Hello, Again

The last time I wrote was in July.

Jeeeez.

Although, not writing since July was a very intentional decision. A surprise pregnancy with my ex-husband who was working half way across the world at the time was too big and life changing for words. It’s overwhelmingness left me unable to focus on anything else, either. So, I stopped with the self-reflection. I just lived with this growing reality (literally).

 

For me, pregnancy was not a glowy situation. It meant being exhausted, nauseous, and constipated. I had round ligament pains and leg cramps that made me wish I was dead. Because I had a vasa previa (a condition occuring in 1 of every 2,500 pregnancies), I was on partial bedrest for half of it, which only made me feel more gross. I was in the hospital/NICU for 5 weeks, had to give up my drug-free/birth center plan for a c-section, and ended up getting mastitis in both breasts and the flu the week we brought Milo home. I recognize how fortunate I am (because, hey, even worse things could’ve happened), but it was a time full of complications on multiple levels. My support system got me through it. I suppose I should give myself some credit, too. After all, I worked hard these past few years to say yes to hard things, surrender to unknowns, be fierce in the face of change, and expectant of the good that will come. One day, maybe I’ll look back and think life was preparing me for this all along.

But today is not that day. Today, yesterday, tomorrow…these are the days of working a full time job while sleep deprived. Of feeling like your body belongs to everyone but you. Of having 2 hours free and feeling absolutely paralyzed about whether to spend it cleaning the kitchen, grabbing dinner with a friend, finally taking the box of clothes that has been sitting by the door for a month to the consignment store, going to a yoga class, actually writing in the baby book, cutting your fingernails and shaving your legs, working on your side hustle that is one day supposed to be your dream job, or playing with your baby that you don’t see all day (and then second guessing whichever one you chose to do). Yes, these are the days of feeling like a shitty friend because you always forget to call or text back. Of falling asleep at 8 pm on a Friday night with a bag of m&ms and spit up in your hair. These are the days you don’t know what is happening. You just live with this growing reality (literally).

Any time I go to my phone or computer seeking insight on how to achieve some sort of balance for ‘these days’, I am overwhelmed. The mommy blogs, podcasts, forums, Facebook groups. AH! There is too much information available for the infinite number of ways there is to do everything related to raising a person. Additionally, it seems like I always see a raw, relatable essay on the messiness of newborn life coupled with a perfectly curated Instagram feed or I’m supposed to follow someone’s post partum workout journey with their portion controlled containers to “get my body back” but also be super feminist and body-positive about the changes I just went through. I don’t have a point to make here other than it’s annoying.

I don’t understand how having a child changes everything, except that it does. I have this inner resistence to the lack of control I have over this change. In some ways, I had just gotten to know myself and now I’m afraid of losing myself completely in a world that revolves around someone else. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not yet. Not like this.

But it did. And now I have a 13 pound chunk of cute, rolly flesh that smiles at me every morning in complete obilvion to the fact that he ruined and enhanced everything with one swift many tiny kicks.

I’m only 4 months in and learning that this part of life is about holding and balancing just as much a paradox as all the other parts. There’s the feeling of intense pain that comes when he latches onto my cracked, sore nipples but then there’s the feeling of peace that settles over me as I watch him sleep on my chest. There’s a lack of freedom to live life the way I used to, but an abundance of wonder at all the new feelings and experiences I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I’m not happy, but I’m not unhappy. I sleep way less but find more energy to do what I need to. Which means, I suppose I can understand how one can work for a sculpted core but be proud of the stretch marks on it. Or write about the hard and messy, but capture the clean and beautiful.

And no matter how contradictory or confusing life becomes, no matter how unaccomplished and unbalanced I may feel, I can always remind myself that I grew this…

to this…

exclusively with my body. That is power.

Love,
Taylor

Apologies

I’ve been volunteering at DMCW for 9 months now and when you’re a staff volunteer, you see the same people come through every week. First, you get to know names and faces. Then you learn things like how Stanley takes his coffee and how when Kim asks if you have noodles she means ramen noodles and nothing else. You learn that Jimmy prefers donations of black socks to white ones and that if anyone is mouthing off, Annie will most certainly have your back.

