tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14665567142578074202024-03-12T21:40:24.317-04:00Evidence of Imperfections.My journey toward risk, rest, and redemption.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-57101055441152913412014-09-10T12:44:00.001-04:002014-09-10T15:50:53.772-04:00Reach across the chasm.Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I am passionate about mental health and alleviating the suffering of people, sitting shiva with them to mourn life's losses, offering presence in the midst of pain, and pressing into the awfulness before trying to explain it away. I hurt for the people who cannot bring themselves to dare to experience the inherent pain of hoping, for it forces us to acknowledge that the world is not how we wish it would be. I care about people who are hurting so badly that they inflict pain on themselves in search of some sort of congruence, some sort of release, some sort of escape, some sort of way to quiet everything that unceasingly intrudes.<br />
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I feel a bit conflicted today, though, as I post articles and comments about suicide awareness. I also care deeply about people who hurt others, and know that this, too, is within the realm of mental health awareness. There's not a world awareness day for people who commit acts of violence against others. We don't circle around these people in the same way, we don't have empathy and compassion for people once they have crossed that line. And there are many reasons that this is true. But here's the thing, found in an old, simplistic saying: "Hurt people hurt people." There are studies that suggest that hurting others can be just as psychologically traumatizing as being hurt by others. And it is this that makes me think that maybe people who hurt themselves and people who hurt others aren't so different. We're all hurt, and we all do our fair share of hurting.<br />
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I don't have answers or profound thoughts or startling insights to contribute, and I don't want to invalidate the pain of any person who has suffered and struggled to find a place of hope and health. I can't fix anything, and I am not any better at grieving and facing pain head on than anyone else in our numb society. But on days like today when we are all a bit more willing to consider the pain of others, I have to wonder what would happen if we took the risk of truly connecting with others - across racial/cultural/economic/mental health/educational/political lines and with the desire to truly unite in our humanity, in our shared pain, in a place of grief and hope. Maybe today, on World Suicide Prevention Day, we can reach across the chasms that separate us in order to grasp the hand of another human being who loves and hurts just like we do.<br />
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<i>"Whether you are red, brown, yellow, black, or white</i></div>
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<i>Man with a husband, or a woman with a wife</i></div>
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<i>We can debate until the end of time who is wrong or right</i></div>
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<i>Or we can see ourselves as one</i></div>
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<i>Cause it all comes down to love."</i></div>
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<i>~ India Arie, One</i></div>
<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/" style="background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; line-height: 0; min-height: 20px; min-width: 40px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/" style="background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; line-height: 0; min-height: 20px; min-width: 40px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-60809291556638579922014-02-05T20:17:00.002-05:002014-09-10T14:12:46.790-04:00Being the best just might be the worst.I am beginning to think that being held up as an example of what a person should be is the worst thing you could ask for in your life.<br />
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Top-of-their-class students check in to hospitals with anxiety disorders because they are afraid to fail. The "good" kids are known for going "wild" after years of repression and perfect behavior. Poster people for sobriety feel they have to hide in shame when they relapse. The Biggest Loser may or may not have engaged in behaviors of disordered eating. Pastors do all the worst things they tell us not to do. Olympians and professional football players have heart wrenching stories of depression and self-destruction after they are no longer the best in the world. Justin threw eggs at someone's house and abused a flight attendant. When you're held up as the "best" of something, who are you supposed to ask for help? When you're always the example, who can you let see you fall?<br />
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I won something recently, and I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want to have to live up to myself or the expectations that would be placed on me for being a "winner." I didn't want anyone else to feel like they should have done something "better" to win. Is that what we are all killing ourselves for day after day? So that someone will put nice words around our names in front of other people? I think maybe that's all winning is. It doesn't feel worth it.<br />
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I've never liked competition. It has always felt like people-ranking and worth-assigning to me. I know that healthier people can do it and do it well, in ways that are about the achievement of objective greatness not tied to self-worth. They are stronger people than I am. I know the darkness in myself wants to have people say nice things and give me prizes so that I can believe in a better version of me. I'm not being falsely humble, here. I'm saying that people are excited to put the things they win out for the world to see, but that those are only a part of ourselves. My shadow sides are just as much a part of me as whatever I win.<br />
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We try and try and try to live up to an unrealistic version of ourselves, and then at some point, we just have to explode. Do you ever feel like one of those models who talks about how she is always trying to look as good as the version of herself that's on the magazine covers? We are presenting ourselves in ways that are photoshopped, and it's impossible to live up to that.<br />
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I want people to love me when I lose or forget a deadline or eat a whole frozen pizza every bit as much as they love me when I win or turn in great work on time or go to the gym in cute workout clothes. Maybe they would, but who's brave enough to put all that out there and see what happens?<br />
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I want a world where we can be loved for all the worst things about us right alongside all the best things about us. I want to stop having to hide all the things I'm bad at. What's even worse is when you have to give politically correct answers for areas in which you need to grow, all the while knowing that you have to list a fault that is appropriately negative without being downright horrible. Too horrible and you've blown it. Too positive, and you look arrogant and unteachable. We're aiming for that sweet spot of invulnerable disclosures and trite humility.<br />
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Maybe if we lived in a world where mistakes and full range of self were allowed, Justin could have just told people to leave him alone years ago. Maybe people would be allowed to make mistakes and get grace in the midst of them instead of having to hide in shame. Maybe more people would seek mental health treatment when they need it instead of hiding from the pain of stigma and judgment.<br />
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And maybe if we all stopped pretending to be perfect, we would all find the love and acceptance we're truly longing for in the first place.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-89958950636631787132013-11-09T17:28:00.003-05:002013-11-09T17:28:52.290-05:00Learning to speak.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am terrified at the idea of speaking up and speaking out. I am afraid of the wounding woundedness that comes out of people when their defenses are triggered. I believe in speaking truth even when it is difficult. I believe in being gentle but honest, even with difficult feedback. But I don’t know how to strike that balance. I am afraid of the relational ruptures that may ensue - even with people with whom I have no relationships, and even though I hold the belief that relationships are stronger if rupture and repair has taken place. I don’t know how to navigate “truth in love” when there is little (or no) love. And when there is love, the fear of repercussions is doubled. I don’t know how to do this. So I guess at some point, I just just have to start trying.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That is what this season has been. I am stumblingly and falteringly speaking about the injustices that I encounter in this world, and I am reminding myself that the pain I feel when I screw up is not nearly as much as the pain felt by those who have inspired the words that are written on my heart. I try to remember that causing another person pain isn’t the worst possible thing I could do, and that people are capable of forgiveness and love even when you cause them pain. I don’t believe that yet. Not believing that makes everything else harder.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have posted controversial things that I believe in passionately without trying to think through how all who see it might or might not be offended if they read it. I have calmly and un-emotionally been ready to give my defense of these postings, hoping to have rational conversations without triggering people’s defenses. It hasn’t really worked. Why is it so much harder to do this in real life than it is to do it as a therapist? If anyone can talk about something and make it palatable enough to not trigger the listener’s defense mechanisms, shouldn’t it be a therapist? I have publicly jumped in on threads to defend my friends who are being told to “stop playing the race card” and that “all is equal,” taking huge risks and being called a racist who is using my “advanced intelligence” to try and cover up my racist beliefs. And I want to quit talking. I want to quit jumping in. And I want to hold my beliefs folded under my hands and next to my heart, protected where no one can see them unless I trust them enough to take down my hands. But instead, I tell my friends the hurtful words and I ask if I am being blind to my own racism or if I am using intellectualization as a defense, and I try to listen and hear their words of grace to me. And then I try again.</span></div>
