Another Day, or Something More?

What would you be willing to give up in order to gain something that you truly value?

Today is Ash Wednesday, and Christians around the globe- particularly those from a Catholic persuasion- are marking this as the first day of Lent. It is traditionally a time where the observer "fasts" or gives up something for the 40 day period leading up to Easter as an act of spiritual cleansing or religious obedience. It is a practice that has been observed for centuries, for better or worse.

But what about people who are not Catholic, Christian, or even religious? For many, such an observance might seem like nonsense at best and self-aggrandizing, martyr-esque deprivation at worst. But what if it is actually something more- what if it is an opportunity for personal growth, spiritual renewal, and positive change? Just as Mother Nature uses this season to renew and recharge and the earth experiences a sort of rebirth with the coming of Spring, so can we. We can absolutely use the period of Lent as a springboard for renewal in our own lives.

Now, I'm not Catholic, but I was wrestling for the past week with what I would like to give up for Lent this year: Red meat? Alcohol? The F-word? I wanted to be intentional about it, not just pick something random and hope it stuck. I also didn't want to just give up something just to say I did it. Where's the added value in that? For me, it really comes down to a question of what I want to gain- spiritually, physically, or emotionally- not what I want to give up.

Should be an interesting 40 days.

Broken Sex, Love, and Intimacy

A few weeks after returning home from my latest trip to Africa, I'm still wrestling with and pondering over lessons learned and issues brought to bear. The long days spent trekking up Mt. Kilimanjaro provided the perfect backdrop for exploring deep thoughts and sharing cerebral conversations with new and renewed friends, along with plenty of joking around and bonding moments to lighten the mood and distract from the physical pain being experienced. During the toughest stretches though, some nagging thoughts came to the surface, life questions, soul searching inquiries that I suspect will rattle around in my head for a while longer before I decide to actually deal with them.

The one thing that crept up out of nowhere and surprised me, the area of my life that I wanted to believe was in check, is sex. Not that I was having any on this trip!

Sex, or rather, my sexual identity, and how I have come to view sex and actualize it in my life, was staring me in the face after sharing my testimony during one long, rocky stretch of road. And I absolutely hated what I saw.

For as far back as I can remember, I have always identified myself according to sexuality- more precisely, the sexuality of females as defined by American pop culture, i.e., an object of desire. Even as a young girl, I loved Mae West, Marilyn Monroe, Playboy Bunnies and Farrah Fawcett. I wanted so badly to "be sexy" and have the attention [read: power] that these women seemed to possess. I have a distinct memory of a family gathering in my parent's house, aunts and uncles, cousins, and I was of course trying to be the center of attention (oh, surprise!). When asked by one of the adults, "Michelle, what do you want to be when you grow up?" my response stunned and shocked them: "I want to be a SEX SYMBOL!" ::lone cricket chirping:: I was maybe 6 or 7 years old. When asked if I even knew what that meant (I didn't) I replied, "Sex Symbols are the most beautiful women in the world and everybody loves them!" After some uncomfortable laughter, I was promptly excused from the adults and allowed to go back to my room.

Funny story if it ended there, but it doesn't. My faulty equation of Sex=Love was just getting started! Add over the next ten or so years a creepy neighbor who liked to fondle little girls, older boys who liked to play doctor, innappropriate contact from leaders at church camps, repeated sexual molestation from a relative, and wanting to be one of the popular girls (but never quite being one) and you have one very broken young girl with a distorted picture of love.

I did my best to hold on to my "virginity" throughout high school, and really didn't go all the way until I was in college- but I was already what you might call damaged goods. And I knew it. I felt dirty, unworthy and unloveable from the inside, and no matter how much or how little I gave of myself, love just wasn't becoming part of my story. Not the love that I believed in, anyway. Not the pure, deep, lasting kind that fuels fairy tales and romance novels. Not even the supernatural, all-forgiving kind that is preached from the pulpits. Somehow, all I was finding was the broken and twisted kind, the leftover kind. The other stuff might exist, but I was exempt from receiving it.

