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Skin and bone deep

I have now come clean to the people around me. They’ve known I’ve had a problem for a while now, but I’m able to admit it. I’ve said the words out loud and am now in the stage of asking for help.

I’m a fashion disaster.

First, I’m double-Libra which makes all fashion decisions paralyzing. Every Christmas my mother takes us shopping and my sister has to decide what pieces I want. There are a million beautiful things and choosing one feels impossible.

I’ve also chalked up my attire situation as good character – the ability to not care what I look like, to prance about with clothes that don’t match, fit well or – as one friend politely pointed out – are worn inside out. The fact that I paid little attention to my appearance meant I could focus on more “important” things – holy things, meaning-filled things, the stuff that makes life worth living. I was raised with a legacy of beauty that I haven’t always understood or appreciated.

I’ve always left beauty at the door to make more space for utility – is it useful? weighed more heavily on my Kon-Mari-ing. I would choose a builder’s grade faucet over something I loved to save a few dollars because my sensible nature elevated function over form.

Fashion, I told myself, would be a distraction, fluff and filler. To care about what things look like, rather than the nature of things, seemed a futile endeavor. After all, Jesus taught me that things aren’t what they seem.

There’s a salon nearby named Vanity. I enjoyed a fair amount of judgement upon this naming from a high perch; when I think about the meaning of being vain, it’s an illusion, being without the substance. Don’t you know vanity isn’t to be celebrated?

My early adulthood religious training instilled a strong fear of vanity. First and most obvious, the letters from Peter and Paul warning the ladies to not be tempting, to just cover it up already. And then my word-nerd self dug into the commandments and and admonishment against taking the Lord’s name in vain. Don’t you dare speak of (or for) the Lord without also having the Lord’s weight behind it. Don’t just say things that sound holy: be holy. Vanity is a grave sin, indeed.

Somewhere, in adulthood, largely by influence of Mary Oliver, I’ve questioned my inferred sense that God doesn’t bother with beauty. Have you seen the sunset from my front porch? What about the endless waves of an ocean? An old tree, roots dug deep in the middle of a bean field, refusing to be moved for the sake of efficient agri-business. Molly’s curls falling from her messy bun. The twinkle in Corri’s eye when she knows she’s funny. The Amalfi coast.

Why does God get to love beauty but I don’t?

Vanity is not the same is beauty. My fear of vanity seems to have created a practice of avoiding beauty.

Beauty magazine language of “fixing flaws” and “covering problem areas” make my toes curl. That’s vanity talking. That’s a lack of substance needing fluffed and covered. What if beauty, unlike vanity, isn’t about fluffing – or more accurately, slimming – and covering? What if beauty is about noticing? Highlighting? Celebrating?

I’m a little tired of looking terrible. At 40+ I’d like to leave my house wearing clothing without logos and team names. I want to spend a modicum of time putting myself together so that when I walk out into the world I know my worth – not because I’ve covered things up but because I spent the time framing, staging, honoring everything I’m made of. A fear of false image is fine, but the fact remains: I am made of substance. I’m here: in a body, with organs and bones and brains and matter.

I am not skin deep and neither is beauty.

Perhaps, I’ve acknowledged to myself recently, it’s time to appreciate beauty in all its forms, including my own.

Remix

what I want my daughter to know about relationships with men What I want my children to know about relationships with a partner

Originally posted January 16, 2011

The right guy person at the wrong time is still the wrong guy person.
You need to be “me” before you can be “we”.
You become like the people you are around the most; ask, “do I want to become more like him this person?”
If s/he loves you, s/he’ll never say “If you love me…”
People can change. Not all of them do.
Never use sex as a weapon or a tool.
It’s better to be alone and content than with someone and miserable.
If you have to lie to your family and friends about him a person, he’s the person is probably not a great catch.
It’s never okay to [be] hit.
There’s NOTHING wrong with you.
Sometimes, “like the other girls” shouldn’t be the goal.
Don’t look at his the resume, look at his the heart. Just because s/he meets “minimum qualifications” or “seems perfect for you” doesn’t mean you have to date.
Yes, sometimes “good guys” are boring. And keeping up with a rebel can be exhausting.
Most divorces result from arguments about money and sex. Watch carefully how s/he talks about, uses or values these things.
There’s a difference between “perfect” and “healthy”.
Learn how to fight fair.
Stand up for yourself. And learn to say “I’m sorry.”
If s/he doesn’t encourage (which can include challenging) your faith, you’ll probably end up bored or frustrated.