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In some recovery programs, they consider relapse to actually be a necessary part of recovery. What if in falling and failing, I am still moving forward? And what if this is true of all of us who look at our faults in the mirror and stubbornly work to address them and be better versions of our forever imperfect selves?</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It may be failing, but it is movement. After all, the goal wasn’t to succeed or even to win anyone over. The goal was to speak boldly and authentically out of the passionate places in my heart, to speak my tears loudly and to recognize that they are not mine to withhold. My mistakes may be mistakes, but they are movement. And maybe that is enough for now.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-31384656344834047942013-10-01T20:55:00.000-04:002013-10-01T20:55:14.148-04:00An Update on this Vulnerability Journey.I really like being alone. I'm the kind of introvert that comes with social anxiety and shyness, even if you can't see it. After a long day, I can't wait to get home to be alone in my own space. It's like a deep breath out.<br />
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Maybe this is why I like to do things on my own. Maybe it's some deeper reaction against a fear of being dependent or needing someone (and the terror that they wouldn't come through or that I would be too much for them). Regardless, I have always kept the most difficult parts of my life to myself. I don't share when I need help. I don't say the things I think would put my weakness and neediness on display. I go home and sit alone. I think about all the people that I could call, who would probably feel honored for me to trust them with my tears. And then I cry alone anyway. This has always been my default, and I have always secretly believed that this was the right choice.<br />
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The people in my life that have been honest about their shortcomings are some of my favorite people in the world. I prize authenticity above almost everything else. And yet, I hold myself short of it out of fear. Fear of what, I'm still not sure. But I know it has something to do with the way I want others to see me, and what I want to believe about myself.<br />
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Why in the world am I writing this? Many of you have been with me since this journey of vulnerability started a few Lent seasons ago, on this blog. I've been experimenting since then with measured risks and honesty (even the kind that doesn't paint the version of myself that I want to believe is true).<br />
<br />
Recently, some difficult things have happened in my life. In the grand scheme of things, probably not a big deal. But they were big enough that I literally couldn't handle them alone. I was forced with the choice of asking for help or facing consequences that might ruin my life. And this is what it took.<br />
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Honestly, I probably still wouldn't have had the guts to do it if a friend hadn't pulled it out of me. But that moment changed things. I began to take real risks with real people and be truly authentic in a way that scared the hell out of me. I was desperate and in a place of pain, and I didn't shield it for fear of what would happen. I was sure that I was going to sink, and I just needed to make sure I'd checked everywhere for a life raft.<br />
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And then the most amazing thing happened. People started helping me. Not in that "I'll pray for you and never talk to you about this again" way. But in the, "I'm going to call you every single day even if you get sick of me" way. In the "I can do something about this problem, and I'm going to" way. In the "You are not okay. Stop lying to yourself and to me" way. In the "I am going to take care of you for the next few moments and make you a bowl of soup" way. In the "Go ahead and talk about whatever you fear is annoying for the next 16 hours and I will still ask you follow up questions" way.<br />
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Suddenly, the world seems a little bit different to me. I'm trusting a little bit more. I'm feeling a little bit better about who I am. I'm a little less concerned about how much I might be annoying the people in my world.<br />
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I have long believed in the idea of community. But I guess I didn't really believe in it. This post is just to thank you, the people who have loved me, wooed me out of my fear-corners, unceasingly told me that I am worthy of space. My vulnerability journey is giving way to life lived in real community.<br />
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If you have loved me, thank you. If you share my fears, I can relate to your desire to just be Superperson and do it all alone. But if for a moment we can consider together that we might be missing out on something better - messier, but better - then can I tell you this? I've only just dipped my toe in, but the water isn't that bad. In fact, it feels pretty refreshing.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-68253023431659997742013-09-14T15:11:00.001-04:002013-09-14T15:14:51.452-04:00Why Alice in Wonderland Really Pissed Me Off.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Over the summer, I listened to an audio book of the old classic story, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">Alice in Wonderland</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">. Instead of being magically transformed into a childhood version of myself and caught up in the delight of the characters, I was startled by my reaction to the stories. I was disgusted. I felt a familiar feeling of nausea mixed with anger that usually means my “justice sensors” have been tripped. Confused, I began the process of asking myself why a children’s story would trigger such a strong reaction in me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Then, I realized. Alice had been dropped into a world with different rules, norms, and cultures than those to which she was accustomed. The characters didn’t look the way that people in her world looked. The world didn’t operate according to the principles and values that she had been socialized to hold dear. Because of the nature of the fictional story, I kept expecting Alice to become fascinated with this other world and learn the customs and practices from those who were different than her. I expected her to be intrigued by those who had new insights and engaging cultural practices. I waited for her to ask questions and begin the process of understanding this new context.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But she didn’t. Instead, Alice chose to rigidly hold to her own framework and judge the creatures and worlds she encountered according to her own belief system. Only a child herself, she harshly judged a mother’s parenting. Dumbfounded and unwilling to consider the impact on the recipient of her words, she insisted to a mouse that he should not be offended that she prized her cat on her ability to catch rats. She hurt creatures when she was larger than life without the tiniest bit of regret for her actions. She yelled and disrupted a court process because it did not work within her expectations of the justice system.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Alice was a cross-cultural traveler who chose to hold everyone she met against her own cultural standards, despite the fact that they lived in a completely different world than she did. She was judgmental, disdainful, and unwilling to consider her own biases and blind spots. Sadly, not only did Alice cause harm by entering this other world, but she grievously missed out on all the magic, beauty, and experience that it had to offer. Alice is everything that I do not want to be, and everything that I fear that I am.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Without self-awareness and humble curiosity, we are all like Alice. Those of us who have lived comfortably in a broader culture that matches our individual culture (white, heterosexual, middle class, etc.) have especially strong Alice-like tendencies, for we have never been forced to consider the fact that “the way things are” could possibly be just “the way things are in our world.” Things have always worked a certain way for us, just like they had for little Alice, and we have a choice to make when we encounter something different. Shall I hold tightly to my views, lest my picture of the universal nature of my world be challenged? Or shall I acknowledge my views and open my hands to explore and experience the broader world around me?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Let us not be paternalistic, ethnocentric travelers like Alice. Let us live and love well, without demanding that others adjust to our way of doing things. Let us be flexible and willing to adapt, rather than demanding that others adapt to us. If we do not, we will miss out on the magic and wonder that these other worlds have to offer.</span></span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-46247611299497043872013-07-17T01:12:00.000-04:002013-07-17T01:12:48.546-04:00"Understanding the Dynamics of Whiteness" as Quoted from Sue & Sue.What is written below is a direct quote from the book <u>Counseling the Culturally Diverse: Theory and Practice</u> by Sue and Sue. I wanted to post it mostly because I frequently want to quote it (especially lately), and I have misplaced my book. So as long as I'm writing it down from the copy on Google Books, I thought I would share it with anyone who will read. It is deeply thought provoking, and I simply ask that you read it with an open mind. Some of it is targeted specifically at counselors and other helping professionals, but I believe it is fully relevant to all of us, including those who go on mission trips, volunteer, and serve in multicultural communities. It has had a profound effect on me and captures much of my own process in the development of my cultural identity. All italics have been added (by me) for emphasis.<br />
