I have at least three blog topics swirling my mind. I've spent the week trying to wrangle and organize concepts and experiences and "ahhh ha" moments, with little success. I assumed that there was yet a few things to marinate in my mind and a few tires to kick in the way of life experience before I'm "pen sure". I was right. (I'd like to say that always happens, but it doesn't.) A new word is being thrown into the pattern being weaved through this blog and because the concepts are flooding in through a broken dam, I'll have to do this in parts again. Tonight, to give you a hope of catching up to my racing mind, I'll start with finishing:
I've introduced you to my dad, each of my five brothers, both sisters, and all three of my kids. You have yet to meet my mom. I'll finish my introductions with her:
She grew up in a neighborhood full of boys- for years she the only girl. As a young teenager she found a baby skunk, named her Petunia and kept her for her very own...well, at least until the second or third time Petunia sprayed the family dog.
As far back as I can remember, Mom has been more comfortable with a rifle over her shoulder, scanning the fields for wildlife, than pouring over recipes or home decor magazines. In one of my most vivid memories of my mom she is standing in front of the bathroom mirror with needle and thread. She was giving herself stitches, having split the bridge of her nose open with the scope on her new rifle. My mom is not afraid of physical pain- as you might have might have surmised if you've already done the 8 baby count in your head.
Mom is deep. She is internal. Throughout our childhood, many, many of our long trips into town to get groceries, were filled with the soft sounds of her quietly humming or singing various songs under her breath- only to be interrupted by a seemingly disconnected statement coming from somewhere deep within her.
In many ways Mom and I are vastly different: She is internal, I am external. She thrives in her alone time or in one-on-one scenarios; I thrive in groups or crowds and usually dislike being alone. She prefers to shoot with a gun, I prefer to shoot with a camera. She prefers tennis shoes, I prefer heels. She hates make-up and hair product, I make my living with make-up and hair product. Mom rolls her eyes at "nonsense" I am FULL of nonsense!
This week I've thought a lot about how we are the same. We both crave affection in the form of words of affirmation. We both have a desire to serve people. We are happiest when we are helping. We are both critical, for better or worse. We are both analytic. We are both strong-willed and persistent. We are both practical. We both need to know that we are valid, valued...lovely.
That brings me to this new word, well a phrase actually, that is infiltrating my days:
I Am Beautiful.
Sometimes, "She is beautiful" is the phrase in my thoughts as I gaze at my daughter, glance at a client, think of a friend...
It's an uncomfortable thing for me to admit. This "loving me the way Jesus does" thing seems to have gotten out of hand, actually. I can see wisdom and function in loving myself through boundaries at work, taking time to fix a healthy meal and get enough rest. Seeing myself as beautiful is not, seemingly, functional or necessary. If you stick with me for the next couple of blogs, you'll see that it actually has become quite functional, but I'm getting ahead of myself...
As the word "beautiful" wove its way through my week, I thought a lot about my mom's perspective on beauty. Without even thinking about it consciously or intentionally, I've passed some of the same mom-isms to my daughter. My daughter is DROP, DEAD, GORGEOUS. That is not my fault, really. Her resemblance to the other side of the family is undeniable, while I struggle to pick out a few of her mannerisms that are from me. Almost daily my daughter hears compliments and comments about her dimples or her blue eyes or her smile or her perfect complexion. At ten, she has started to squirm and argue with the compliment givers- unable to receive them. I hate that! I have tried to teach her to graciously accept compliments, but that seems like a waste of time, since I have yet to, comfortably, accept them myself.
As a kid my mom reminded me, always, that external beauty isn't what matters, it's the internal beauty that God cares about and that people will most be attracted to. There were always examples of a pretty faced girl with an ugly attitude. I see her point, she's not entirely wrong. However, as I'm hearing myself parrot the same phrases back to my incredibly, physically beautiful daughter- with a compassionate, ridiculously generous, witty, intelligent nature- I am watching her become less than who she really is. I'm not going to assert that it's my fault, because she is 10. It is her turn to enter the miserable, confusing, hormonal time of life known as puberty. Still I wonder, how much of her changing perspective of who she is, has to do with my words (or lack of words)? Furthermore, how much antidote power do I have in counteracting the nonsense and lies she will hear from this twisted culture?
I started assessing us this week. Because the world greets us, seeing our external beauty first, I thought it appropriate to start the assessment there. I first wrote about my favorite physical feature. Yep, it's awkward to type it... Then I asked my daughter what she likes most about her looks. Yep, she had a hard time answering. She acted like she would get in trouble for answering. That broke my heart. I didn't ask my mom the same question, but I did ask one of my sisters. Interesting, all three of us said the same thing! I loved our answers, they were very similar, and if I were to tell you what MY favorite physical feature of my mom and my other sister, it would be five for five. Here we are and here's what we love:
She grew up in a neighborhood full of boys- for years she the only girl. As a young teenager she found a baby skunk, named her Petunia and kept her for her very own...well, at least until the second or third time Petunia sprayed the family dog.
(Mom, Petunia and my uncle before he knew I was his favorite niece...)
As far back as I can remember, Mom has been more comfortable with a rifle over her shoulder, scanning the fields for wildlife, than pouring over recipes or home decor magazines. In one of my most vivid memories of my mom she is standing in front of the bathroom mirror with needle and thread. She was giving herself stitches, having split the bridge of her nose open with the scope on her new rifle. My mom is not afraid of physical pain- as you might have might have surmised if you've already done the 8 baby count in your head.