The longer I’m here, the more I learn not just about preferences and personalities, but about what happens on the other side of the street when our doors have closed for the day. I am only privy to seeing the tip of many icebergs, but it’s enough to keep me from living in comfortable ignorance of what lurks beneath the water where I float.

I can fill a plate, clean and bandage cuts, drive someone to detox, or offer my undivided attention and a hug. But all the love and good deeds in the world don’t change the fact that at the end of the day I’m the one sleeping inside when it’s below zero outside. I’m the one who can raid the fridge at night if my stomach is growling. I’m the one who can work. I’m the one with a car to take me to work. I’m the one who goes home to people who aren’t abusive or tweaking. What do I do with the privelege I carry as I attempt to live in solidarity with these nieghbors of mine?

 

There have been several times I’ve asked one of our guests a question, completely unprepared for where the conversation would go. Totally unaware that I just signed up to have my ears violated. I’ve had some real good sob sessions in my car lately as I drive and decompress from all the information I take in. I hate, hate, hate, HATE that most of the time all I can do is say, “I’m so sorry.”

I’m so sorry that your husband beat you until your eyes swelled shut and you could feel your mouth fill with blood.

I’m so sorry that you’ve been shot 9 times and can show me the scars scattered across your abdomen.

I’m so sorry that you’re finding it impossible to stay sober and it’s ruining everything.

I’m so sorry that 3 of your 4 sons died when they were just kids.

I’m so sorry that your fingers are frost bitten.

I’m so sorry that you were forced into prostitution and that you feel trapped and violated.

It feels like there are apologies constantly pumping through my bloodstream. All I know is that I cannot burn out, get cyncical, and angry. I cannot disengage. In this place where I live, contemplation and action are connected. Connecting to Love allows the community to stay engaged working for some semblance of peace and justice when the presence of pain is so thick and tangible. I believe this house is holy ground and these neighbors are immensely loved in the only way we know how: to show up, to see and listen, to stand together, and to know how they take their coffee.

God, I hope it’s felt and that it’s enough.

Love,

Taylor

P.S. I know this is kind of heavy, but I promise most of the time there’s a lot of joy and good vibes all around.

 

 

7 Things Sunday

Since it is Easter…

7 (of many) reasons I think Jesus was the man:

One. Jesus a radically awesome friend to women. There is a Jewish blessing that goes, “Blessed are you, Lord God, Ruler of the Universe, who has not made me a woman.” In Jesus’ day women were essentially seen as property. Men didn’t speak to women in public. Rabbis were not to teach women.  And yet we see many accounts of Rabbi Jesus teaching women, even one-on-one. He included men and women as disciples. We see Jesus interact with women intimately and personally. They flocked to him. They used their resources to support his ministry. Jesus violated the morals and traditions of his society to give women honor and respect.

When the religious leaders were tired of Jesus’ popularity, teachings, and rule-breaking, they thought they could bring a charge against him. So they instigated a mob and drug a woman caught in adultery (which was punishable by death) before Jesus. They said to him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So, what do you say?”

Jesus has a lose-lose situation, here. If he shows her mercy, he ends up condoning adultery and getting arrested or at the very least he proves the Pharisees’ point. If he agrees with the stoning, then so much for all his teaching on mercy and forgiveness. So much for his unique and against-the-grain treatment of women. So what happens?

He bends down and writes something on the ground (what he wrote remains unknown, but I like to think it said something like, “Suck it, Pharisees!”). Then when they continued to question him, he stood up and said, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw the stone at her.”

BOOM. No takers. No condemnation. Walk away, people. Daughter: go home, live your life, don’t cheat anymore.

Who stood at the foot of the cross when Jesus’ male disciples fled? Ladies.

Who did Jesus choose to first appear to when he rose from the dead? Ladies. WHAT?! This is amazing. Women had such little standing in culture and certainly no authority to be religious spokespersons. And here Jesus is, giving them this role to be the first to tell others of his resurrection.

