tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52527852836909209392024-03-14T01:40:59.643-07:00Channing B. ParkerInspirational writer and poetic force for goodChanning Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-30399487882511770352024-01-18T14:47:00.000-08:002024-01-18T15:15:13.454-08:00PCOS & Me<p>For the last five years, I've been dealing with a chronic condition known as PCOS. Like many diseases, it didn't come from nowhere, and I've found myself reminiscing lately on my life, family history, and childhood experiences as they relate to my health and well-being. I've also been thinking about the challenges I've experienced in trying to manage PCOS, and ways I'd like to be better about advocating for myself.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQqE2Nemcafd733CMHN3NVdlWgeTlBflz7ghaT0DHYMojkDFWcifkDQnVThaRJKdLnCnD42MaYr0C7RGxJli2QeUfCNjxE7l595QHaZXVWG65IXUiltL_2KA7ZCYpNPf1UVzfZUyRGYdwtFlmdDT4nJy8RUs5AY67ZARxtVj35E6YC05DDMUkm_LPo9Q/s5751/ivan-stern-k_lzqO_Yl4Y-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5751" data-original-width="3235" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQqE2Nemcafd733CMHN3NVdlWgeTlBflz7ghaT0DHYMojkDFWcifkDQnVThaRJKdLnCnD42MaYr0C7RGxJli2QeUfCNjxE7l595QHaZXVWG65IXUiltL_2KA7ZCYpNPf1UVzfZUyRGYdwtFlmdDT4nJy8RUs5AY67ZARxtVj35E6YC05DDMUkm_LPo9Q/w225-h400/ivan-stern-k_lzqO_Yl4Y-unsplash.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>My brain can only piece together my health if I start where I began to notice a problem. In truth, I can honestly think of problems way before my 20s, but for the sake of time, that's where I'll begin. I married young and had children young too. This has come with its challenges. In many ways, having children in my early 20s made it difficult for me to finish my education and begin a paid career. The echoes of that choice have affected my confidence, earning power, and eventual retirement, but that is a discussion for another time. What know now is that having children in my 30s would have been much more biologically difficult - if not impossible - than it was in my 20s.</p><p>I still struggled to conceive both of my children. My first required nearly 18 months of patient trying, scheduling, waiting, and grieving. My infertility ultrasounds from this time showed ovarian cysts that I wish were paid more attention. I miraculously tested positive the cycle before I was meant to start Clomid. I worried my second would take equally as long, but by some miracle I conceived within a couple of months. This pregnancy was plagued by extreme morning sickness and antenatal depression, which lasted the entire pregnancy. But it wasn't until after the pregnancies were over that my health really took a turn for the worse.</p><p>Education on postpartum mental health and mental health in general has come a long way in 10 years. When I first was struggling with depression and OCD, public education and opinion on mental health was just beginning. I had no language to communicate to anyone just how much I was suffering. The experience was intense. Just before I was lucky enough to get professional help, I teetered dangerously on the precipice of suicidal ideation. The first intervention was first: a genetic test to assist in finding a medication instead of playing roulette with anti-depressants. After reviewing my results, I was prescribed a medicine called Luvox. I was told by my psychiatrist that it was an SSRI formulated specifically for OCD. It was paired with a special B vitamin called methylfolate. It also turned out that I have a genetic mutation called MTHFR, which in layman's terms means my body lacks the ability to turn raw vitamins into the necessary components it can use. B vitamins, as it turns out, are really useful for mental health, and my body was basically starving for them.</p><p>For a few years, my body took good care of me as I adjusted to these medications and tended to my mental health. I continued to try my best to take care of it back by being very health-conscious for the years I was conceiving, nursing, and raising my kids. Because of my lactose intolerance, I chose to strictly follow a vegan diet for nearly 3 years. When I moved away from Arizona, my ability to find convenient healthy options and cook my super time-consuming and complex foods was limited by the area I lived in and housing arrangements.