The Curse of Beautiful

Today I had the opportunity to sit and talk with one of my students.  Earlier in the year she wrote an essay for my class called Beauty and the Beast, in which she explained in a very heartfelt manner her own perspective about beauty. Her point of view was very focused on finding what is beautiful in people, instead of always looking at someone's appearance.  She is a beautiful girl, and sometimes I've wondered, and judged her, about the depth of her own character.  She showed me a message she received from a male friend that she had sent her essay to. She put a lot of time and effort into her essay and he had returned it with a "kind" but scathing review, particularly of her opinion.  

Though his words reeked of that rhetorical pseudo-maturity so often found clinging to the shirt tails of misguided early twenties university goers - I could tell she felt like she didn't have enough of a point to respond to his argument.  As I read the message over, with her sitting with me, we talked about his words and I started to point out some of the problems with his logic, and I could see her turning these thoughts over in her mind.  His general point was that all women can be beautiful, if they choose to treat their bodies properly, are thin, then they can be adored by their peers.  His point was that beautiful was defined at a thin woman, no matter what she was like.  He even went so far as to say that if his own daughter was overweight, he wouldn't force her to diet, but he wouldn't go out of his way to tell her she was beautiful, either.  The first thing that ran through my mind, was that this young person was going to get the shock of his life when he became a father, but also it saddened me to see the hurt in the eyes and heart of my student.  When we were finished talking extensively about his words, she looked at me and said, "He actually kind of proved my point. I used to think that he was good-looking, but now seeing what he thinks, he's not so hot anymore." I was proud of her.

I can't wait for her to find out that not all men are like this boy, who says he's her friend.  I can't wait for her to learn that whatever imperfection that she may see, the rest of the world sees as uniqueness that make her shine.   It is for all of us to remember...beautiful is an opinion, and yours is the only one that counts.

Dove Beauty Sketch 

I watched this link earlier, and very much appreciated what it had to say.  

To Have and to Hold

Celebrating 65 Years of Marriage
John and Louise, April 1948
We Love You

 There are times I feel like I live in a small, protective bubble.  I'm not a marriage expert, I've only been at it for eight years. I don't have a perfect marriage - I couldn't even really say what that looks like. We fight, we laugh, we talk, we agree to disagree, and I could definitely live without the burping. My husband is my best friend, my soft place to fall, my security. I love him more than Elizabeth Bennet loved Mr. Darcy, when I see him gather our children in his arms, and love them and hug them and breathe them in. If the words I love you were currency, we'd be millionaires, and we are - in more ways than one.  

But, recently I have connected with people who's views of marriage are drastically different from my own.  It is their cage, their battlefield, their nightmare.  Marriage is supposed to be a sacred, safe, loving place, and these problems between husbands and wives seem to be suddenly common.  Cheating - the sanitized word for adultery, sexual addiction and deviation from marriage, rejecting children and destroying family, pulling away from the sanctity, the safe place in marriage for purely selfish reasons - no thought to the future.  My heart breaks, and I don't know the answers, because I feel like I won the lottery, and how can someone who's indescribably rich reach out to someone who is poor?  I only know that my heart breaks, and that I need to give.

For those of us who are so blessed, protect your marriage, keep the spark - the work is well worth the reward.  For those of you who find yourselves in desperate situations, reach out. There are people who love you, who are ready to support you. For those of you starting out, a poem I read by Lena Lathrop when I was young really spoke to me, and stays with me even today.

A Woman's Question
By Mary "Lena" Lathrop


Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the hand above--
A woman's heart, and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?

Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
As a child might ask for a toy,
Demanding what others have died to win,
With the reckless dash of a boy?

You have written my lesson of duty out,
Man-like you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I shall question thee.

You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your socks and your shirt be whole;
I require your heart to be true as God's stars,
And as pure as heaven your soul.

You require a cook for your mutton and beef;
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts;
I look for a man and a king.

A king for the beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the maker, God,
Shall look upon as he did the first
And say, "It is very good."

I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft, young cheek one day,
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves,
As you did 'mid the bloom of May?

Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep,
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.

I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be;
If you give all this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.

If you cannot do this -- a laundress and cook
You can hire, with little to pay,
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way.

For my dear Grandparents.  
Thank you.  

Ugly - A Disease of the Mind

I have been doing  a lot of thinking since the post called The Looking Glass. I received what I consider to be an overwhelming response from people who read the post. I was both humbled and honored by people's kind thoughts and words. The responses came from friends and acquaintances of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds, yet what they said to me was resoundingly similar -  I had spoken out loud what they thought on the inside. I am ugly.

 Ok, so not everyone was so dramatic, but the theme was I'm not happy with myself as I am. At first, this made me so sad.  I mean, I always think that I am capable of handling those nasty, hurtful thoughts that swirl around biting at my heart, I'm strong, I can deal with it.  But, listening to your voices brought tears to my eyes.  I know that it hurts, I've experienced it, I don't want anyone else to live out the same day after day personal torture.  The demand I place on myself to be a specific weight and look a certain way, and appear to others like I've got whatever-it-is all together is a full time job in itself.  

By nature, I'm a fixer. I want to fix things - especially when it comes to other people (and if I can fix a problem by bringing you food, I usually feel like I've won a prize) Unfortunately it's not typically that easy. Finding a source to blame is simple enough, watch TV, look at the advertisements in front of every store, for every product.  Apparently a thin woman with perky boobs can sell anything.  The only problem is, I've noticed that even though I can assign blame to society or someone else, it doesn't fix anything.  I was at a coffee shop this weekend, visiting with a friend, and a tall, bigger lady came in wearing a obviously too tight spandex pants, unfortunately, the pants did not cover her backside and her shirt was riding up her back.  Immediately I was embarrassed to look at her and just tried to ignore her poor wardrobe choices.  Unfortunately as she left to go to her car, her tight attire grabbed the attention of some prepubescent boys at a table next to us, who laughed and jeered at her. It broke my heart - I felt what she would feel as if I were her.  It was my worst nightmare played out in front of my eyes.  Yet, I realize, I am no better than those boys. I was embarrassed to look at her.  Was she beautiful?

I can remember a long time ago, I used to think, once I have a boyfriend - then I'll feel pretty.  Once I am married, then I'll feel beautiful...and granted my husband works hard at telling me he thinks I'm beautiful, but strangely I find it hard to believe. My own brain is betraying itself.

So, what to do now? For all of you dear Ladies who've looked in the mirror and judged what you've seen there, where do we start? How do we kill this disease before it reaches our daughters? I don't know all the answers, not yet, but I'm not letting this drop or die or go away.  I want my daughter to look in the mirror and see herself for how beautiful she really is, because she knows her mother does the same.

The Auburnhead Dairies - UPDATE

Dear all Faithful Readers,
So as to not take over The Dunamis Project, I have moved my serialized writing to a new blog set up for that purpose called Inkwell Treasures. The Auburnhead Dairies has moved to that blog site.
Thank you,
Jana

http://inkwelltreasures.blogspot.ca/   

The Looking Glass

The hardest place for me to be, is in front of a mirror.  When I'm away from a mirror, I can turn on the deepest parts of my imagination, and no matter what I'm wearing, or what my hair looks like that day, I can imagine that I look pretty darn good. The truth of the matter is, that when I see myself in the mirror, I can't help judging what I see there.  Though I've been told by different people at different times in my life that I am attractive, it is very hard for me to see. The biggest battlefield has to be my weight.  Some time, at some point in high school, some person, whom I obviously considered to know more about these things than I did, told me I was fat, and I believed them.  In high school I was 160 pounds, today I'd love to go back there and kick whoever told me that in the bum. 

I remember believing that I was fat, and that my legs were so ugly that no one should have to see them.  I told everyone that I didn't like wearing shorts, and wore long pants through several hot summers of my teenage years.  I will put on shorts these days, but it's only because the heat won out.  I still have intense struggles with body image, I'm thirty years old, and somewhere the thought has taken root that I am unattractive, that it's hard for me to lose weight, and trying it will just result in failure.  Recently I worked very hard at a diet, now, I haven't put all the weight back on that I lost, but I have put on a significant amount.  Talk about another reason to get yourself down.  