Two. Jesus was really annoyed by self-righteous religious people and legalism. Amen, me too. Thank God. Literally. Jesus told the crowds in Matthew 23, “…don’t follow their example. For they don’t practice what they teach. They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden. Everything they do is for show.” He goes on to say to the Pharisees things like, “What sorrow awaits you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites! For you shut the door of the Kingdom of Heaven in people’s faces. You won’t go in yourselves, and you don’t let others enter either…For you cross land and sea to make one convert, and then you turn that person into twice the child of hell you yourselves are!….You ignore the more important aspects of the law- justice, faith, and mercy…Outwardly you look like righteous people, but inwardly your hearts are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness…Snakes! Sons of vipers!”

That’s pretty intense stuff. As with the parable of the tax collector, Jesus consistently and intently made it evident that God looks at each individual’s heart posture. Only he knows, only he can make judgements. The rest of us are commanded to love.

Three. Jesus understands suffering. I take comfort in knowing this. That when I grieve something or someone, he’s doing it, too. I won’t even begin to compare any of my suffering to what he experienced. But he knew the pain of being betrayed by close friends. He knew the gut-wretchingness of seeing insane injustices all around him. He knew hunger. He knew accusation. He knew the pain of giving up family. He knew the pain of death. He experienced all the emotions I experience. I love worshipping a God who’s response to human suffering was to enter into it- to endure it with me and for me.

Four. Jesus was grace. The crucifixion story amazes me because I see just how jaw-droppingly full of grace God is, even in torture, awaiting an unjust death. His first words on the cross are to ask God to actually forgive the people who are killing him (Luke 23:34). Then, the criminal who hung on the cross next to Jesus, acknowledging Christ’s innocence, asks to be remembered when Jesus enters his kingdom. He doesn’t start confessing his sins or asking how to ‘get saved’, he simply asks to be a part of the kingdom. In his last seconds of life, hanging in excruciating pain on the cross, Jesus assures him they’ll be in paradise together that day (Luke 23:43). And then his last words on the cross moments before he dies are, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Five. Jesus was a “come to the table” guy. He was known disapprovingly as a friend to prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, and a whole assortment of social outcasts. Jesus chose to wine and dine this crew. Even the disciples were a bunch of kids who hadn’t made the cut. Jesus seemed to do a lot of his ministry during mealtimes. Jesus’ first miracle (while full of symbolism) was turning tons of water into the best wine to save a bride humiliation and keep the reception dinner party going. During dinner one night, Jesus exemplfies the servanthood of leadership by washing his students’ feet. Jesus taught that the kingdom of heaven is like a wedding feast. Then, most infamously at the last supper he first offers himself as the Eucharist using bread and wine.

Six. Jesus was a story-teller. Who doesn’t love a great storyteller? The endless parables used to get on my nerves a little. If Jesus was worried about making everything clear and not leaving much up for interpretation, I don’t feel like he did that. He was a man of symbolism. I’ve come to hold a deep appreciation for that and what I assume his reasonings are for teaching this way. Parables, or stories that parallel a principle with an easily understood illustration are for one, memorable. They also allowed him to teach controversial lessons without getting in trouble with religious authorities for heresy. They indicate people’s spiritual condition, being lost on those who are resistant to instruction, while piercing the hearts that are open. And ultimately, I think it was because Jesus wanted to show us God, not lecture us about his principles. Jesus illustrates that he wanted us to understand how good God’s kingdom is and what it means for us as broken, fallen people. Jesus was constantly confronted with ways in which God’s intention had been perverted by human brokenness. God’s way had become all about religion and rules, not about humility and love. 