</p><p>During intense trauma counseling, I picked up a book called "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Deepest-Well-Long-Term-Childhood-Adversity-ebook/dp/B01N7HZ73B" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Deepest Well</a>: Healing the Long-Term Effects of Childhood Adversity" by Nadine Burke Harris. Harris discusses how <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/aces/index.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">adverse childhood experiences</a> (ACEs) can affect health and well-being throughout a person's life. The book outlined research that shows that if a person has more than 4 ACEs, they become considered "at-risk" for a lengthy list of diseases. I have the honor of claiming 5 ACEs, which places me solidly in the at-risk category. This book, along with the research around <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/genomics/disease/epigenetics.htm" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">epigenetics</a> (the way trauma/disease is passed down in families), opened my eyes to understanding my health more holistically and gave me an appreciation for the challenges I was up against.</p><p>It was around this time that I stopped bleeding. My monthly cycles just... completely stopped. I would go four, six, nine months without bleeding. I told myself that this was normal after having children and nursing, but I used that same excuse for nearly five years while other symptoms began to make themselves known. I started to gain weight, see a *super attractive* increase in my amount of body and facial hair, and sleep for 12-13 hours per day. I knew something was wrong. I began to research my symptoms and soon learned that most of them were in line with a condition known as <a href="https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/polycystic-ovary-syndrome-pcos#:~:text=PCOS%20is%20a%20very%20common,%2C%20infertility%2C%20and%20weight%20gain." rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome</a> (PCOS for short).</p><p>I began the process of seeking a diagnosis, but it took me a long time to find a doctor who took my concerns and my symptoms seriously. 3/4 of the doctors I went to wanted to prescribe birth control to manage the symptoms, but I had read that <a href="https://drbrighten.com/category/birth-control/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">birth control was only a bandaid</a> and did not treat the root cause of the issue. They did the obligatory blood work but insisted that everything was "normal," and suggested that I lose a few pounds to see if my symptoms improved. I was lucky enough to find a doctor who finally listened.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXpvqESCCBJpI64wZYyeWViOxwFo4FZMo0_y9cJ2hgjrgAzU11WMfKRG1LUJ6JUt0s5qKkEcRZlxd-eW_OVnc07G2e3GU-DEZWLYqnaSn6NEEQI-J2-rAxBkjrRksTPBmDC87g-5Z-bPlngpbZAqqdUmRGK2Sta-yN_7fFmH3UXpFBFH1u6c3ecjdazU/s3140/inge-poelman-iLukIGQdI2M-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3140" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXpvqESCCBJpI64wZYyeWViOxwFo4FZMo0_y9cJ2hgjrgAzU11WMfKRG1LUJ6JUt0s5qKkEcRZlxd-eW_OVnc07G2e3GU-DEZWLYqnaSn6NEEQI-J2-rAxBkjrRksTPBmDC87g-5Z-bPlngpbZAqqdUmRGK2Sta-yN_7fFmH3UXpFBFH1u6c3ecjdazU/w400-h330/inge-poelman-iLukIGQdI2M-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>My first appointment with her blew my mind. Not only did she take my concerns seriously, but she walked me through my bloodwork from the previous doctor and explained why the levels were indeed NOT normal and how different aspects of my body were creating the symptoms. I told her about the weight loss suggestion, and she validated how hurtful that could be, but that also weight loss was something that was both caused by and contributed to my symptoms. She took the time to explain triglycerides, Alc, cholesterol, all in a way that I understood. PCOS causes weight gain because PCOS causes insulin resistance. In essence, it affects the way the body processes and stores sugar. This symptom was especially exacerbated by my family history of both types of diabetes. But the magic of weight loss is that insulin resistance is decreased when weight is.