But sex, now THAT was something that I was good at and could find easily- NO PROBLEM! Never mind that all the greatest sex in the world couldn't heal my broken heart. Never mind that even the great loves of my life would still leave me shattered and empty, always coming back to the same questions: What's wrong with me? Why don't you want me?

Through my adult life, I've tried to find the answer to those two questions. I searched through bad, bad relationships. I searched through drugs, alcohol, and partying. I searched through spirituality and religion. I searched and came up empty, time and time again. Even after coming to Christ, and gratefully accepting the gift of God's grace, if I am honest I can say that I still had the questions of my worth and my desirability as constant companions. And if I am really honest, then I can say that sometimes my religious convictions and my actions just don't align at all. Because as much as I fight to ignore it, I still get crazy lonely sometimes. I still want to someday know what it feels like to be deeply, truly, beautifully loved... but I settle for good sex and temporary intimacy, because my heart is scarred and my understanding of love is still a little bit broken.

It was this realization that led me to renew my vow of celibacy upon returning from Africa. Total clarity, a bird's eye view of my pattern, madness, call it what you will... but I know that this is the right thing for me to do. Until I can get what is broken in me repaired, there is absolutely no sense in creating more damage.

I don't know exactly what the next step is- Therapy? Prayer? More hockey? And I don't know if I'm supposed to put some sort of timeline on this. But what I do know is that I may not have had control over the things that happened to me as a child, but I do have control now. And I'm finally on the right path.

Update: Back in Cali

For the past 2 weeks, I embarked on the adventure of a lifetime!

I can say honestly that this was the hardest (physical) thing I've ever done in my life. The months of intense training and excitement could not possibly have prepared me for the challenge that I faced. Along with 26 other amazingly passionate and slightly insane trekkers, we were on a mission to raise $100,000 and climb Mt. Kilimanjaro- the tallest mountain in all of Africa.

I made it to all three of the hut encampments: Mandara (Day 1), Horombo (Day 2), and Kibo (Day 4). I wish I could tell you that I made it to the summit... but I didn't. But I tried, and even though I was sick on the summit day hike (I will spare you the gory details) I gave it my all, and I got really far- but of the 27 people on our team who started the 6-day climb, only 17 reached the summit and sadly, I was not among them. In the pitch dark and cold, I turned back after reaching just past the halfway point of the first peak during final ascent, unable to complete the segment. Imagine my heartbreak and disappointment. Kili humbled me!

Nonetheless, I am proud of what I was able to do and more importantly, what we were able to do as a team: raise desperately needed funds for Tumaini International Ministries to benefit AIDS orphaned kids and build community in Kenya, East Africa! At last count, we had raised about $85,000 of the $100,000 goal!

The 17 men and women on our team who did reach the summit of Uhuru Peak are superstars in every way. I am in awe, and have nothing but the greatest respect for each one. However, I also have the greatest respect for everyone who stepped out of their comfort zone and onto that mountain- whether they made it to the top or not. Without question, every one of us had to dig down deep and find the strength and courage to do something ridiculous, personally challenging, and sacrificial. And because of the kids and families we were doing it for, it was totally, unequivocally worth every torturous minute.

Back in SoCal and the comforts of home, I'm slowly recovering from the grueling travel schedule, jet lag, and beat-down that Kili gave me. My face, which was grossly disfigured from swelling, blisters, and sun/windburn, has returned to almost normal. The swelling on my feet is almost gone, along with the blisters, and the toenail that I'm about to lose will surely grow back in due time. And yes, given the opportunity, I would absolutely try again to reach that stinkin' summit and make Kilimanjaro my footstool... you win this time, Kili... but watch out, I may be back.

There is much and more that I still need to process from all I experienced in the last two weeks. So many things came to the surface that I want to, need to, deal with... good things, ugly things, lots of things. But for right now, for this moment, I'm content and grateful to be home and richer for the experience.

The Great Unknown

It's not unnatural to be apprehensive, even fearful, of the unknown.

In general, I like to have at least a vague idea of what to expect, especially when facing a new situation. If I'm being completely honest, then I can say my default mode is that I prefer to be in control and mentally prepared for several possible outcomes in any given situation, and I can get more than a little freaked out when things aren't going according to The Plan.