Seven. Jesus meets you where you’re at and has faith in you. Obviously, there are a lot of stories where Jesus is talking to a large group of people, but I’m always most amazed by his one-on-one interactions. He didn’t use a system or have a method when it came to healing and drawing people into relationship with him. He used various methods of speaking commands, asking questions, being touched or touching, forgiveness, compassion, to convey God in the way that specific person needed to receive it. He knew where each person’s faith was at, and he got on that level to call them into restoration. To call them to follow. I love this (paraphrased) part of Rob Bell’s “Dust” sermon…

If you are a disciple, you have committed your entire life to being like your rabbi. If you see your rabbi walk on water, what do you immediately want to do? Walk on water. So this disciple gets out on the water and he starts to sink, so he yells, “Jesus save me!” And Jesus says, “You of little faith, why do you doubt?” Who does Peter lose faith in? Not Jesus; Jesus is doing fine. Peter loses faith in himself. Peter loses faith that he can do what the rabbi is doing. If the rabbi calls you to be his disciple, then he believes you can actually be like him. As we read the stories of Jesus’ life with his disciples, what do we find that frustrates him to no end? When his disciples lose faith in themselves. He doesn’t get frustrated with them because they are incapable, but because of how capable they are. 

So Jesus, at the end of his time, tells the disciples to go make more disciples. Then he leaves. He dies. He promises to send his Spirit to guide and direct them, but the future of the movement is in their hands. He doesn’t stick around to make sure they don’t screw it up. He’s gone. He actually trusts that they can do it. God has an incredibly high view of people. God believes people are capable of amazing things. I’ve been told that I need to believe in Jesus, which is a good thing. But what I’m learning is that Jesus believes in me. 

 

 

 Love,

Taylor

On Break(throughs)

I just need a breakthrough.

I keep telling myself this.

I need a breakthrough at work, where a barrier crumbles and I’m let in. I’m allowed to swim through the tormented, beautiful minds. Where I’m listened to and asked to listen.

I need a breakthrough in my creativity, where it suddenly ignites as if I were a human sparkler.

I need a breakthrough in friendships, where the awkwardness goes away. Where I don’t feel less than because of the newly missing half.

I need a breakthrough in church or spirituality, where prayer isn’t a homework assignment, but happens with people organically and in the moment. Where there is time for honest questions and room for silence.

I need a breakthrough in therapy, where I learn how to gauge whether I’m doing something caring for someone else or if I’m actually doing it for me (which, for the record, is way harder than you might think). Where I figure out how parts of my personality and character make me wonderfully amazing and wonderfully unhealthy at the same time. Where I figure out how to let go, unclench my fists and foster some sort of pioneering spirit that pushes me forward into God knows what.

Break:

separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow, shock or strain

to lacerate; to wound

to put an end to; overcome; stop

to interrupt the regularity, uniformity, or arrangement of

I’m in the process of breaking. In some moments I feel completely broken. We’ve all been there, right? There’s that overly-pinned Leonard Cohen lyric about how cracks are what lets the light in. It’s true, though. Breakthroughs must be like that- never one single break, but rather gradual shifts…tiny cracks that reveal or expose what was once unseen and intangible. And it’s an active process. To continue breaking is an option I will always have. It’s the “through” part that I have trouble committing to. That part is scary. That means I have to find the flaw and see through it. It means that I some point, in order to get anywhere, I have to shift my actions to a forward and through direction.

It means I have to take a break from the internal mind chatter that doesn’t actually benefit me. It means I have to finds ways to make use of the time I spent devoted to all these old habits and ways of thinking. And it means I must stay mindful of all thee above.

While breaking is unpleasant and disorienting, I realize that when we break…newness and freshness floods in. It’s different, but it doesn’t have to be scary. I can lean into that. I can embrace the pain of the cracking if it means I’m breaking for a good sob and surrender. For the most raw and pure form of faith. For new adventures and relationships. For the breathlessness of anticipation. For discovering that I’m capable of this. For sunflowers and sweaty yoga mats. For new eyes and a wiser heart. I can break for those things. 

Away with the notion that breaking is about isolation, gross imperfection, and all things depressing.

Usher in the truth that breaking is about movement, growth, and light. God is in the beauty, sacredness, and humble gratification of the breaking.

Love,

Taylor