So, where's the balance? Do I need to lose weight, so that I can like myself, and accept myself? Or do I need to like myself and accept myself first, and then incorporating a healthy lifestyle will come more easily? I don't know. I just know that I don't like exercise - I could probably blame that on all the gym teachers comparing my unfortunately "creative" basketball skills against the other highly athletic girls in gym, but the real reason is because I like to see results, and see them right NOW.  I don't have the answers just yet, but to the girls asking the question, how do I really come to love myself and accept that a "healthy" me, may never be a size 2, me? I have an interesting answer.  Maybe start looking at yourself the way others look at you.  It's hard, really...but I've often pointed out some girl or another and said, "She's very pretty, or attractive." Then I realize that that girl's weight is very near to my own, and I don't look at her and consider her to be ugly.  In fact, looking around me, yes it's easy to recognize that I am not surrounded by Hollywood movie stars, but generally I see beautiful people. 

So, let's those of us who dread coming face to face in the mirror, as it points out our faults, remember that we were created unique and beautiful, and we are important. It's a good place to start...

Craving...

Do you know what I'm craving? That moment, that short, but sweet period of time when my brain lights up, comes alive, and transports me to the place where I am living the life of my own character, and the words flow from my fingertips like a flood I have difficulty containing.  Words spill all over the page, in great splashes of what to me, what feels like genius - because it comes so easily.  The craving doesn't stop there.  I crave that childlike happiness, how my children reach out and are eager to accept me as a part of their world, where everything is bright and colorful and full of laughter.  I could eat it up, soak in it, the laughter and delight in simple things.  I crave the quiet, romantic intimacy, security and joy my husband brings.  His gifts are logic and perspective, mine are dreams and passion.  I crave relationship with the God of the Angel Armies, an understanding of who I am, and what he has for me. I crave, I burn, I desire. But, I am a quiet sort and to look at me, you wouldn't know. 

Afraid of the Dark?

"My husband is having an affair." I could see the tears in her eyes and her face was etched in the pain of this horrible, heart-wrenching discovery.  My heart broke just looking at her, standing in her doorway, and me, a wordsmith at heart, incapable of offering any kind of words that would act as a salve for her pain.  I wanted to hug her, to cry with her, but I held back, unsure of what to do or say, or how to really process what she was saying to me - of all things, I didn't want to react in the wrong way. The compassion I felt was so overwhelming, I cried, standing there, myself. I have this naive idea that everyone's life somehow plays out like mine.  That everyone is as blessed as I am to be surrounded by a loving husband and home, and that the people out there aren't really hurting.  It's an easy mask to hide behind.

Of course, my thoughts turn inward toward myself, and in the same instant, the imagination that I hold as a blessing, acts as a curse.  All I see is how her pain might affect me, and my life.  It's this gut instinct, an automatic response that seems to kick in, as I rush to put up defenses around my own territories, lest a pain like hers, that I can only catch in distanced waves, crosses into my life.  I even find myself asking, will this disrupt me, in my happy little world, where everything is running smoothly, and is under my control?  

What is it about me, that makes what other people experience about me? I don't want my imagination to run my reactions to people.  Instead, I want to help people heal from these hurts, the pain that envelopes their life - but can I do that, if I am so afraid that the hurts of others will eventually touch me? Does God work in tragedy? Of course, I think that he does - but that's always an abstract thought.  It's one I have difficulty reconciling with events in my own life.  I don't think that God sends tragedy our way, particularly in the form of a 'test', but I am at a loss to explain why these sad events happen to good, honest people.  

I hate not knowing how to fix the problems that people have.  I hate not being able to offer them the stroke-of-genius advice filled with heartfelt compassion and care, that will perk them up for the day.  I guess that the only thing I can offer is my hand, in friendship.  A promise to care when someone feels brave enough to tell me what they're going through.  To love the way that Christ would love, in the small way that I can.