Looking back at how high-strung and tightly-wound I was in years past, it's no wonder that this need to be in control has caused more harm than good-- both to myself and to friends and loved ones. Nobody really likes to be bossed around. Nobody likes to feel that they are less capable than the know-it-all, my-way-or-the-highway, I'm-in-charge-here person that colored the better part of my adult life. I had prided myself on being a tough, scrappy girl, someone who fought hard to get out from under oppression to become a strong leader, in control of my own life. And that's true, but... being in control of my own life doesn't crown me the queen of anyone else's life. That isn't being a leader, that's called being a tyrant. I recognize this now, and only wish I had seen it clearly years ago.

I'm not quite there yet, but I've worked very hard at teaching myself to relax more and go with the flow, find more Zen in my day-to-day, embrace change and spontaneity, and surrender control and outcomes to the universal higher power I understand as God. It's not easy, until it is. And as a result I can say with conviction that every single time I relax my grip on whatever situation or circumstance I'm faced with, it is the right move. Everything works out, even if it isn't the outcome I had expected, anticipated, or even desired. There is always something good that comes from it! When I do the opposite, when I decide that it's totally up to me to steer and direct and control every aspect of every situation, guess what? I become a hot mess. A stressed-out, frazzled, short-tempered mess. Not exactly the attractive qualities that I was going for!

All of this to say that I'm finally starting to enjoy the unexpected. Sure, I still like to make plans and I like to be organized and prepared. I still battle with anxiety when I plan events, wanting everything to be perfect. I don't profess to just float along through life aimlessly, seeing where the tide will take me if I don't put any effort into it. But I'm really learning to welcome and embrace the adventure that makes life so very exciting... the unscripted, the improvised, The Great Unknown.

The Value of a Broken Heart

Sometimes, I do really dumb things... like, fall for a guy that I have absolutely no business falling for. To date, that has never worked out well for me. You'd think I would learn from experience, but, No. Somehow, just as soon as enough time passes between MLM's (My Last Mistake) my silly little heart is right back out there, smiling and vulnerable, just asking to get stomped on. Tsk, tsk. My brain is smart, but my heart... DUMB.

My latest romantic adventure -- wait for it-- ended badly. And I cried, felt embarassed, and was hurt and humiliated for a couple of days. Sucks, right? Of course it does. But here's where the value comes in: After the initial feelings of uber-lameness and heartbreak started to wane, I let my [smart] brain go to work and process the pain, to somehow try to find the redemptive value. And that's when it hit me: Heartbreak is the mother of Compassion. Or at least, it can be, if we choose it.

During the very darkest moments of feeling like a complete ass, a dear friend called and spoke truth to me. She reminded me of my own worth and value, didn't judge or ridicule me, and just showed incredible kindness and compassion to me. She even made me laugh... a lot, actually. She didn't have to; she chose to.

Having your heart broken is never "fun" but it is not without great value. Out of broken hearts are born compelling works of art, socio-political movements, awareness campaigns, and paradigm shifts. People far greater than me have taken their personal pain and allowed God to use it for incredible good in the world through ministries of compassion. Even Jesus himself had compassion on the people he encountered, because seeing them in their sin and misery broke his own heart.

I'm no Jesus, and I don't think that my last experience is on a comparable scale to something that would spark a global movement, but I do believe that by remembering the physical and emotional pain associated with heartbreak of any kind should move a person from selfishness to compassion. The internal becomes external. The healing that is taking place within me can be used to help heal someone else from their pain. Kinda deep and mysterious and cool to think about, and I'm excited to see what good comes out of it. Because trust me, boys aside, there are many things in this world that break my heart. This painful reminder is just a catalyst to push me out into it, armed with love for the people on my path.

Leaping Faithfully

It's been far too long since I've taken a leap of faith.