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Feel free to comment, but please keep in mind the feelings of those who may happen to read your words.<br />
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"Our analysis of the responses from both Whites and persons of color leads us to the inevitable conclusion that part of the problem of race relations (and by inference multicultural counseling and therapy) lies in the different worldviews of both groups. It goes without saying that the racial reality of Whites is radically different from that of people of color (D. W. Sue, 2010). Which group, however, has the more accurate assessment related to this topic? The answer seems to be contained in the following series of questions: <i><b>If you want to understand oppression, should you ask the oppressor or the oppressed? If you want to learn about sexism, do you ask men or women? If you want to understand homophobia, do you ask straights or gays? If you want to learn about racism, do you ask Whites or persons of color? It appears that the most accurate assessment of bias comes not from those who enjoy the privilege of power, but from those who are most disempowered</b></i> (Hanna, Talley, & Guindon, 2000; Neville, Worthington, & Spanierman, 2001). Taking this position, the following assumptions are made about the dynamics of Whiteness.<br />
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"First, <i><b>it is clear that most Whites perceive themselves as unbiased individuals who do not harbor racist thoughts and feelings; they see themselves as working toward social justice and possessing a conscious desire to better the life circumstances of those less fortunate than they. Although admirable qualities, this self-image serves as a major barrier to recognizing and taking responsibility for admitting and dealing with one's own prejudices and biases.</b></i> To admit to being racist, sexist, or homophobic requires people to recognize that the self-images they hold so dear are based on false notions of the self.<br />
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"Second, being a White person in this society means chronic exposure to ethnocentric monoculturalism as manifested in White supremacy (Zetzer, 2011). It is difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to avoid inheriting the racial biases, prejudices, misinformation, deficit portrayals, and stereotypes of their forebears (Cokley, 2006). To believe that one is somehow immune from inheriting such aspects of White supremacy is to be naive or to engage in self-deception. <i><b>Such a statement is not intended to assail the integrity of Whites but to suggest that they also have been victimized. It is clear to us that no one was born wanting to be racist, sexist, or homophobic. Misinformation is not acquired by free choice but is imposed upon White people through a painful process of cultural conditioning.</b></i> In general, lacking awareness of their biases and preconceived notions, counselors may function in a therapeutically ineffective manner.<br />
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"Third, if White helping professionals are ever able to become effective multicultural counselors or therapists, they must free themselves from the cultural conditioning of their past and move toward the development of a nonracist White identity. Unfortunately, many White Euro-Americans seldom consider what it means to be White in our society. Such a question is vexing to them because they seldom think of race as belonging to them - nor of the privileges that come their way by virtue of their white skin (Foster, 2011; Furman, 2011). Katz (1985) points out a major barrier blocking the process of White Euro-Americans investigating their own cultural identity and worldview:<br />
Because White culture is the dominant cultural norm in the United States, it acts as an invisible veil that limits many people from seeing it as a cultural system.... Often, it is easier for many Whites to identify and acknowledge the different cultures of minorities than accept their own racial identity.... The difficulty of accepting such a view is that White culture is omnipresent. It is so interwoven in the fabric of everyday living that Whites cannot step outside and see their beliefs, values, and behaviors as creating a distinct cultural group. (pp. 616-617)<br />
As we witnessed in Chapter 6, the invisible veil allows for racial, gender, and sexual orientation microaggressions to be delivered outside the level of awareness of perpetrators (D. W. Sue, 2010). Ridley (1995) asserts that this invisible veil can be unintentionally manifested in therapy with harmful consequences to minortiy clients:<br />
Unintentional behavior is perhaps the most insidious form of racism. Unintentional racists are unaware of the harmful consequences of their behavior. They may be well-intentioned, and on the surface, their behavior may appear to be responsible. <i><b>Because individuals, groups, or institutions that engage in unintentional racism do not wish to do harm, it is difficult to get them to see themselves as racists. They are more likely to deny their racism.</b></i> (p. 38)<br />
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"The conclusion drawn from this understanding is that White counselors and therapists may be unintentional racists: (a) They are unaware of their biases, prejudices, and discriminatory behaviors; (b) they often perceive themselves as moral, good, and decent human beings and find it difficult to see themselves as racist; (c) they do not have a sense of what their Whiteness means to them; and (d) their therapeutic approaches to multicultural populations are likely to be more harmful (unintentionally) than helpful. <i><b>These conclusions are often difficult for White helping professionals to accept because of the defensiveness and feelings of blame they are likely to engender.</b></i> Nonetheless, we ask that White therapists and students not be turned off by the message and lessons of this chapter. We ask that you continue your multicultural journey in this chapter as we explore the question, 'What does it mean to be White?'" (p. 239-241).Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-67016670473834039232013-07-14T19:09:00.000-04:002013-07-14T19:09:41.707-04:00Dear Trayvon Martin: A Letter of Apology for My Role in Your Death.Dear Trayvon Martin,<br />
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I have wept so many tears over your tragic death, and I know they cannot begin to compare to the tears shed by those who knew and loved you for your 17 brief years. They knew what music you liked, what made you laugh, what you were passionate about, who you loved, and a million other things that made you uniquely you. I am heartbroken at the end of your young life. And I want to write this letter to apologize to you for my role in your death.<br />
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Yes, I had a role in your death. I am part of the problem.<br />
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I am part of the majority culture. I get called ma'am, am treated respectfully, and get warnings instead of tickets when policemen pull me over (which isn't often). People don't cross the sidewalk when I'm walking toward them. In fact, people look me in the eyes and smile at me because they don't see me as a threat. I'm assumed to be the most educated or most experienced candidate for most jobs for which I apply. I get the jobs for which I apply. I choose whether or not to examine my cultural identity. I choose whether to learn about other cultures or remain immersed in my own. Sometimes they don't take my ticket on the train because I look just like everyone else. I blend in, and when people notice me, they presume that I am kind and innocent. Part of being a minority in the United States, and especially being a young Black man, means that none of those things were true for you. And some of those privileges I have, if you had them, would have saved your life.<br />
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I have sat silently and watched my country belittle your humanity as a young Black man. I have listened to people label you as a problem child without considering a) whether or not it is true and b) whether or not the problems our society has created for you may have contributed to any of your alleged behaviors. They dismiss your humanity, and they dismiss your context. They do not understand the fear you must have felt when you were targeted as a criminal, whether or not you were one (which I whole-heartedly do not believe you were). They don't understand the necessity of fighting to save your life, which you knew was in danger, whether or not the man who killed you had yet brandished his gun. They don't think about the impact of being told by an entire society - explicitly and implicitly - that you are a criminal. <br />
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They minimize your experience by saying that everything is equal now and that racism no longer exists, demanding that you swallow the party line or be branded a criminal. If you do swallow the party line, you are considered an "exception" to your culture, which simultaneously robs you of your cultural heritage and demonizes everyone that looks like you. But somehow, that's not considered racist. After all, some of their best friends are Black. And everyone knows that if you have a Black friend, you can't be called a racist. Just like a misogynistic man can't hate women if he has a female friend. Oh wait... <br />
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But let me come back to the way that I have failed you, my brother in human dignity. My role is perhaps the worst of all, because I have remained silent. I know the truth. I know tiny pieces of the massive racism that still undergirds our country's policies and politics. I feel the bile in the back of my throat and the heat in my face and chest when people spurt out words about an entire group of people that "aren't racist" even though they would have at least thought twice about saying them if my skin weren't the same color as theirs. I hate when they make me a co-conspirator with their statements of hatred, assuming that I agree because I look like them. <br />