</p><p>Then she walked me through the exact kinds of food that increased and decreased insulin resistance. I almost cried because everything I had relied on during my years of veganism (lots of gluten, plenty of sugar) were primary contributors to insulin resistance. Additionally, she explained that PCOS is informally classified as both a chronic disease and an <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/27274883/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">autoimmune disease</a>. I know this sounds like a sadness disaster tornado, but for me, it was so validating to have all the symptoms I was experiencing explained and validated. There was a huge part of me that wanted to scream, "NO EFFING WONDER I FEEL LIKE SHIT!" My doctor walked me through foods that again, increase and decrease hystamine (inflammation) in the body. Then she provided me with a beautiful blue binder with recipes and guidance all printed out for me to use.</p><p>Then, she explained that weight loss alone was not enough, and that the hormonal side needed to be addressed for the symptoms to be managed properly. Instead of birth control, I on a whole slew of vitamins and medicines that I felt good about. One of them is called a troche, which manages most of my Big 3 hormones. I like it because it has a "HAZARDOUS DRUGS" label on it. It makes me feel kind of badass.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGEh49vMZeKU-BcGyXD0kPvFUKWeOVq8n7U1uMR9Qxa_rqNf8r3_Xy8mJ5AwJIxal3aXZ1tQXjdeOIxl56oDywr0M4S0380q0SeLCqu9t7ECGFHQuBKDZ_4dGFRKV4j-01dZN9OMOnObDNVdYjPCSlDRMz8iF_YO5yLyIN2mvvm5F91Dg4qap5W_MYJM/s6000/alexander-krivitskiy-mCAyepwBKQk-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGEh49vMZeKU-BcGyXD0kPvFUKWeOVq8n7U1uMR9Qxa_rqNf8r3_Xy8mJ5AwJIxal3aXZ1tQXjdeOIxl56oDywr0M4S0380q0SeLCqu9t7ECGFHQuBKDZ_4dGFRKV4j-01dZN9OMOnObDNVdYjPCSlDRMz8iF_YO5yLyIN2mvvm5F91Dg4qap5W_MYJM/w266-h400/alexander-krivitskiy-mCAyepwBKQk-unsplash.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I followed the meal plan strictly for 6 months. This meant no gluten, no dairy, no sugar (except for fruits, maple syrup, and honey). I took all my medication. I trusted my doctor because even though she advocated for weight loss, she backed that up with research (she had written her doctorate dissertation on hormone management and autoimmune disease), bloodwork goals, and an avenue for success. In short, she gave a really big f*ck about the issue and treated it from every angle. I saw huge improvements in my mental and physical health. My periods returned. I slept 10 hours instead of 12. My bloodwork looked absolutely amazing. Triglycerides & Alc down. Good cholesterol up. Hormones stabilizing. And then the shame caught up with me.</p><p>I had absolutely no language for communicating with others about my disease, about my symptoms, or about my treatment. This meant that I quietly managed most of it on my own. I tried very hard not to bother anyone with it because I didn't want to use the word DIET. This meant that I didn't make my dietary needs known at group gatherings. I sometimes went hungry at family meals because surprise! Literally everything had gluten, sugar, or dairy in it. So I started bringing my own food everywhere, which made me feel like I was back in my vegan days (with the perceived moral superiority and all.) I also didn't know how to communicate with my children about it I don't want either of them growing up with a "dieting" mom. </p><p>On top of this, after 6 months my weight loss became noticeable, and many people commented on it. Every person was kind and celebratory. Some were curious. But the attention made me uncomfortable. I had worked so hard to separate my worth and value as a person from my appearance, and it undeniably felt good to have people tell me "You look great!" But I had no idea how to communicate that I didn't lose weight to look good, I lost weight to literally stop hurting & <i>not die</i>. I didn't know how to communicate that my avoidance of dairy, sugar, and gluten wasn't because I thought I was better than anyone - it was because that's exactly what my body needed to feel better. Slowly I began making exceptions to my dietary restrictions just so I could blend in and not confront the constant commentary about my body. Exceptions turned to the norm, and within 3 months my bloodwork reflected increased trigylcerides and A1C, and I was back to periods every 6 months and <i>everything hurts & I'm dying.</i></p><p><i><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="giphy-embed" frameborder="0" height="320" src="https://giphy.com/embed/lCB1VDBgnLx3a" width="480"></iframe></i></p><p><i><a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/work-everyday-lCB1VDBgnLx3a">via GIPHY</a></i></p><p></p><p>For my entire life, I have played down my needs to the result of believing I don't have any. Therapy has helped a lot with that. I'm at the point in my healing journey that I actually don't just want to be alive, I want to be happy. I want to feel good because I can feel again. And feeling good requires that I listen to what my body wants and needs. And my body wants to be here in this incredible world for as long as I can be. This means my body wants/needs more nourishing foods that support her in doing the best she can, and less of the foods that get in her way.