat."

"You have to treat 'em like shit." 

Whoever is left in Zion and remains in Jerusalem will be called holy [...] once the Lord has washed away the filth of the daughters of Zion and cleansed the bloodstains of Jerusalem from its midst by a spirit of judgment and by a spirit of burning. (4:3-4)

"Did I say that? Excuse me."

#RendTheHeavens Day 4: Shut.Up.

And he will send out his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.

-Matthew 24:31

these days are full of angry noise

but today i felt it inside my body
head screaming

a pulsing crescendo as the day went on
and suddenly my gut was tumbling

then hovering, tenuously

toes over the edge

ready to leap

i walked it back slowly, and there was a respite

but now this creature inside me roars

so loud i can’t hear myself think
i have to stop

i accomplished nothing today
there was so much i wanted to do
but some days my body is not mine
it belongs to the Progesterone God

who i will now address directly:
if you are just the trumpeter

and you answer to someone higher

tell your boss, i hear ye
i’m all ears
just keep the lights out when you come
speak softly
and don’t put any pressure on my belly

thanks

p.s. looks like i’ll be wearing sweatpants for the apocalypse

#RendTheHeavens Day 3: Fr(act)ured

I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.

-Genesis 9:15

Today, the waters pour down. But it seems right for the world to be gray. Misery loves company, as the saying goes. The heavens weep as I have been, on and off, for weeks.

At least it's helping to put out the fires that are ravaging the Great Smoky Mountains, where, on this day eight years ago, I was closing in on the last 80 miles of my thru-hike. Frost nipped and famished, I felt like a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, trudging over hill and dale (and through many a gale) on a quest to save Middle Earth.

This earth, you see, is part of us, and we of her. We are knit of the same fabric. Our pain is one pain. We share this hurt.

And even on the days when no rainbow is visible, we must remember the covenant. We may have to get through Mordor to get there, but in time, the world will be made new.

Visitors, Please Take Notice

I had a migraine today, so my productivity was paralyzed and my achy brain made sleep impossible. I decided to go for a walk around the little pond by my house. It’s an urban park, with a very well-used 1.5 mile path that I’ve walked and run dozens of times. Something about my damaged head made this walk different though.

About ten minutes into my loop, I looked up at a park sign to see the words “Visitors Please Take Notice,” which topped a list of rules about not drinking alcohol, cleaning up after your dog, and refraining from ice skating. Instead of my usual response to such a list - “Humph! No fun allowed!” - I dwelt instead on the exhortation to take notice. Without really intending to, I opened my eyes. I started to observe what was around me rather than what was happening in my own head - something, as it turns out, that I rarely do.

The first thing I noticed was a tree with initials carved all up its trunk. I’m not generally a fan of the mutilation of nature, but what was neat in this case was that people had clearly climbed all the way to the top of this not-insignificant tree to leave their mark. It spoke of daring, rebellious spirits. It made me wonder if I’d ever walked by this tree before, too engrossed in myself to look up, while AKD or MEM worked quietly away in the branches above.

The people of the pond were fun to notice too. They were all different colors and all different ages. Some wore headphones, others were deep in conversation. I heard multiple accents and languages. There were serious athletes, casual exercisers, and folks who’d come straight from the office. There were lots of adorable dogs that I had to tell myself not to pet, and I ached for a pup of my own.

I felt the air on my skin - unseasonably cool for August, yet quite humid. People weren’t really sure how to dress for such an odd combination. The trees seemed confused, too: sycamores had begun dropping their leaves in droves, and here and there apples and ash had brown and yellow tips. Yet elsewhere summer still held on in deep greens and occasional blooms. Ducks waded in the shallows with heads tucked under wing. Were they sleeping? Or subtly grooming?

Fishermen sat meditative in hidden coves, one with a book folded open beside him on a log. One man had a female companion who sat watching him from a lawn chair, eating Pringles. The only woman I saw fishing was the mother of a family, Spanish speaking, all five of whom had lines in the water. They could have been at it for fun, for dinner, or both.