Up until last week, I had been lumbering along at my job, miserable at work pretty much every day. It's not that it was a bad job or a bad place to work, per se... and certainly I am grateful for the opportunities that have accompanied the position (bills paid, roof over my head, college education for my son, flexible scheduling and ample vacation) and the amazing friends that I have made along the way. Still, it was no secret that I wanted to do more and was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with where I was at. Worse, I could see that I was becoming a person that I didn't like very much. A complainer. A gossip. Unsettled. Hateful. Depressed, angry, bitter and deeply hurt, empty and slowly dying inside.

I knew that it wasn't fair to blame the job or the company or even the boss on who and what I was turning into, but I did because it was easier than pulling up stakes and moving on. I was equating the situation with a bad boyfriend, an unhealthy relationship where I played the role of Victim. I knew that the only thing that I had any control over, the only thing I had the capacity to change, is myself. And I tried, I really did. I thought that "venting" to trusted colleagues or sharing "prayer requests" to trusted friends would lift my stress and maybe give me some guidance on how to cope in unfavorable circumstances. And it did, kind of, at first. But what I kept coming back to was the fact that all the negativity and toxicity of the situation wasn't going to self-correct. I was going to have to do it.

But I didn't.

Oh sure, I browsed other job opportunities and updated my resume. I put out feelers and tested the water. I even tried pouring myself into the things I love, but in a safe, small way. A tentative way. A half-ass way. Because when it came right down to it, I was too scared to step out in faith. Too scared to leave the security of what I knew, to step away from what had become too comfortable, even as it was unfulfilling. "It's a paycheck," I told myself. "It's really hard to find any jobs right now," I heard. "I should just be grateful," I thought. But I want more. I want to LOVE what I do again, even when it's hard. I want to know that what I'm doing truly matters. I want to do the things I'm really good at, invest in people's lives, build community, bring hope and love and healing to the world around me, do my part in affecting positive change.

And so, I resigned from my job, and after 9 years I am leaving the place that has been my place of primary employment. It's weird, but it feels really good and really right. Not because it was a bad place; but because if I didn't do it, I knew I never would.

So what happens next? I don't know, exactly, but I'm really excited to see and share the journey. I know this much: there is no place I'd rather be than actively pursuing a life of faith, wherever that takes me.

Friend Me

I'm not sure why it seems to take a tragedy to jolt us out of our daily grind and take a look at the life we live, to take stock and count our blessings or make changes accordingly. But it does. I tend to be both introspective (just a slight step up from self-absorbed) and an observer (which can drift dangerously close to being disconnected or judgemental) and usually need some cosmic ass-whooping to get my perspective back. My most recent personal dramas, combined with a vengeful cold that has kept me in bed and grumpy the past few days, has got me re-examining who I am and what I want.

I was reflecting today on the friends in my life, and am kind of amazed at how varied they all are. There was a time when the people I hung out with were all pretty much alike, similar backgrounds and philosophy, similar tastes and interests. I'm not sure when it started to happen, but I am proud to say that is no longer the case.

I have friends who are rich and poor, old and young, gay, straight, and undecided. I have friends who follow politics and friends who are apolitical; Republicans, Democrats, Liberals, Conservatives, Moderates, Communists, Socialists. Friends who are Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Agnostics, Spiritualists, and still-figuring-it-outists. I have friends who LOVE hockey (yaaayy!!) and friends who have no clue. Friends with Benefits and the benefit of great friends. Friends who are like family, and family who are like friends. Friends who hunt and friends who would lay down their life to save an animal. Friends in different countries all over the world, friends who I've lived with, slept with, stolen with, lied with, fought with, prayed with, traveled with, danced with, laughed with, cried with... shared the deepest secrets with and the wildest dreams with. Friends who've held my hair when I was puking my guts out after waaaay too much to drink and I've held theirs. And I would do it again, anytime you needed me.

There are friends who I've known and been known by for days, years, decades, and those who I only know through the magic of Facebook. And the truth of it is, I love each and every one. I would be devastated to lose a single one, and have been heartbroken over friends that are no longer in my life. I am blessed beyond measure with people who genuinely care for me, encourage me, challenge me, and inspire me every day to be a better person.

Circumstances are fluid, life is too short, and opportunities to be happy are all around us but ever fleeting. Today, I count my blessings and call them Friends.