</p><p>Eating this way has its ups and downs. Nothing sucks more than eating a stupid soup when everyone else at the table has it with a fresh baguette and herbed butter. Nothing makes me more ornery than every single chicken broth in the store having sugar in it (WHYYYYY?!). Sometimes a girl just wants her burger with a bun, goddamit. BUT literally nothing beats the moment of seeing those bloodwork numbers come through beautiful and knowing my body is doing great.</p><p>I don't know any better today than I did a year ago how to communicate that I eat the way I do so I can avoid daily injections and the super scary stuff I've seen my family members deal with. I think I need to create clear and strong language to communicate my needs. Something like:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Instead of "can't eat that" or having a "sensitivity," I'm literally going to tell people my body can't process it and it makes me sick.</li><li>I'm going to share my dietary restrictions when hosts for parties or gatherings ask for them.</li><li>I'm going to actually ask ahead of time what is going to be served at events, and plan accordingly.</li><li>I'm not going to eat my home-brought snack/meal alone in the hallway or car. I'm going to either make enough to share or eat my serving at the table like a normal person.</li><li>If someone asks why I brought something else, I'm just going to say "This is what my body needed to eat today."</li><li>If someone comments on my weight loss, I'm going to say "Thanks, I just did a really big poo," and make it as awkward for them as they make it for me.</li><li>If someone comments on me not eating something/bringing something they feel makes them "bad" or "less healthy" by comparison, I'm going to say "If you call me a good girl, I'll enjoy it more," and again, make it incredibly uncomfortable for everyone.</li></ul><div>I feel good about those. I'm going to practice them in the mirror so I can deliver them on cue. And for anyone who wonders now what's okay to say about my body and what is not? Comment on my outfit. Comment on my hair! Comment on my makeup, or my great boobs. I don't mind you looking, and I don't mind if you like what you see, or if you say so. But for gods' sake, please don't comment on my weight. Unless you really do want to hear about my big poo.</div><div><br /></div><div>Trust me, I want to eat the same cinnamon rolls and cookies and hot Cheetos and pastries and breads and cheese you do. But I'm working really, really hard to stay alive and to stay well. I have a lot working against me (remember those genes and ACEs?), but kindness and thoughtfulness makes the way easier. You made gluten-free cookies just for me? I'm definitely trying one, even if it does have dairy/sugar. I might only have one, but the thoughtfulness of the whole dozen is contained in it. You put the cheese/cream on the side? THANK YOU. You have honey out with the tea? Thank you. You found a chocolate with no dairy and sweetened with date sugar/honey/syrup/coconut sugar? Just tell me the name of it and I will love you forever.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you made it this far, I commend you. I know this isn't necessarily the most exciting read ever, but I am grateful for a place to share my thoughts and experiences as I'm trying to navigate and (with any luck) improve my chronic illness. I have more thoughts on baking/ancestral recipes in this same line which I'm sure I will write soon. But until then, and even still, thank you for listening, thank you for understanding, and thank you for loving me.</div><p></p>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-53895411851263584682024-01-03T17:31:00.000-08:002024-01-03T17:35:18.593-08:002024: The Year of Want<p>Every mid-December, I get the itch to close out the year and prepare for the new. For the last four years, I've been using Susannah Conway's <a href="https://www.susannahconway.com/unravel" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Unravel Your Year and Find Your Word </a>workbooks - these have been valuable tools as I move toward appreciating and understanding how life continues to shape, change, and delight me.