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But I have done nothing. I stew silently. Sometimes I literally run away from it. And this, this is why I must apologize to you. You deserved more than my dumb and fearful silence. <br />
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For whatever reason, God has chosen to make me White. When I asked friends in South Africa what I should do to even begin to address the atrocities that my people have committed, generational sins whose weight rests also upon my shoulders, they said that I must use my voice. My voice will reach ears that would not listen to their voices, who would brand them as "reverse racists." I have unmerited and undeserved privilege as a result of being born from English and Irish families in middle class America. I have failed to use that privilege to fight for you and the millions like you, Trayvon. <br />
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My good intentions don't matter. Yours didn't, either.<br />
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I have used my words too sparsely and too carefully. I am ashamed, and I am sorry. Can you ever forgive me? I didn't pull the trigger, but I function within a system that allows the trigger to be pulled every. single. day. against young men who don't deserve to die. If I am not working to change it, I am supporting it.<br />
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I will fight for you, Trayvon, and the beautiful faces of so many others like you, who have suffered the loss of their dignity and humanity. You bear the image of God just like I do. You are not the face of crime. You are the face of innocence. And I will fight for you.<br />
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Your sister in Christ, <br />
<br />
RachelRachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-19668878778689462192013-05-21T15:49:00.000-04:002013-05-21T15:49:03.134-04:00Re: Why You Should Show Off Your Imperfections.I just read <a href="http://storylineblog.com/2013/05/21/why-you-should-show-off-your-imperfections/?utm_content=buffereb906&utm_source=buffer&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=Buffer">this article</a>. You should, too, as this blog is basically a response to it. <br />
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Lately, I've been very aware of how un-free I am. My blog series admitting all kinds of things I don't want people to know about me is where I mark the "beginning" of this trend for me. Since then, I've been pushing against expectations and trying to be more authentic, trying to let go of the image that I have it all together, and attempting to release myself from the guilt of being less than perfect. The reality is, I'm not always okay. No, that's not true. The truer reality is that a LOT of the time, I'm not okay. Overall, I do feel like I've done a better-than-normal job of showing that recently.<br />
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The problem is that now I feel like a constant complainer instead of the sweet, quiet, look for the bright side girl that I used to be. I feel like when I let the facade drop, I allowed myself to see all the things that frustrate me and offend me and make me angry. I'm afraid that at my core, without the facade, I'm just a person that bitches about everything. No wonder I defended against honesty for so long. Who wants to be honest about their inner grossness? Certainly not me. I don't want to have to deal with it, and I don't want others to have to deal with it, either.<br />
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As gross as that feels, I think it's a healthy move for me. Maybe now it's just time for me to try and learn how to live with an honest awareness of the things that aren't okay and still remain engaged. It's easy to be discouraged and feel hopeless. But isn't an awareness of problems the first step to fighting for something better? If I am not dissatisfied, then I am not pushing for change in a world that so desperately needs it.<br />
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So in the spirit of honesty, let me tell you 10 ways that I am imperfect right now.<br />
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1) Everything I've eaten today has been relatively unhealthy. And I feel guilty about it.<br />
2) I spent an hour in therapy this morning. I don't feel guilty about it, but I feel like I didn't use it well.<br />
3) I'm disengaged in class, and I have not done an adequate amount of work for it. And I feel guilty about it.<br />
4) My dirty clothes from the last three days or so are on my bathroom floor. I only feel guilty when people know.<br />
5) I cried over the deaths I heard on the news, and then I moved on with my life. I feel guilty and like part of the problem.<br />
6) My dishwasher has been clean and waiting to be unloaded for multiple days. I feel guilty about it.<br />
7) I've been judgmental towards people who are made in the image of God. I feel sorry for it, and I feel stuck in how to change my attitude.<br />
8) I've been annoyed by people who make my schedule trickier than it already is. I feel guilty about it.<br />
9) I'm addicted to caffeine (need about four servings a day to avoid a migraine). I don't really feel guilty about it, but sometimes I feel like I "should" feel guilty about it.<br />
10)I procrastinated something I could have done this morning. I slept instead. I feel guilty about it.<br />
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Will you free yourself to show your imperfections today? And if someone dares to show you their feared imperfections, will you be kind to their vulnerable hearts? I hope I will. And if I fail today, I will hope again tomorrow.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-15319589289578512922013-01-28T00:19:00.003-05:002013-01-28T00:21:28.682-05:00The darkness and the light.This morning was one of those mornings that is exhausting in a really good way. The kind of exhausted where you are tired because you used your whole heart at something. You left yourself open and let an experience touch you, and you were stretched. Changed. Deepened. You're better for it, even though you're tired from it.<br />
<br />
Last year was tough. But in the midst of the difficulties, there were always people and moments like this, where the tired is the good kind. Where the heaviness is still heavy, but the pain isn't sharp.<br />
<br />
In recent weeks, I've been reminded of the darkness in the world. In recent years, I've been reminded of the darkness in me. I've been seeking and searching for answers, wondering how to trust fully in the light when sometimes all I see is darkness. When I hear stories that are too gruesome for movies and when I drive through communities that justice hasn't visited in a hundred years. When I've come to believe that hope is intrinsically painful because it reminds us that our present is less than some wish or longing or ideal.<br />
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The darkness is real. I can't wish it away or have faith strong enough to make it disappear. Because my faith isn't in the disappearing. It doesn't take faith to believe in a world full of nothing but happiness. It takes blindness. Real faith stands in the dark and sees - really sees - the crushing black weight of it all. It sees the grief and the pain. It asks the tough questions. It gets angry at injustice. It doesn't turn a blind eye to try and protect the reputation of its God. A God who needs us to be blind in order for him to be God is a pretty small god indeed.<br />
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I believe those things with my whole heart. I believe in asking the hard questions, in doing the wrestling, in taking the risk to open your eyes to the pain.<br />
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But sometimes I feel the weight of it all, and I see all the darkness, and I get stuck in the pain and the blackness. I entered in, and sometimes - most times - I don't know the way out.<br />
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This morning was one of those moments of clarity that don't come so very often. One of those moments you hold onto in all the days of darkness to come. One of those defining moments that seems really small, but persists in memory because it offered something to hold onto when you really, really needed something tangible.<br />
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It was a verse. One I've heard a thousand times. One only tangentially related to today's service. One that I heard only in my spirit, but one that slammed into my heart like it was literally bouncing around inside my chest. And one that offered me hope - the kind of hope that makes the pain feel like it has a purpose.<br />
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<i>"The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:5</i><br />
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It hasn't put it out, extinguished it, overtaken it, overpowered it. They both exist, the light and the dark. But the light has not been overcome. The light hasn't wavered.<br />
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It doesn't explain away the darkness. It doesn't cast it out of every corner. The darkness is there. But so is the light. And the light offers hope. Real, abiding, soul-stabelizing hope.<br />
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<i>"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33</i><br />
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I write this for myself, as a reminder for a day when I need reminding, a day when the dark feels like it's winning again. I write this to remind myself to open my eyes and heart not only to the darkness, but also to the light.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-40073821882018009982012-06-29T14:54:00.000-04:002012-06-29T15:18:06.814-04:00My Golden Birthday.Today is the last day of my twenties. <br />
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Wow. It just looks really weird to see that in print. <br />
<br />
As I've tried to prepare for turning 30, I've looked back on my last few birthdays and realized that each one was worse than the last because it was one closer to 30. A dear friend commented last night that it's like I've been counting down to this. I have. I'm not really sure why I've been counting down or what I've been expecting. Yet here I am on the precipice of being a 30-something instead of a 20-something, and I feel like I'm looking straight down the edge of a cliff. <br />
