There was a time

All great stories start with "there was a time," and that is not why I began this story with it because this is not a great story. It is a sad one, but not a great one.

There was a time when I was a 79 lb. ten-year-old who could eat whatever I wanted with no fear of disease, sickness, or weight gain. There WAS a time. Now here I am twelve years, sixty-ish pounds, and two ER visits later and now I can't even have a coffee with French vanilla and a waffle without crashing. Yes, it is a sad story. I like to think I take relatively good care of myself. I always have a water bottle with me. However, the responsibility of cooking for myself comes with challenges, and habits become sporadic.

Now I have to WATCH what I eat. I always thought that's what old people do. Not me. I'm in college, my body's invincible, right? This is no fun.

In my daydreams, I...

am an accomplished swing dancer, jazz singer, and theatre actress

live by the sea -- not the beach -- the sea

travel to coffee shops, bistros, cafes, small bookstores and taverns to read excerpts from my writing

teach things that I love, and get paid for it

take my children on a tour through Paris (without a nanny!)

have lunch with JK Rowling, Joy Williams, and/or Tina Fey

have read all "the classics"

like beer

know how to knit and sew everything

cook every day

can play a piano that is not out of tune

can swim

have a few precious little brunettes running around calling me mommy and learning how to knit and read and play musical things

Probably the only empathetic cynic you'll ever meet.

“I’m expecting great things from you,” he said to her as they stood alone in the front yard of the white house that early summer. She doesn't remember what she said, if she said anything at all, but she did think about those words a lot later on as she went to bed that night.

It was a beautiful landscape out in the west part of the county. And a large farmhouse stood by the road.

It was Saturday night. She was about two months shy of her eleventh birthday and awkwardly skinny like a bunch of toothpicks glued together. He was sitting on the patio swing. So she headed out the back door to see him. He was there with his arms crossed watching the sky post sunset. She skipped out the door and landed by plotting down right next to him.

It was a bit past dusk, but still light enough to see outlines in the distance. It was quiet.

“I’m gonna have to go and get the paper,” he said.

“Ok, I’ll walk with you,” she said.

They made it about two thirds of the way. Once they reached the scuppernong vine, he stopped to take a breath, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it the rest of the way. You’ll have to go yourself and get it for me.”

So she hopped the rest of the way through the yard and across the gravel road to the mailbox.

He was waiting for her when she returned, and she handed the paper to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re a good girl. I’m expecting great things from you.”

And he died the next year.

She always remembered that story because it was the story of her life. How many times had she or would she begin a journey with someone who believed in her, but for whatever reason, would not continue the journey with her. And she would finish the journey alone.

Maybe that's why she's a cynic. Maybe that's why she never trusts for anything, maybe that's why she never expects people to stay or follow through or actually do what they say they will do or be what they could be. Maybe that's why she never expects things to work out. Circumstance, time, and frailty will never allow anyone to finish the journey with her. How many times had she started a journey with someone she thought would stay with her, and for whatever reason, they wouldn't finish it with her, and she went the rest of the way alone?

People will ask you when you think your childhood ended, hers was over when she was eleven. When fairy tale dreams and imaginative happenings became void of possibility by the introduction of death into her world.

A pondering while gazing through wheezing trees

"You think the dead we love ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble?"

So profound to think that our wounds of lost loves stay with us forever. So true to think that we only see in retrospect how that pain seeps into every part of our lives. How the influence of a person's life and the influence of that person's death are marks upon our lives forever.

And how sometimes the pain is like a soul-sucking Dementor erasing every good thing we've ever known.

And how sometimes the memories of pain are the forces that urge us on.

And how sometimes those aches are whispers of things we'll never have.

And how true the statement that you will laugh again when something is really really funny.

I wish I knew

I’m so confused and I don’t know how to believe. Why do we get to pick and choose what should be literal and what should only be realized through cultural context?

The Bible says women cannot have leadership over men. The Bible says wives submit to husbands. Bible also says Christians submit to each other. Bible also says there is neither male nor female, all are one in Christ. The Bible promotes equality and illustrates female leadership in churches and society and family. Why are these few verses taken literally, while the others have explanations? Why not the other way around? If a woman is not allowed leadership over a man, why is it okay for her to be a teacher or a CEO, but not a pastor? Is the excuse that she only can’t have leadership in the church? So does that mean that we are to live separate lives? The rules we abide by in church, we don’t have to abide by in the world? What about in the New Testament when women were church leaders? What about the women who financially supported Jesus’ ministry?

Women have been shown to be the backbone and the muscle of how religion is practiced. The Catholic Church remains adamant that the priesthood is not for women, yet the lack of male clergy forces female laity to conduct services and take care of all the day to day activities of the church in local settings. But to receive the ordination is never to happen. I do not believe God allowed for this exclusion.

As for roles in the home, I agree that men and women have separate responsibilities and innate abilities the other doesn’t have. I still don’t see the connection of the wife’s subordination to the husband always having final say. If he’s a Christian, why does he not also practice the command of Christians (referring to both male and female) to submit to each other? Shouldn’t it be 100% both ways? Then why does the submission issue even have to matter? Besides, if the wife stays home all day and basically runs it while the husband is out working, why is she not the “head of the household?” I’m so confused.

Why is it a big deal whether or not a woman wants to work? If a woman chooses what she wants to do, why does anyone else get a say in it? Why can’t I make my decision to stay home all day or to stay away from home all day and have everyone else not care? It’s none of your business.

Should I be addressing these issues because I’m simply not happy with them? Would God ordain things that make us feel oppressed? I certainly think so. But I don’t think that ends this issue. Why is it a problem for me to question? It’s not like I’ve been researching this for 40 years and still digging. It’s just that for the first time, I don’t want to accept something because somebody told me it was so.

I don’t believe that either gender is by design stronger, smarter, more spiritually gifted, better, weaker or more susceptible to frailty than the other. I believe the Bible needs to be reread, researched, and realized again.

I’m at a place where I’m unsure of where I stand on an issue, and I think God likes my questions, welcomes my questions, loves that I use the brain he gave me instead of being shaped my anyone who desires to do so. I know he can handle my questions. I hope you can to. For there will be more to come.