I almost stepped in horse dung, then goose dung - but most people seemed to be adhering to the edict to clean up after their dogs. I was stopped in my tracks at the halfway point of the loop by the sight of a giant bird silhouetted atop the single tree on a tiny island in the pond. Then I realized there were four of them, all very still, presiding so nobly over the scene that I felt immediately humbled. I think they were cormorants - the “ravens of the sea” - and it was clear that they too were in the business of noticing.

It was around this point - as a wet terrier scurried back to his owner with a big stick in his teeth - that I started to take notice of what was not present at the pond. For one thing, there was virtually no trash. I did see a single discarded Pepsi can and carried it to the nearest bin. And apart from the runners with headphones, there was no technology. When I took out my phone to thumb a few notes on my observances, I felt a pang of guilt. This, it seemed, was a sacred space. I suspect that it wasn’t even entirely intentional, but here, for one brief window of the hectic weekday, my fellow city dwellers had put their devices aside in favor of experiencing the natural world and interacting with live people. A little ounce of my hope in humanity was restored.

The sense that I was living in a micro urban utopia became almost comical when I passed a man sitting on a rock reading what looked like poetry. To top it off, I counted at least three visibly mixed-race couples, which was especially heartening when the country’s unresolved racial tensions were at the forefront of the recent news. Maybe their hand-holding and romantic picnicking shouldn’t have seemed that unique, but I was grateful for it all the same.

As I came to the end of my loop, I took stock: 

One bizarre-looking muscovy duck that reminded me of a cross between a goose and a chicken.  

Two white seagulls on a freshwater holiday.  

Three legitimate fanny packs. 

Only a distant echo of pain left in my head, and a strong conviction that I should go on walks like this more often.

The Next Elegant Step

Usually, all we get is a glimmer. A story we read or someone we briefly met. A curiosity. A meek voice inside, whispering. It's up to us to hammer out the rest.

                                       -Po Bronson, What Should I Do With My Life?

I’m at a crossroads in life. One of those times when you are stopped in your tracks and find yourself suddenly without direction. The road where you came from is not an option - that much you know for sure. There are plenty of side roads, and it’s possible that they could loop back to where you need to go, but they feel like escapes. Distractions. The trouble is that the road ahead - your only real way forward - has not been constructed yet.  There may be a few trampled weeds hinting at the shadow of a path, but for the most part, you’re on your own. If you want to get where you’re going, you’re going to have to build it from scratch. And that is a paralyzing thought.

I don’t believe we have to be one thing when we grow up, but that doesn’t make being thirty and directionless any easier. I didn’t go to school for medicine, or law, or engineering, which in many ways leaves me a lot of freedom. I’m not locked in - I could be a teacher one day, a food critic the next. I could open a yoga studio or learn the art of sportscasting or sell insurance. It’s not only the commitment that I’m afraid of, though. I’m afraid of wasting time. I’m afraid of choosing poorly. I’m afraid, above all, that I won’t find work that is meaningful, that is me, and that is making the world a better place.

I know I am asking a lot. I’ve always been a perfectionist. But I have this feeling that I’m on the cusp of something. I’m tired of taking the side roads and I want to forage ahead into the unknown. I want to do the thing that is the hardest to do. The trouble is, how do I do it when I don’t know what it is? In Po Bronson’s What Should I Do With My Life?, he observes that of the hundreds of people he interviewed, those who had succeeded in finding a calling often had nothing more than an unquenchable hunger to go on: "The call was muffled and vague at first. That blank urge is the call.” The trick is, you have to let that blank urge take you somewhere. Anywhere. You have to take what a friend of mine recently referred to as the Next Elegant Step.

All the self-help books on this topic - and trust me, I’ve read a lot of them - say the same thing: you need to stop reflecting and start acting. They argue, rather ironically, that it’s time to put down the books, stop taking personality tests and making lists and weighing pros and cons and imagining your ideal life - and time to jump out there and try something. It’s like dating: you’re not going to meet the perfect mate just by listing qualities you’re looking for on multi-colored sticky notes and rearranging them endlessly while holed-up in your apartment. You’ve got to take a leap of faith, swallow a heaping spoonful of vulnerability, and go meet real people in the real touch-taste-see-hear-smell world. Why is that so unbelievably scary?