</p><p>As I wrapped up 2023 and prepared to dive into finding my word for 2024, I found that many of my top word choices reflected a season of inward-turning and rest. I spent time with <i>enjoy</i>. <i>Simple</i> turned up many, many times. <i>Easy</i> was another word that felt resonant. <i>Delicious</i> and <i>pleasurable</i> also made the list.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBqVSpTFwGlSxYFBCH-JbUs4df22MT68WdfLYsuymE0oiYkMQJV8ZjssyUk0nKVAKg7wmSGlkxwdGM5S2aGZCyXpHBAhPciVMsWxrDbgvfl1xbzmIwPpZLrs9X2_oWR60HS26WpU8uMqf6DxAoEo7ceLfO1UuvDVPGArrXNKETa8ttAv0ZW8seRguxnE/s6428/simon-berger-QihSgW300qY-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4181" data-original-width="6428" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBqVSpTFwGlSxYFBCH-JbUs4df22MT68WdfLYsuymE0oiYkMQJV8ZjssyUk0nKVAKg7wmSGlkxwdGM5S2aGZCyXpHBAhPciVMsWxrDbgvfl1xbzmIwPpZLrs9X2_oWR60HS26WpU8uMqf6DxAoEo7ceLfO1UuvDVPGArrXNKETa8ttAv0ZW8seRguxnE/w400-h260/simon-berger-QihSgW300qY-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>As my word exploration continued to unfold, I was encouraged to write down some things I hoped would happen, some dreams I'd like to nurture, and some items that were definitely happening in 2024. These included:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>follow my PCOS-healing diet</li><li>finally get my garden under control. Its overrun with weeds and it will require a full-scale (and full-budget) overhaul to manage it at this point.</li><li>create a reliable sleep schedule to manage my fatigue and get my nervous system to a state of consistent rest</li></ul><div><div>These questions were important to consider as I moved even closer to my word for 2024. After running through definitions and synonyms for all my potential words, I landed on <i>ease</i> (see also: <i>simple</i>, <i>relaxed</i>, <i>attainable</i>; Latin root "lying close by"). But I sat with that word for a few days, and though I felt excited by it, it didn't sink into my awareness with the comfort that I have experienced in years past. It wasn't until I remembered a phrase a friend had shared with me a few months prior that I realized why. She said,</div></div><div><br /></div><div>"Wanting is enough."</div><div><br /></div><div>And I realized that yes, while what I wanted was ease, the heart of the phrase was the <i>wanting</i>, not the ease. And with this, my word changed immediately to want.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuBZgu0O0rzd__HL1MhSSn1HKy4p1hjWxQcczwZ9T_zcayzcy4FtWwlpHx1yKMy3DRIzy7dJQEkfKXMLQqvIiE_WLfrXTcBvUeHbanww9hyphenhyphenz4f0PDf_UztmVEGY9f6dGM4TuE1C7uLH8VONZYCc5_hjKf3iUZZVgedZ3tohnQLxt7nyOJihNKaQrgBorM/s6016/okeykat-tgxqpsVG-0A-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6016" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuBZgu0O0rzd__HL1MhSSn1HKy4p1hjWxQcczwZ9T_zcayzcy4FtWwlpHx1yKMy3DRIzy7dJQEkfKXMLQqvIiE_WLfrXTcBvUeHbanww9hyphenhyphenz4f0PDf_UztmVEGY9f6dGM4TuE1C7uLH8VONZYCc5_hjKf3iUZZVgedZ3tohnQLxt7nyOJihNKaQrgBorM/w400-h266/okeykat-tgxqpsVG-0A-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>This is a terrifying word choice for me. As someone who has approached intimate relationships from a place of people-pleasing and anxious attachment, the idea of wanting something is foreign and scary. In the last five years, I have become better at advocating for my needs in relationships. But wants? In the past I have viewed wants as selfish, secret, negotiable fantasies that take a backseat to whatever is present in any given moment in relationships. I have grappled the last two years specifically with huge amounts of shame for wants - telling myself I should not want, that wants are unimportant, that wants are relational threats. For the last six months I have been telling friends that I wished I could hire someone to teach me how to "be mean" and "set boundaries" (secret language for: ask for and seek after my wants). I sat at the cusp of 2024 and decided to embody <i>want</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>It has been two weeks since <i>want</i> became the direction I chose, and already it has proved to be both a challenge and a relief. It hasn't necessarily helped me avoid all uncomfortable things, but has helped me uncover the things that I do want with more clarity. I've found myself saying things like:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I don't want to do the dishes tonight, but I do want to wake up in the morning to an empty sink and a clean table for a cup of tea. Dishes it is.