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For women who are married, I guess 30 is the beginning of a decade of expected milestones - kids, anniversaries, etc. I ache for my friends who are nearing this age without those milestones for which they long. I feel sorrow for my friends who are judged because those milestones aren't the ones they want for their lives, and they must constantly answer the expectations of society with rationalizations for the way they have chosen (or not chosen) to live. It's for all these friends that I'm feeling bold enough to write this. I don't want you to be judged, and I don't want you to live with the weight of others' expectations on your shoulders. I want to fling all our scarlet letters far from us and find a way to live in freedom and authenticity with one another.<br />
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For me, 30 is wide open. I've already passed the decade where everyone expects me to get married, settle down, stop going to rock concerts that damage my hearing, etc. I've dealt with the comments about when I'm going to have children and how going for my doctorate is just going to make me "more intimidating to men." Perhaps in my thirties, people will begin to appreciate what I've done with the extra space that God has chosen to give me and stop treating me like I've done something wrong because I don't have a serious boyfriend or children. Maybe people will stop making passive aggressive jokes about me being a lesbian. (Which, for the record, I am not. And which, for the record, is not okay to joke about - whether I am or not.)<br />
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I've heard that you get to be more yourself in your thirties without worrying about offending people. Apparently I'm coming out swinging.<br />
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This decade scares me because it is, for me, a decade with no road map. I have no expected milestones. I will probably get my doctorate in this decade. At least, that's the plan. I will move to Chicago in two weeks, and I have some fuzzy and idyllic images of me walking around the city, riding trains while reading textbooks, and cooking dinner in my new studio apartment. I want to spend this decade, as all my life, loving those who have no one else to love them. That's really the only roadmap I need. <br />
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As I stand on the precipice and look over, I can see nothing. Here's hoping that if I jump into the nothing, I will find myself falling not into an abyss, but into the arms of my Father who loves me and knows what milestones lay ahead. As scary as it is to walk into a phase of life for which I have no expectations, I can't help but think that no expectations means no disappointments.<br />
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I have been given a lifetime of gifts in my 30 years, and yet I have lived many days in sorrow and pain. Perhaps as I enter this new decade, I can see gifts for the extra kindness that they are and stop focusing (or allowing others to focus) on what I do not have. <br />
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Another dear friend said that perhaps the abundant life we've been promised is so much more than joy. Living full includes the pain. Abundant life - life to the fullest - would not be full if it contained only one extreme of the human existence. <br />
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Perhaps 30 will be a decade in which I can be thankful for the abundant life I've been given and stop feeling a pressure to live up to someone else's idea of abundance. The pain is never far off, but joy isn't either. His mercies are new every morning. Even tomorrow morning, when I will awake as a 30 year old single woman about to leave my semi-comfortable world for a world full of uncertainty. His mercies are still new tomorrow morning, and his grace is still sufficient.<br />
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I've stumbled many times in my 30 years, perhaps never so much as in these last few years. And in my tripping along, I am beginning to learn what grace is and how much I need it. Here's to a new decade full of failures, stumbles, ascents to mountaintops, descents into valleys, and enough grace to cover it all.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-31509058027900893832012-04-21T23:42:00.000-04:002012-04-21T23:48:06.901-04:00Graduation.Today was my last ever class at Richmont. Anytime I've said things about graduation to people outside my program, they seem to believe that it's a happy event, and cause for celebration. That's not what it feels like. It feels like grieving a loss that will never be fully grieved, because the hole it will leave is too big and too special to be filled by anything else. I have spent my life trying to learn how to love well. At Richmont, I learned how to BE loved well. I was pursued and valued here. I had a place and a role. I felt safe and comfortable. These three years, and especially this last year, have been difficult for so many of us. But Richmont has provided "emotional bubblewrap" (thanks for that language, Joel) for us in the moments that we have needed some small cushion from the pains and stresses of life. I have not only wept and rejoiced with my friends, but I have been wept with and rejoiced with. There has been depth and light, tears and laughter. There has been a lot of chocolate. There has been stress, anguish, turmoil, tragedy, trauma, and most of all, a holy and cursed waiting. We have played truth or truth (because none of us ever picked dares as kids), celebrated birthdays, sat in silence. We have worshipped together. We have done life together. We have done death together.<br />
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So forgive me if words of congratulations seem a bit incongruent with what I'm feeling at this point in my life. I'm sure there will be a day when I am excited and proud of the "accomplishment" of finishing Richmont and getting my master's degree. But today is not that day.<br />
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Today is the day that I cried (not pretty little tears, mind you, but the big ugly sobs) through the last five minutes of class. Today is the day that I thoughtfully and purposefully planned to wear my Wheaton t-shirt under my Richmont sweatshirt. I spent the day literally clothed in my past and my future, seated firmly in the present. And silly as it may have seemed, I paused in the foyer to take off my sweatshirt. I wanted to stay snuggled inside its warmth and cozy familiarity. It feels safe to wear a sweatshirt - the opposite of exposed. But yet, I knew that outside the doors, it was warm. The seasons had changed. It is spring now, and it is time to leave the comfort and coziness of this place behind. This season has ended, and it is time for us to move forward into our futures and the seasons that lie ahead of us.<br />
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There will be a time when I will be excited about the season coming next for me and the beautiful things that it holds. But not today. Today is about endings and goodbyes. It's about closing this time well and with honor for the weighty thing that it has been. <br />
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Forgive me for taking this out of context and using it in reference to an ending when its original context was in the death and grief of C.S. Lewis's beloved wife. I hope I will not do a dishonor to the weight of that story by using it as part of mine.<br />
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<i>"Why love, if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore: only the life I have lived. Twice in that life I've been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. The boy chose safety, the man chooses suffering. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal." ~ Shadowlands</i>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-52627577978216391482012-04-08T00:05:00.000-04:002012-04-08T00:07:38.940-04:0040 Days.Easter has come. Lent is over. I’ve missed a lot of dates during this process. Some of them have been intentionally taken off to give myself grace and not to force myself farther than I feel I can go. Some of them have simply been forgotten. But I am a woman of my word. So here are 40 things I’d rather you not know about me. Happy Easter, friends. I am so thankful for this story of redemption.<br /><br />February 22nd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/lent-and-mariah-carey.html">I sing along with Mariah Carey.</a><br />February 23rd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/gold-stars.html">I'm terrified of being teacher's pet.</a><br />February 24th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-am-here.html">I already want to quit.</a><br />February 25th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-watch-too-much-television.html">I watch too much TV.</a><br />February 26th - Sunday.<br />February 27th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-have-migraine.html">I am afraid of people thinking I'm a hypochondriac.</a><br />February 28th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/its-fun-to-stay-at.html">I don't like to sweat.</a><br />February 29th - I feel valued when I am helpful.<br />March 1st - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/sufficient.html">I failed.</a><br />March 2nd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/higgledy-piggledy.html">I'm a messy person.</a><br />March 3rd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/pajama-day.html">I wore pajamas all day today.</a><br />March 4th - Sunday.<br />March 5th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/process-comments.html">I don't like being vulnerable.</a><br />March 6th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/shuffle.html">I want people to think I have good taste in music.</a><br />March 7th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/freedom.html">I'm not as good as you think I am.</a><br />March 8th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/being-okay-with-not-being-okay.html">I was not okay today.</a><br />March 9th - I could not bring myself to be vulnerable today. It was too painful.<br />March 10th - I could not admit what was in my heart this day.<br />March 11th - Sunday.