three minutes

Opening my notebook tonight, planning to jot some things down for book club (Mere Christianity, by CS Lewis), I came across some other words I'd worked on a while ago. I remembered at the time being frustrated and disappointed with them, but could not recall whether I had ever shared them. At a meeting, an 'assignment' was given to write up a 3-minute version of our own faith story. I know I never delivered it at the next meeting, but thought I might have posted it. Poking around my blog posts to see, I learned quite a bit about myself. Earlier this evening, I had asked for some clarity in pinpointing a question or two I need to ask. The posts helped a bit.

Anyway, the words. The request was for three minutes on my faith journey, a conversion story. I found a post about my frustration with it (the elusive three). Here is what I finished with. (You could say, where I gave up.) Today, I find it to be spot on in describing where I'd been!

At one time, I thought faith was something we "got," probably at birth. Either we had it or we didn't. And if that was the case, I was very blessed, inheriting faithful attitudes from my parents and grandparents, and attending Catholic school for 8 years.

In reality, I was a faith trust fund brat, never learning about or internalizing what I was exposed to. Never learning how things worked--mostly because I was afraid asking questions would make me sound dumb. I squandered my faith by petitioning all the time, thanking occasionally, and rarely making any real effort.

One day, in the middle of a personal crisis, I realized I was down to my last faith dollar--and I really needed help. I took that last dollar, and told God I was giving it to him. I had nothing to lose. Thy will be done. His will. And I breathed and I laughed, and he told me to keep the dollar and invest it.

I prayed; for the first time I really prayed. I spoke, I listened. I laughed, and I began to ask questions; to look for answers. I started to get personal with God, to think of Jesus as a friend, to remember that the Holy Spirit was in me.

It's not always easy. I'm not always the most attentive friend.* But every day I start fresh, looking toward God, knowing that Jesus is the best kind of friend: the kind that is always looking out for me, always ready to listen, always offering a hand to guide me. Prayer and learning are my best investments in faith. I still have tons of questions, and some of them have answers someone else can give me. Quite a few, the ones that offer the most in return, are the ones that require deeper searching--in my heart, walking with the Lord. And I've never felt so rich.

*I forget. I get stuck. I get scared.

you may not know

I finally managed to come up with 10.....

1. I really miss wearing contacts.

2. My glasses are always filthy -- from tears on the inside of them, and from who knows what on the outside.

3. I've never needed a passport. And that makes me a little bit sad.

4. When Dad died, I was in the middle of choreographing a dance for my grandmother. I promised at his funeral to make one for him, but never did. All of it was in me, and I still watch it in my head, sometimes.

5. I used to want a tattoo. The argument with myself over visible vs hidden got to be unwinable, so it'll likely never happen.

6. I'm still trying to figure out what else I want to be when I grow up--I'm closer, but still not there.

7. In high school, I wanted to major in International Law and Languages, and work at the UN. My guidance counselor talked me out of that, and every one of my dream jobs. My favorite class at college was Hospitality Law. Go figure!

8. Zip lines are my favorite way to fly.

9. Favorite place I have ever been is Hawaii. Arizona is a close second. St George Island, Florida, is third.

10. My only real phobia is auditioning, which is related to being talked out of dream jobs when I was 17.

wondering why

On Thursday, my husband wore a pink polo to work. Pink looks good on him--he has the right skin tone for it--and this particular polo is cut well, and flatters him. (I am not a fan of polo shirts in general , but that is another topic for another time, perhaps. This one looks good on him, and that's what matters to this story.) Whenever he wears this shirt, his eyes and smile have an extra light.

Why mention it? Because at the end of the day, he mentioned that when he wears that shirt, he gets many comments. All of them questioning his motivation. "Why are you wearing pink today?" "Feeling exceptionally secure in your masculinity today?" "Did your wife buy that for you?" And the ever popular, "Why would you want to wear that?" For the sake of clarification, and because now you may also be wondering, I rarely buy clothing for my husband. Heck, I rarely buy clothing for myself! I do not like shopping for clothes, and both of us are particularly hard to fit. I was, however, with him when he bought this particular shirt, and I believe all I had to say about the purchase was a reminder about my aforementioned dislike of polos in general. Also, if you take a look at my husband, and have a conversation with him, you will discover that not much affects his masculinity. (His name, Guy, fits him like no one else I've ever met!)

Why did he wear the pink shirt? He likes it, plain and simple. It's also comfortable, well made, and fits and suits him. It does happen to have a breast cancer ribbon embroidered on it, but that isn't even why he bought it. It was on the sale rack, and fit the criteria in the last sentence. (That was one of the comments he heard, "Well, it is for breast cancer, so I guess it's okay.") My question is, why do people feel the compulsion to comment on it in so personal a way? He's a New England sports fan in Central PA--Steelers country--and will get questions and good-natured jabs when he wears shirts and caps representing "his" teams, but none are personal, questioning his very being. Those questions are general and global, with the most personal being along the lines of "How come you like New England/Boston?" (His accent is now mostly imperceptible to most of his friends and co-workers.)

Telling me about his day, he said that it seemed that everyone had an opinion on his shirt, and the opinions were quite polarized. Everyone either loved it or hated it; no comments in between. I found myself wondering--are there any colors that a woman might wear that would cause that kind of response? Is there any other color that would elicit that kind of strong response? And why would the fact that "I would never wear that color" make it okay to judge someone else wearing it?