I don’t know, but it is.

Today I was chatting with an acquaintance after church and happened to let it slip that I'm unhappy in my job, and ultimately, my field. She asked a question that I usually dread: "If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?" This time, I took a deep breath, put aside my embarrassment about lofty, unattainable dreams, and stumbled through an outline of what I like to call my Evil Plan - that glimmer of a maybe-sort-of-ill-formed-idea in the back of my mind. This girl that I barely knew did not even flinch. She listened, asked clarifying questions, and commented that the skills from my current job would really come in handy in the development of this next one. She didn't provide some magical lead, or offer me a million dollars in seed money, or help me understand my own desires any better, but somehow the conversation was part of a rite of passage for me.

Like the plot of a yet-unwritten novel, I have been afraid to spoil the ending by leaking any hint of my Evil Plan to anyone outside of my personal journal. But that has also allowed me to get away with ignoring it - with watching the months float by in silent paralysis. Now I am learning that speaking my dreams aloud - even when they are foggy and silly-seeming - gives them flesh. By letting people in on my secret, I allow them to do two things: I empower them to hold me accountable, and I give them the opportunity to help me. Neither of these is comfortable. They are, in many ways, the hardest thing.

And for me, that is proof enough that I have begun to take my next elegant step.

All Souls' Day

There's something about a warm wind

The air full of leaves

Torn down from the trees, swept up from the ground

Unwilling to settle into rest

They sing like a Shakespearean chorus

Preludes in a minor key

Foretelling fates but leaving the stories themselves

Suspended: waiting to be acted

But also not quite written

And what looks like a gray November morning

Is stirring with the scent of not yet

I Miss You, Mom

Kitty and I were freshman roommates at Middlebury College. Like your family, your freshman roommate is someone you have to live with that you didn’t get to pick. I’m not going to lie - I did start out with some major reservations about our relationship. Between her southern heritage, tight relationship with her mom, different tastes in food and music, different sleep schedule, and quirky Aspergerisms, I didn’t know if we were going to click. Over the course of the year, though, we started to discover an array of things we both loved: Veggie Tales, making fun of French lit, dancing, eating sweets, writing papers to Enya songs, and talking about God and boys. Not many freshman roommates become lifelong friends, but we did.

Eleven years ago today, it was a gorgeous spring day on the Middlebury campus, and I was out on the quad “studying for finals” when Kitty came and fetched me to help her with some errand or other. We then went on a wild goose chase all over campus and town and finally ended up back at our dorm room an hour or so later. When I opened the door, the tiny room was filled to the brim with about 20 of our friends, who yelled “Surprise!,” sang “Happy Birthday,” placed a sombrero on my head, and presented me with a delectable cake. Kitty had been stressed that a million things had gone wrong: people had leaked the surprise, the cake almost didn’t work...when all along I was totally clueless and suspected nothing. I wish Kitty was here to tell the story herself, because she has a way better memory and is a much better storyteller than I am, but the day was emblematic of the selfless, silly, loving friend that she was. We finished off the celebrations with a birthday parade - one of my family’s traditions - that involves blasting “The Stars and Stripes Forever” and marching around with ad-hoc instruments as the birthday honoree leads the way. Let’s just say we got a lot of interesting looks.

That was my 19th birthday, so if you’ve done the math, that means I’m turning 30 today. It’s kinda stressful, and I do feel old and unaccomplished - but more than anything, I feel lucky. It will never ever be fair that Kitty didn’t get to turn 30. We can talk about how much she did and all the ways she touched us in the time we had with her, but she would have kept doing all those things and touching us in even more ways if we had her for a hundred more years. There would be even more embarrassing stories and hilarious photos and languages she picked up and books she wrote. I promise I will do my best to live fully and give thanks for the blessings that I have, but I will always miss you, Mom (we called each other Mom). I look forward to you making me blush the moment we meet again.