<br />March 12th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/choices-choices.html">I'm indecisive.</a> <br />March 13th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/slutty-brownies.html">I eat unhealthy food while I watch Biggest Loser.</a><br />March 14th - I’m trying to guilt my sister into caring for my sickly and elderly cat because I don’t think I have the emotional capacity to handle it if my cat dies when I’m living alone in Chicago.<br />March 15th - The only place I've ever been asked for my phone number is at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.<br />March 16th - I feel guilty when I have a crush on someone.<br />March 17th - I'm so stressed that I don't know what town I'm supposed to be in next weekend.<br />March 18th - Sunday.<br />March 19th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/bieber-fever.html">I have a mild case of Bieber Fever.</a><br />March 20th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/im-procrastinator.html">I am a procrastinator.</a><br />March 21st - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/scribbler.html">I want to be a writer.</a><br />March 22nd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/professor-lupin.html">I might be co-dependent with my dog.</a><br />March 23rd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/reduce-reuse-recycle.html">I reuse outfits.</a><br />March 24th - I went to see the Hunger Games. And I've read all the books. <br />March 25th - Sunday.<br />March 26th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/dont-take-my-picture.html">I hate having my picture taken.</a><br />March 27th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/sin-and-grace.html">Not only do I sin, but I resist grace.</a><br />March 28th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/embarrassment.html">My most embarrassing moment is...</a><br />March 29th - It makes me angry when people treat me like I’m stupid.<br />March 30th - I’ve always wished I had a brother. I think I want to feel protected.<br />March 31st - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/03/dissonance.html">Music is bittersweet to me.</a><br />April 1st - Sunday.<br />April 2nd - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/04/goodbyes.html">I hate goodbyes.</a><br />April 3rd - Sometimes when I'm really stressed, I add things to my to do list sometimes just so I can check them off.<br />April 4th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/04/lonely.html">I'm lonely.</a><br />April 5th - I’m not properly excited about graduating.<br />April 6th - <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/04/authentic-cursing.html">I think cursing can be holy.</a><br />April 7th - I still hate being vulnerable, and I’m afraid that I will not be able to find appropriate balance on this journey. But I trust that God has used this to teach me what he wanted to teach me, and not simply what I wanted to learn.<br />April 8th - Easter. Thank you God.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-21315295369535691302012-04-06T10:17:00.005-04:002012-04-07T00:20:58.922-04:00Authentic cursing.I believe cursing can be holy.<br /><br />Yes, I just said that. Now before you begin to tar and feather me (and before I lose my volunteer "job" singing on Sunday mornings at church for speaking heresy), let me explain. In the spirit of full disclosure, I think there are two types of cursing. There is vulgar cursing and there is authentic cursing. The same words spoken two different ways can be offensive to me or inspiring to me. In fact, there are many words that would not be considered curse words that seem so vulgar to me in the context in which they are spoken that they are more offensive than the "worst" types of words (which, by the way, are arbitrary words that have been socially constructed to be "bad," but I digress...). So what I'm talking about here is the latter - authentic cursing. Just like so many things, the focus for me is on the heart of the person more than on the legalism of what they are saying or doing. <br /><br />I understand that cursing is offensive to some people and not appropriate in all situations. I'm not arguing for it to be any different. In fact, I'm not arguing anything at all. I'm being honest about who I am and vulnerable about things I'd rather keep to myself and reveal only in "safe" situations. That's this whole Lent journey for me.<br /><br />The first curse word I ever said was in a prayer. I was angry, although I hadn't realized it before. I felt like God didn't care what was going on in my life. I felt separated from him. So finally, one day, I told him. I cursed as I told him. And then I collapsed into tears and sobs and felt him press into me, almost as if he were physically holding me. I felt him. Right after I cursed at him. I didn't really understand this then.<br /><br />I think I understand it better now, years later. We've all heard that the opposite of love isn't actually hate, but apathy. Anger actually requires you to remain engaged in some sort of relationship with the person at whom you're angry. Apathy allows you to walk away or remain distant and unattached. When I was dishonest with God and trying to shield him from my questions and my anger, I was actually disengaging from my relationship with him. When I was finally able to be honest and tell him how I was really feeling, I was moving back into relationship with him. I was trusting that he could contain my anger and my questions. I was trusting that he was bigger than me and could handle all that I can throw at him. Accusing him, lamenting, and throwing my questions upon him was truly trusting him. Keeping my questions hidden was out of fear that he would crumble beneath my anger or my questions. It was too small a picture of him.<br /><br />I've said something pretty radical to a few of my friends and clients. I've said, "I think sometimes curse words can be more righteous than worship songs." Are you offended? Let me explain. Although you can remain offended if you wish. Again, I'm not arguing for anything here. I've sung worship songs before and not meant a word. I've sung them without feeling. Disengaged. False. I've sung them pretending that I am okay when I am not. I've sung them self-righteously and smugly. It is in these situations that I believe God requires our true selves, not our false selves. And if our true selves are angry and accusatory (like, perhaps, the author of Lamentations?), I believe that is who God wants.<br /><br />My false self is incapable of being in a real relationship. My true self is fraught with imperfection. But it is honest. It is authentic. When I am my true self, ruptures in relationships will occur. But repair and redemption is not possible without rupture. And redemption is what this whole story of earth is about.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Come, let us return to the LORD. He has torn us to pieces but he will heal us; he has injured us but he will bind up our wounds. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will restore us, that we may live in his presence. Let us acknowledge the LORD; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth. What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you, Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears. Therefore I cut you in pieces with my prophets, I killed you with the words of my mouth— then my judgments go forth like the sun. For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings." ~ Hosea 6:1-6</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-30348885459329220462012-04-04T22:32:00.002-04:002012-04-04T22:58:09.018-04:00Lonely.This is the post I've been putting off since the first day of Lent. It's the one I knew I would have to write when I agreed to do this. And it's the one I've chosen not to write every single day since Lent began. Out of all the things I wish people didn't know about me, this has got to be at the top of the list. I'm literally taking a deep breath before I type it.<br /><br />I am lonely.<br /><br />It looks so ugly and shameful there in plain text. My fingers actually felt a little icky typing it. But there it is. I know it seems shocking to you that an almost 30 year old woman might feel a little lonely sometimes (that's sarcasm for Sheldon's benefit). But believe it or not, it's shocking to me. I've always been quite content to be alone. I enjoy the freedom of it. I am an introvert, and I enjoy having space and quiet to myself. But recently, I've found myself wishing that there was a person who would like to sit on the couch with me and ask me about my day. I've realized that I'm a little bit tired of going to concerts by myself all the time. I've realized that there are days that I really need a hug and there's no one to give me one.<br /><br />I'm terrified for you to know this about me. I don't want to look desperate, clingy, whiny, or weak. I don't want to be "one of those girls" that people assume are miserable because they're single. Because here's the deal - and hear me say this clearly - I am NOT miserable. I really like my life. I get to do lots of really cool things, hang out with really wonderful people, and go really awesome places whenever I want. It's just that I sometimes wonder if it would be fun to do those things with someone. And believe me, the thought has crossed my mind that it might NOT be fun to do those things with someone.<br /><br />I guess the bottom line is I'm afraid that admitting I'm lonely means admitting that I feel undesirable. It's the same old thing... if I allow people the opportunity to look too closely, they will realize that there is a reason that I am single. They'll be like, "Oh... That makes sense." They'll assume I have a dozen cats when really I only have the one that I've spent the last three years trying to get rid of. But this is a journey of laying down pride, and this is what it all comes down to for me. Pride lures me into believing that I can do it all on my own. Vulnerability, then, is admitting that I cannot. Admitting that I cannot do life without God is easy. I know I rely on him. Admitting that I need friends is new for me, but God has worked deeply in my heart these last three years and has showed me how much I need my friends and how much better of a person I can be if I allow them to help me. It is not easy for me to rely on my friends, but through discipline and practice, it is becoming easier.