I have, for myself, a rule about wearing colors that are close to my skin tone. I avoid it when going out in public. No nude to tan shirts for me, or certain shades of yellow, cream, grey, and even pink, but I would never consider saying "Why on earth are you wearing that shirt that blend in with your skin and makes you look like you're not wearing anything? You must be feeling very secure in your skin tone." Nor would I say, "Why are you wearing a polo? You look like everyone else." Mostly because I recognize these aversions as my own personal quirks, not anything I feel compelled, or even able to express vocally. That said, I have offered fashion advice to our sons to avoid colors that blend into their skin, particularly on bathing suits. And I have been known to mention to my family, out of earshot of the wearer, and when the wearer is someone I do not know, that I could not wear that [shirt or dress] that blends into my skin. I don't mention anything at all about polos. They all seem to like them.

Why is pink -- or rose, salmon, shrimp, coral, or any other variation -- on a man so controversial that people, both male and female, find it necessary to point it out? "You're wearing a pink shirt." I just don't get it.

progress

This past week of Lent has been the most challenging for me. While the weeks prior have had their own challenges, this week was filled with additional interruptions of various sorts. When I realized I had missed a day, and was on the verge of missing a second, my first inclination was to justify by telling myself that I had done something else, made some other sacrifice that would even out my original promises. The difference this year, is that I realized how futile the justification truly is. I can rationalize all I want, but the fact is, I made the promises to God; personally and privately, to be sure, yet a vow, nonetheless. In almost the same moment that I tried to excuse myself, I was filled with the understanding that I could start again, then and there, and get back on track.

As I'd hoped, my Lenten sacrifice feels far less so, and is becoming a habit that I enjoy, and that brings some peace to my day, and my heart. I'm imperfect, and will forever struggle to keep up with my new good habit. For reasons I have yet to understand, good habits are harder to continue than bad habits. Or, put more simply, good habits are easier to break than bad habits! Goodness is quieter, less noticeable. Why is that? Goodness brings more of a sense of well-being.

Why does temptation draw us in so?

thinking caps

I have words inside that I cannot express aloud. Some are angry, frustrated; others taste acidic at the moment. Most will not understand them, even if I do express them, and too many will judge based upon them. When the words themselves are not cutting my soul so much, I am confident that I will be able to present them in a way that will bring illumination, clarity, vision. Until then, if you speak to me, and are met with silence, disapproval, or even a slight stare followed by a view of my back, do not think that I am giving up, by any means, or that I will ever stop fighting your small-minded simpleness.

Suffice it to say that if you are going to focus on something other than the pertinent facts, I'm going to lose some respect for you. You don't even know that you are hitting close to home here, and you likely never will. Think about your words, your views, your judgements, and consider: where would I be? The answer will probably surprise you. It did me. And yet, where I am, I am more proud of myself than I have ever been in my life. I have, because I stayed focused on the facts, come out on top.

Think before you judge. Think before you laugh. And when you step outside yourself, you might just notice that someone else has something valid and valuable to share.


*I wrote this a few weeks ago, after hearing a news story that really ticked me off. (the contenet of the story is really not important) Thinking it too harsh or ugly to publish, I dropped it into my Drafts folder. Opening it tonight, I realize that all it is, is true. Take it as you will; but take something from it.

speed post

Life's been crazy, with no time to sit, and now there are cookies in the oven. The words need to get out somehow, so a stream of consciousness list is what we get. Here goes.....

This kind of cool weather has me in heaven, although it is kind of a drag when working at a pool.

Don't do something stupid because others do. It only makes you look stupid.

I'm proud when I find out my kid did not do something stupid.

A bully is a bully, no matter how popular s/he happens to be.

Don't get on the good side of the bullies just to stay out of their way. They will still feed on you.

Weren't we just pregnant together???

I can't believe it's over!/Thank God it's over!!

Oh, how I miss those days when I could do something stupid and say it was because someone else was going to do it, too. So I looked stupid once in a while.....at least it was never something STUPID!!

I am your mother.

Bullies exist in every age group. I was bullied as a kid. I was bullied in college. I have been bullied as an adult. I've stood up to bullies more as I've gotten older, but they still make me cry. (should probably go on a Post Secret postcard, but there you have it.)

I am not your mother. Leave me out of it.

My boys make me so proud. Each and every day, and I wish I could make them really understand that.

Time's up.

why am I here?

The other day, I wrote a note. Just a little note that got to the heart of an ongoing search for self. Some notes are better than others, and some bear sharing. Posting the note on my Facebook page brought a number of comments, all of which dug deeper into who I am finding that I am. From that discussion came the suggestion that I blog. I'll give it a try.....

Who I am is an ongoing search, and I like it that way! In many ways, I am the same person I was before--whenever and whichever "before" one might remember. But in many more, very important ways, I am evolving, changing, growing continuously. Naming this blog nearly stumped me! To sound real, without being trite; to reflect me, without giving too much away--these were the challenges....So, why did I choose "clarity and vision" anyway? As I chuckle, the meaning is twofold-- first the obvious: I am, indeed, on a quest for clarity and vision in myself. I look inward as I experience, and try to determine how I can better myself and/or better understand myself. Life, to me, is learning, and I am my current subject. The second meaning is far less obscure: I wear glasses or contacts, and as I created the blog, I am wearing neither. Nothing is in focus, unless I lean in close to my screen, and slouch (almost painfully) in my chair. Silly me--I took my glasses off after my midday run, and don't remember where I put them! They will show up, or rather, I will come upon them before long.

In the meantime, I will continue my search for clarity and vision.....