</li><li>I don't want to go to this party, but I do want to connect with the people who will be there. I can go AND stay for less time.</li><li>I don't want to take my kids to the indoor skating rink, but I do want to be a mom who supports my kid's desires for fun and pleasure. (Post-skating-rink me insists that there are other ways to support fun and pleasure for my kids, and I don't want to go again. Skating rinks are now a Dad-only activity).</li></ul><div>One of the most important perspectives my therapist offered me in 2023 was this: people pleasing is manipulation. It is the negation of my needs and desires to prioritize those of another in an effort to keep them around. <i>Wanting</i> is my exit off the loop of people pleasing. I'm hoping it will take me somewhere new and exciting, like relationships that are founded on authenticity and equity, rather than exchange and transaction.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqoxEX6kd0IBFu_I7yow7L2pC52Dwo7k7N617HDJf7c1hIVchAbYLRuXg5wNqfAbqZ0dbhXdG1skSMZHMmmVbvq0t97qAGu-Tk7sCoV-3QQitxs8PQA8NUMBiORW6LEUqX9bNNalimpGNMlxxzvC7mxphai7PRn3PumjahGKhfQq7Tmsz3K3ksXkebcU/s3861/georgia-de-lotz-muN_TndU9A0-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2574" data-original-width="3861" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqoxEX6kd0IBFu_I7yow7L2pC52Dwo7k7N617HDJf7c1hIVchAbYLRuXg5wNqfAbqZ0dbhXdG1skSMZHMmmVbvq0t97qAGu-Tk7sCoV-3QQitxs8PQA8NUMBiORW6LEUqX9bNNalimpGNMlxxzvC7mxphai7PRn3PumjahGKhfQq7Tmsz3K3ksXkebcU/w400-h266/georgia-de-lotz-muN_TndU9A0-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Already, <i>want</i> is changing patterns in unexpected ways.</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I want my body to feel safe and secure. This means I also want a consistent bed time and self-care routine. Even if it feels indulgent and inconvenient, I want to take good care of myself.</li><li>I want to see my friends frequently, so I will schedule my commitments around monthly moon circles and gatherings to ensure I make it often.</li><li>I want a home that is easy to keep tidy. This means I have the opportunity to explore ways to make that happen and that I want to follow through on them, even when its annoying.</li><li>I want to spend less money and time watching TV, so I will cancel some of my subscription services and listen to audiobooks and podcasts instead.</li><li>I want to be kinder to myself, so I will practice self-compassion and neutrality. Especially when its difficult.</li><li>I want my A1c (this is the average blood sugar levels over the last three months) and my triglycerides (the amount of fat in blood, contributing to high cholesterol) numbers to be absolutely and irrevocably beyond reprimand at my next blood draw. This means I want to follow my diet and activity prescriptions even when it is un-fun and inconvenient to like, everyone. Including myself.</li><li>I want my compassion, kindness, and generosity toward others to be genuine, which means I want strong boundaries.</li><li>I want my relationship with my kids to be secure, which means I want to put my phone away when they're home from school so I can listen AND follow through on expectations consistently.</li></ul></div><div>Right alongside the <i>wants</i> are plenty of <i>don't wants</i>, too. Many <i>don't wants</i> are implied by the wanting itself. And amidst the wanting is a whole lot of ease. I've found that choices big and small become simpler to make when they are weighed against <i>wants</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>2024, the year that <i>want</i> is its own justification. Wanting is enough. May it be so.</div><p></p>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-35494073004226373392023-12-28T12:23:00.000-08:002023-12-28T12:23:53.144-08:002023 In Review<p>Mid-December through the end of each year has continued to be a season of reflection and preparation for the last few years. When this cycle first began, I noticed a frustration that it didn't exactly align with the traditional "New Year" time; but this year, a peacefulness around the timing itself has arrived. This has allowed me to really dig into reflections and preparations for upcoming seasons with clarity and excitement.