Edited to add:
You will change. So will they.
A person will never solve your problems.
You are your own hero.
It’s always okay to ask for help.

The Plight of the Elder

If you’re a person that pays attention to the stars and planets, you’ll know that when I say I’m a Libra (both sun and moon), it’s an indicator that fairness is a value to me. The sign of the libra is literally a scale.

I’m a 4 on the enneagram. And as we 4s tend to do, when I’m in a healthy place, I exhibit the best of the 1 in a search for justice and equality. When under stress and more reactive, I take on the worst of the 2: angry martyr.

As I move about in the world, this sense of what is right and just is like that classic angel/devil on my shoulder. I’m critical of when people don’t uphold their responsibility. I would say with disgust in my work life, How can that phone interviewer just dish their slots to their CRM? They were scheduled! Or, in public, How can that person just jump to the open cashier when clearly the next person in line should be the one to go first? Even though I teach my kids both verbally and with action that fair does not mean same I still tend to have a lot of sameness in my parenting approach.

Also, I’m an oldest child.

The parable of Luke 15 is a tough one for me. If you’re not fresh on your Biblical addresses, it’s the one where the younger son asks for an early inheritance and frolics about the cities until he runs out of money. He decides to come home and his dad celebrates his return.

The typical teaching on this story is about how much grace God will show us when we’re stupid. And it’s true. I’m down with this teaching, I find it compelling. Also, the idea of spending any money without conscious forethought and practical consideration puts me into a panic attack, let alone when it’s spent on things of only enjoyment rather than utility. So it’s not the “application point” I’m looking for.

So, no. I don’t identify with that part of the story. I like that part of God, but I’m not the classical screw-up who finds peace in such extreme forgiveness.

I’m much more the type who likes to earn her grace.

So when I read about the older son sulking in the barn while the party music is playing much too loud, thank you, I get it. He did the right thing. He took care of the family farm. He met and likely even exceeded expectations.

And he was brutally unhappy.

“…he answered his father, ‘Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!”

Luke 15:29-30

For a certain number of us people in the population, this attitude feels righteous. This story about doing the selfish thing and doing the right thing ends on its head. It makes you ask the question: why would I ever want to do the right thing?

And then I catch myself saying it out loud, and it reveals the problem. Why would I ever want to do the right thing? Gee, I don’t know Michele. Because it’s right? It’s good. It adds beauty and structure and it moves the world in the direction of wholeness.

Even when it’s hard. Even when others don’t. Even when it feels unfair, doing the right thing for the sake of goodness is still a good thing. Nearly all spiritual traditions agree that living a life focused on little efforts but big rewards is a shallow existence. I have a hunch that those of us with Effort and Reward ScorecardsTM are living the shallowest, even when we’re putting in more than “our share” of the efforts.

In the story, the father has a graceful response to the eldest, too.

“‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”

Luke 15:31

First: you are always with me.

The older son was so wrapped up in his sense of duty that he missed the delight of spending his life alongside his treasured father. He was caught up in the reward of doing good being more than the goodness itself.

Perhaps we miss joy because we’re bogged down by the duty and it suffocates the delight. We say that we “have to” and not that we “get to.” We begin to believe that other endeavors would be better because they seem easier, when really all endeavors require effort and energy and work. Wouldn’t it be best to put forth those efforts in the company of the ones you love most?

Then: all that is mine is yours.

Baked into this passage is a shift in perspective from scarcity to abundance. It begins with dividing an inheritance, but what it’s really about is favor and love. If you love him this much to forgive such ignorance, will there be enough for me? You already gave him his half, are you going to give him mine? How can we both fit into your heart?

As a mother of many, I know that your heart doesn’t divide with more children, it multiplies. Loving one child doesn’t decrease the love for another. Love isn’t a fresh peach pie which needs divided into slivers and doled out based upon who gets there first or who worked the hardest.

But in a world that asks you to produce, perform and perfect, hustling for worthiness, that simply doesn’t make sense. As an oldest child with a master’s in practicality, such an abundant existence isn’t my nature. It’s a perspective I have to stencil into my skin and recite every day.

You are always with me and all that I have is yours.

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