<br /><br />Maybe this is the next step. Maybe it's not. I have always said that the only reason I would ever get married is if the two of us glorify God more together than we do apart. My mission and purpose do not change. I am called to love as well as I can the people that God puts in my path. And if he deems me able to do that on my own, then I will thank him for such an honor. If he brings me a helper, I will thank him for his gift. But regardless of his plan, to deny my loneliness is to deny a part of how he has created me. I do not demand that it be fulfilled, but to deny it is dishonest. I offer it back to him as a gift of my scared and wounded heart. And I believe the tattered honesty of it will please him. So I guess it doesn't really matter if it pleases anyone else.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Do not let your longing slay the appetite of your living." ~ Jim Eliot</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-16283435320664476352012-04-02T22:00:00.004-04:002012-04-02T22:27:59.937-04:00Goodbyes.I didn't think I was a person that hated goodbyes. I've left so many people and places in my life that I've gotten pretty good at them. I enjoy change. I like fresh starts and new beginnings. But right now in my life, every new opportunity means another goodbye. The good is tinged with sadness. I guess that's always the way it is on this side of heaven.<br /><br />The goodbyes are surrounding me. I'm saying goodbye to clients, my school, community, friendships, rhythms of life, family, musical comrades, trivia buddies, favorite restaurants and venues, my house, and even my car shop. I've spent many years trying to escape Knoxville, and now as I'm finally presented with the opportunity to leave, I find myself hesitating on the precipice.<br /><br />That which we know is always more comfortable than that which is unknown. It takes risk to gamble on a future that isn't defined or spelled out. I'm not a risk-taker or a gambler. But without risk, there is no reward. Someone told me once to always live life on purpose, lest you wake up one day and realize you are somewhere that you never intended to go. <br /><br />Goodbyes are painful, but they bring a closure that we need and that we do not always do well. It's easier to avoid them, because they involve embracing the pain. Simply allowing someone to leave your life is easier than saying goodbye. I know because I've always been someone who allows people to leave my life fairly easily. But if I am going to ask my clients to face the pain of goodbye, I must be willing to do it myself. I cannot avoid the end and loss of my relationships. I cannot pretend that things will not change. And I cannot regret a single ounce of my investment in them, even though the happiness then adds to the pain now.<br /><br />I'm trying to learn to both embrace and let go, for the letting go is just as much a part of the embrace as the holding on.<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/13WAhlE02ew" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-87491208925486541792012-03-31T23:00:00.006-04:002012-03-31T23:49:55.614-04:00Dissonance.It doesn't take a great deal of Facebook stalking to know that I love music and concerts. But here's what you might not know. Concerts aren't pure joy for me. Music isn't pure joy for me. It has a flavor of bitterness to it. My heart still aches to create music, to play music, to be in a world where music plays a significant part. I hate that the dissonant notes are there, but at the same time, they deepen the melody. <br /><br />I remember crying with dear friends not so long ago after one of my favorite concerts. I couldn't really explain why I was crying, other than the beauty and the longing danced so powerfully within me that I could not contain it. My emotion burst out of me. Tears are one way this happens in me. Music is another. Melodies, harmonies, chords, and lyrics used to burst out of the emotions stirred in my heart. But now the notes have quieted. And now I watch and listen as notes pour from the instruments and voices of artists. And my heart aches within me, longing to be one of them. Longing to have a part in their chorus.<br /><br />God asked me to lay down music years ago. For a time, it was in its entirity. Being a part of a band had become my identity, a way that I tried desperately to earn friends or approval. I knew that I needed to learn about who I was as a whole person. So I obeyed, and I laid it down at his feet. After a few years, I was allowed to pick a piece of it back up as opportunities to sing at my church and in a gospel choir emerged. I believe this is all I will likely be able to hold in this one life God has given me. But my heart still yearns for more.<br /><br />I love music. It speaks to my soul. But there is a part of my soul that will always long to speak back, to be a contributor to the field of art and not merely a consumer. Perhaps there will be a place for my words and voice on this earth. Or perhaps this is yet another way that I am reminded that I was not created for this earth. I long for a place where beauty exists without pain, where sweetness is not tainted with bitter, and where I am unleashed to glorify God with my full self.<br /><br />I am learning to hope, despite the pain that hope brings. For hope reminds me that desires not satisfied in this life bring us an ever present reminder that they will be satisfied in the next.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-59597673479259008252012-03-28T22:45:00.003-04:002012-03-28T23:11:57.542-04:00Embarrassment.My most embarrassing moment to this day occurred early on in my middle school career. I was homeschooled and started at a private school in 7th grade. This meant that I did not know any lunchroom protocol. So when I was standing next to the conveyer belt that takes all the trays into the kitchen and they began to fall, I did not anticipate that people might think I had dropped my own tray. And I definitely did not anticipate that they would laugh and clap.<br /><br />The horror and shame and embarrassment I felt sent me into a dizzying emotional nosedive. I actually did drop my tray at that point, and then I ran blindly into the girls' bathroom, tears streaming down my face, and threw up. I am fairly certain I stayed in there throughout my next few classes.<br /><br />When I have to tell the story for some reason now, people always say that I should have taken a bow. It never would have occurred to me. I guess it's ultimately linked to everything I've shared this Lent season. I'm afraid to fail in front of others. I'm afraid to let my weaknesses show. I'm afraid to be less than what I think I should be (or someone else thinks I should be). I'm afraid that the slightest slip up will result in me being the weird girl who did that weird thing and now she doesn't have any friends. <br /><br />I still have issues eating in front of people, especially if it involves walking in front of them with a plate of food. Some days I can't make myself do it, and I make an excuse about not being hungry or having recently eaten. But the stronger I get, the more days I can risk tripping, dropping something, or being humiliated. I am trying to learn that I am free to fail, and that I can simply laugh and take a bow when I look foolish. I'm thankful that I'm not still in middle school, and that, as silly as it sounds, people won't stop being my friend if I do something embarrassing. It's embarrassing how hard it is for me to believe that. That might be who I was. But through the grace of God, that is not who I am.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-613352379120943512012-03-27T17:33:00.002-04:002012-03-27T17:52:04.284-04:00Sin and grace.The church has taught us that people who have faith should not stumble. Some stumbles are okay, perhaps. Other stumbles are off limits. We know that sin is a part of life, and it is the reason we need grace. We know that we cannot earn or merit grace. And yet, we try. We trick ourselves into believing that perfection is attainable. Sure those "little" sins happen every day, but at least we're not doing those "big" sins. I hope this sounds ridiculous to you. And I hope it also resonates, because though we know it doesn't work this way, we act like it works this way. And then we must live up to the pressure. As Mark McMinn says about a man he counseled, "He could not afford to speak a language of sin because there were no arms of grace to catch him if he fell." Part of my job is to offer a place to fall and receive grace. But here's the thing. I also need a place to fall. Because I do fall. And sometimes I am not aware of the arms of grace waiting to catch me. I need to be reminded. And I'm so thankful for the people in my life who have been and continue to be those beautiful, strong arms for me. I hope my arms are grace for them too.<br /><br />Even though I've known my whole life that grace cannot be earned, I must admit that I have continued to act like I could earn it. And therefore, I have acted in pride, as if I don't really need it. Nothing could be further from the truth. I need it, I don't believe I deserve it, and it's hard for me to receive it. It's a discipline for me to open my heart to receive what God longs to give me. I am not humble, as he would have me be. Instead, I am humiliated by my sin and shame, and I turn my face away from his grace because it exposes my sin. So I sit here, peeling off these layers in front of your reading eyes, exposing myself in ways that feel amazingly uncomfortable. I had no idea what truly waited for me when I began this Lent's journey. I'm stretching, practicing, trying to get better at being not only aware of my need for grace, but able to receive it when it is offered to me instead of feeling that I must resist it somehow. Some believe, after all, that it's irresistable. :-) (That's a joke for you people who love to talk about the five points of Calvinism. If you didn't get it, just chalk it up to nerdiness and continue on.)<br /><br />My worship leader and dear friend sent me a song to learn today. It discloses my heart more fully than any words I could write. Sorry to spoil it for you if you like to be surprised by our Sunday set lists. Bryan, I hope this wasn't a secret. I just couldn't not share it. It was too perfect.<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/y56nxe5HeFI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-72110483573333466312012-03-26T21:42:00.006-04:002012-03-26T22:31:49.239-04:00Don't Take My Picture.I hate having my picture taken. It's incredibly anxiety provoking. If you've ever tried to take my picture, you likely know this about me (and probably have a picture of my hand in front of my face). For those of you who go to Providence, remember when they used to have the band on the screens behind the words? Pretty sure I made a legitimate bribery attempt to get them to stop putting me on the screen. Then I stooped to using theological arguments. And I legitimately considered quitting the band.