Mom is deep. She is internal. Throughout our childhood, many, many of our long trips into town to get groceries, were filled with the soft sounds of her quietly humming or singing various songs under her breath- only to be interrupted by a seemingly disconnected statement coming from somewhere deep within her.
In many ways Mom and I are vastly different: She is internal, I am external. She thrives in her alone time or in one-on-one scenarios; I thrive in groups or crowds and usually dislike being alone. She prefers to shoot with a gun, I prefer to shoot with a camera. She prefers tennis shoes, I prefer heels. She hates make-up and hair product, I make my living with make-up and hair product. Mom rolls her eyes at "nonsense" I am FULL of nonsense!
This week I've thought a lot about how we are the same. We both crave affection in the form of words of affirmation. We both have a desire to serve people. We are happiest when we are helping. We are both critical, for better or worse. We are both analytic. We are both strong-willed and persistent. We are both practical. We both need to know that we are valid, valued...lovely.
That brings me to this new word, well a phrase actually, that is infiltrating my days:
I Am Beautiful.
Sometimes, "She is beautiful" is the phrase in my thoughts as I gaze at my daughter, glance at a client, think of a friend...
It's an uncomfortable thing for me to admit. This "loving me the way Jesus does" thing seems to have gotten out of hand, actually. I can see wisdom and function in loving myself through boundaries at work, taking time to fix a healthy meal and get enough rest. Seeing myself as beautiful is not, seemingly, functional or necessary. If you stick with me for the next couple of blogs, you'll see that it actually has become quite functional, but I'm getting ahead of myself...
As the word "beautiful" wove its way through my week, I thought a lot about my mom's perspective on beauty. Without even thinking about it consciously or intentionally, I've passed some of the same mom-isms to my daughter. My daughter is DROP, DEAD, GORGEOUS. That is not my fault, really. Her resemblance to the other side of the family is undeniable, while I struggle to pick out a few of her mannerisms that are from me. Almost daily my daughter hears compliments and comments about her dimples or her blue eyes or her smile or her perfect complexion. At ten, she has started to squirm and argue with the compliment givers- unable to receive them. I hate that! I have tried to teach her to graciously accept compliments, but that seems like a waste of time, since I have yet to, comfortably, accept them myself.
As a kid my mom reminded me, always, that external beauty isn't what matters, it's the internal beauty that God cares about and that people will most be attracted to. There were always examples of a pretty faced girl with an ugly attitude. I see her point, she's not entirely wrong. However, as I'm hearing myself parrot the same phrases back to my incredibly, physically beautiful daughter- with a compassionate, ridiculously generous, witty, intelligent nature- I am watching her become less than who she really is. I'm not going to assert that it's my fault, because she is 10. It is her turn to enter the miserable, confusing, hormonal time of life known as puberty. Still I wonder, how much of her changing perspective of who she is, has to do with my words (or lack of words)? Furthermore, how much antidote power do I have in counteracting the nonsense and lies she will hear from this twisted culture?
I started assessing us this week. Because the world greets us, seeing our external beauty first, I thought it appropriate to start the assessment there. I first wrote about my favorite physical feature. Yep, it's awkward to type it... Then I asked my daughter what she likes most about her looks. Yep, she had a hard time answering. She acted like she would get in trouble for answering. That broke my heart. I didn't ask my mom the same question, but I did ask one of my sisters. Interesting, all three of us said the same thing! I loved our answers, they were very similar, and if I were to tell you what MY favorite physical feature of my mom and my other sister, it would be five for five. Here we are and here's what we love:
Mom has soft eyes. They are a mirror, quickly reflecting my own joy or pain or confusion. They are deep. They are warm. She says she has another set in the back of her head, but I've shampooed as well has cut every single hair on her head, there are no eyes back there...
Deb says her eyes are her favorite feature. (She's next to me, in the blue dress.) She says they look friendly when she looks in the mirror. They are soft, gentle and full of life. They are quick and fiery too. Sometimes they laugh, even when she isn't laughing. They give her away.
Susan's eyes are compassionate. She has miles and miles of eyelashes. They are rich and kind and deep. Her eyes are trusting. She doesn't know I stole this picture, or that I'm posting it. Shhhhh, don't tell her...
Hannah says she loves her eyes because they are so sparkly. She gets told all the time that they look like her grandma's eyes on her dad's side- because they are blue. She likes that. This year she was happy because someone told her that they look like my mom's eyes. They are the same shape as hers. Hannah loves that she can see both of her grandmas when she looks in her eyes. Hannah's eyes are hopeful, fresh, full of mischief, and kindness. Hannah cannot lie, her eyes always tell the truth.
My eyes are kind and complex. When I look in them I see pain mixed with hope. My eyes are honest and gentle. They are, subtly, two different colors. I've been told they are sexy, by more than one man. I'm not sure how or what that means, but I'll take it I guess- it seems like a compliment.
*Our family is blessed with four more gorgeous little girls- my nieces. They all have ridiculously amazing eyes. I have not asked for (nor randomly ever gotten) permission to post any of them for public viewing on the world wide web, and they are minors, soooooooooooo I'll just let you imagine for yourselves.
We are beautiful. Stay tuned...
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