<br /><br />Here's the deal. I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone that, as a woman, I'm insecure about the way I look. Almost all of us feel it. But no one admits it. So I'm admitting it. And even though I know that most of you reading this will feel the same way, I still feel remarkably foolish admitting it. Society has me convinced that I am too round, too plain, too slouched, and the wrong shape. I've struggled with my weight being too high and too low. I feel like no matter how I pluck my eyebrows, they never look right. I feel lucky if one out of every ten outfits I wear is cute. The rest of the time I hope people don't see me.<br /><br />Most days, I can remember that these things don't really matter. Some days, I literally stay inside because it's easier in here. Some days I look in the mirror and see my personality smiling back at me. Some days, I just don't look in the mirror because I can't handle it. <br /><br />I don't share this so that you'll affirm me or feel sorry for me. I share it because a) that's the rule of this awful game that I'm playing. But more importantly because b) if you struggle like this, I want you to know that you're not alone. <br /><br />And as a side note - if your struggle has you engaging in dangerous behaviors to try and control your appearance, I'd love to talk to you about how you can find some help. Eating disorders can be deadly. If you're wondering if you have any tendencies toward an unhealthy relationship with food, you can take a quick assessment online here: <a href="http://www.drdomm.com/self-tests/are-you-dying-to-be-thin.html">Are You Dying to Be Thin?</a> Oh, and as a side note to my side note - I do not know this psychologist and am not endorsing her or her website. This is just a link to a helpful quiz.<br /><br />Oh, and you might like these two songs. I'm not sure why I have so many links on this particular blog...<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pR_heGRfwe0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ZscvftEOAWM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-73343100854879830782012-03-23T21:38:00.002-04:002012-03-23T21:45:58.114-04:00Reduce, reuse, recycle.My life currently consists of at least three contexts that do not overlap with one another. So I reuse outfits. I wore the same thing three times this week. I do this mostly because I'm lazy and trying to pick out clothing exhausts me. So when I find something I like, I use it in all my contexts so that I don't have to remember later where I wore it and where I can still wear it. I might have to get more clothes if my life ever aligns in a way that I see the same people more than 1-2 days a week. Reduce, reuse, recycle, right? Please don't think I'm gross.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-11431726907298159202012-03-22T22:37:00.004-04:002012-03-22T22:56:32.622-04:00Professor Lupin.I wonder sometimes if I need my dog more than he needs me. I knew that when I rescued him off the side of the road I was indulging some level of codependency, because I told my mom that at least this was a healthy way for me to fulfill my need to rescue. I think he's a handsome little guy, even though the first time my sister ever saw him, she remarked, "Rachel. That is the ugliest dog I've ever seen!" This, by the way, is why he's moving with me and not staying with my sister when I move to Chicago this summer. She's mad about it, but she knows that I love him more (and that she never would have stopped on the road to pick him up in the first place). Sometimes he looks at me with his sweet little face and I burst into tears, begging God to never let him die. I know that this prayer is ludicrous, so please don't bother telling me. I know my dog will die. But I pray it anyway sometimes, so take that for what you will. For now, I'm good being codependent with my dog. :-)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-23274493948155200222012-03-21T19:17:00.002-04:002012-03-21T19:34:16.484-04:00Scribbler.Did you know that "scribbler" is a synonym for writer? It means, "a composer of written work" according to <a href="http://dictionary.com">Dictionary.com</a>. I want to be a writer. I've always dreamed of it, although I could never admit it until two years ago. It's part of the reason that I'm continuing on for my doctorate in clinical psychology. Why is this something I'd rather people not know about me, you ask? Well, thanks for asking. It's because I'm afraid to admit that I want something that I'm not sure I'll get. I don't want to try and fail. I don't want to be that person who always dreamed of being something and never became it.<br /><br />But here we are, on this journey of vulnerability, where I'm being forced (okay, gently led) to lay down pride and be honest about who I am and the rough edges that are just as much me as my <a href="http://bradthechick.blogspot.com/2012/02/gold-stars.html">gold stars</a>. Perhaps the rough edges are even more who I am, for who I am is a broken and sinful woman in need of Christ. I am so broken that I can forget how broken I am. The stars are just a reflection of a Light that isn't mine.<br /><br />So in my brokenness, I am daring to admit to you that I dream of being a writer. Let's go one further. A writer who a few dozen people have actually read. A writer who has had some sort of impact. It's a risk, because there is a very real possibility that this dream will never come to fruition. And then I will be the 89 year old of whom someone says, "Didn't you want to be a writer?" But I pray two things: 1) that God will provide a way for me to write if indeed he has something that he'd like for me to say and 2) that if he doesn't, I will not regret trying or being bold enough to admit what I wanted. Perhaps it is in the trying that I will discover my true calling. Or perhaps it is in being brave (or silly) enough to try that my dream will come true.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-71640687793666869392012-03-20T18:54:00.003-04:002012-03-20T19:12:04.836-04:00I'm a procrastinator.I'm a horrible procrastinator. I wait until the absolute last minute before I begin projects. I write papers in a single sitting, usually the night before. I only clean when I'm putting off doing some project or another. Even my blogs are typically late at night. In fact, this one is only early in the day because I am literally doing this instead of writing two papers that I have due on Thursday. I become productive in various other areas of my life when I am procrastinating in one.<br /><br />I don't know why I'm like this. I joke often and say that it allows me to work faster and that, "If you wait until the last minute, it only takes a minute." While I do believe that is true, I often wonder why I can't treat earlier minutes as if they're the last minute. I wonder why I can't follow through on doing things early even though I know I'm racing toward a deadline pile-up that just may kill me (and if it doesn't kill me, will leave me stressed and sleep deprived and broken down emotionally). <br /><br />I guess the fact that I know it's my own fault is the reason that I don't typically ask for extensions when it all hits the fan. I know I've put myself into a bad set of circumstances, and so I force myself to stay in them, knuckle down, and get everything done. But I find myself wondering... What would happen if I allowed others to offer me grace in bad situations? What if I allowed myself to ask for mercy and grace not only when I feel I might deserve it, but when I know I don't? Sometimes that means accepting consequences, and I recognize that. But I wonder how many times I have deprived myself of the humbling experience of being shown unmerited favor, simply because I choose to do things all on my own? Just because I can do something on my own doesn't always mean I should. <br /><br />And so here we are, where even my discussion of my bad habit of procrastinating has led me back to the place of realizing how truly bad I am at vulnerability. At least I don't have to worry about being vulnerable again until 11:50pm tomorrow. :-)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-79058725580366861522012-03-19T22:20:00.005-04:002012-03-19T22:32:21.119-04:00Bieber Fever.I watched the Justin Bieber movie. And I liked it. My sister and I rented it and fully indulged our Bieber Fever. Hate all you want, but this kid is talented. I don't own any of his songs or anything, but I will sing along in carpool dance parties riding down I-75 any day of the week. Mock away. Part of the fun of loving music (for me) is being able to enjoy the lighthearted alongside the heartrending lyrics that comment on the brokenness of our world. Life is all about balance. And sometimes you need a little Bieber to remind you to celebrate fun and innocence. Or at least I do.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1466556714257807420.post-51671501894697340172012-03-13T22:34:00.006-04:002012-03-13T22:47:04.958-04:00Slutty Brownies.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O_mrnh_kktk/T2AGor5STuI/AAAAAAAAAC4/oJpPWVbypIw/s1600/photo-1.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O_mrnh_kktk/T2AGor5STuI/AAAAAAAAAC4/oJpPWVbypIw/s320/photo-1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719578822808063714" /></a><br />I made these brownies tonight. They're called "Slutty Brownies" and I found them on Pinterest. Mmmmm. I could only eat three bites before I had to stop, because they are so incredibly rich. What makes this funny, though, is that I made and ate these while watching Biggest Loser. Dolvett would be so disappointed in me. And that would break my heart, because I am slightly in love with that man. My friend Megan can testify to this truth, as we watch Biggest Loser together (via text conversation) every week that we can.<br /><br />So, take your pick of confessions from this post. I watch Biggest Loser. I eat really bad for me food while watching Biggest Loser. I'm in love with Dolvett. I thought I'd get several out all at once since I might not be able to post the next few days while I'm in Chicago. :-)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04186148629605632700noreply@blogger.com3