</p><p>Each year I look forward to being guided through this reflection process by Susannah Conway, who is the creator of the Word of the Year process. I can't recommend her materials enough. They are beautiful and thoughtful. Because this blog functions more as an online sharable journal, I want to share my 2023 reflections and lessons learned here. I am really trying to distance myself from Instagram this year, so sharing here feels more in alignment than the traditional way I've done so before.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">2023 in Review</h2><p>If I could describe 2023 in three words, they would be <b>confusion</b> (see also: <i>unclear, uncertain, bewilderment</i>), <b>trepidation</b> (see also: <i>trembling, agitation</i>), and <b>clarity</b> (see also: <i>coherent, intelligible, lucidity, transparency</i>).</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Monthly Roses & Thorns</h3><h4 style="text-align: left;">January</h4><p>Rose: Advocacy for Great Salt Lake. It felt really good to rally behind such a beautiful being. I really put myself out there during this time. I attended my very first rally at the Utah State Capital. I went to as many in-person events as I could possibly fit in my schedule, and though I was incredibly busy, I felt connected to the land and my community in ways I never had before.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAe5b-zlZvNLJCEWD6kUeBC6nKC4eigpf5yoMyB_jPeeaAv-wPhEoOPB1lSLhDFFw3djeyy1MEDL8gOa3KbQgl5pMri3j7p-B_KQ8YZJRmV2jx-g3K8P012tcdAWBNCGSrK0SK4ZRZEaYS-zsewilFIs4GzrWYMtw8jpUv6TON8phdPou9C5LpSLef3jI/s4032/20230114_115820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAe5b-zlZvNLJCEWD6kUeBC6nKC4eigpf5yoMyB_jPeeaAv-wPhEoOPB1lSLhDFFw3djeyy1MEDL8gOa3KbQgl5pMri3j7p-B_KQ8YZJRmV2jx-g3K8P012tcdAWBNCGSrK0SK4ZRZEaYS-zsewilFIs4GzrWYMtw8jpUv6TON8phdPou9C5LpSLef3jI/w300-h400/20230114_115820.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: I missed my family. Every weekend I was in attendance at an activity, my family was at home. It was very difficult to strike a balance between my family's needs and my desire for meaningful participation in something I was excited about.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">February</h4><p>Rose: I prepared and taught a class on cultural appropriation for folks of Northwestern European descent with Nourishing Kin. This was a spontaneous offering, created in just a few week's time, but was such a pleasure to create. Cultural appropriation was such a focus in 2022 for me, and it felt lovely to have created a cohesive, beautiful offering to share about the importance of finding authentic cultural belonging in one's own ancestry. I also spontaneously got a tattoo of the outline of Great Salt Lake (pre-colonization levels) that felt like it had always belonged there.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbYInGOHdGilVK_wFKdy8d-4As83J6Tv2YJGm3ZstPnMj2xdY_B8DP0ZufoRPL-TU4NwBZyQvUQx2EqewXJ-QVvM23AuV0-jolkzBS_xOFOfsAvmmg-carjdDGpka-6GDZVlz5IumSUtaL0qXm6PsDnvRyiN4StCRat16uph7WDnIDhq_8t0EM7dk6TE/s3216/20230228_153936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="1808" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbYInGOHdGilVK_wFKdy8d-4As83J6Tv2YJGm3ZstPnMj2xdY_B8DP0ZufoRPL-TU4NwBZyQvUQx2EqewXJ-QVvM23AuV0-jolkzBS_xOFOfsAvmmg-carjdDGpka-6GDZVlz5IumSUtaL0qXm6PsDnvRyiN4StCRat16uph7WDnIDhq_8t0EM7dk6TE/w225-h400/20230228_153936.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: In truth, this month was smooth and lovely. The only exception to this was the urgency behind creating the Cultural Appropriation course, but that was certainly self-imposed. Next time, I'd like to give myself more space to prepare!</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">March</h4><p>Rose: This month, I traveled with my husband's company to Newport Beach. They rented a true beachfront cabin, and it was truly one of my year's greatest pleasures to wake up each morning that weekend and see the ocean just outside my window. It also provided fantastic birdwatching opportunities, and I was able to see dolphins (from a distance) for the first time ever. While we were there, we spent the day in Disneyland with friends. For a Star Wars fan like myself, spending time in Galaxy's Edge with people I love was a dream come true. In non-travel news, I also co-created a haircut with my stylist that felt fantastically "me." I really enjoyed it!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZ5j2O4q6QCN88DDevDFN_aVeBPlBjfIa4oJL78TczmpVaMbffFqb7ZrMu8oY4EHK7JGNa59nVHDXtYzD68z__9Mhoh7eBi-x4QJhRztIy7ntj_kGSlzf8X3QFPZr6OcVEHrBQ9z_baxy3bc2hRTSLVjrYfblWL91HXkaw426iQ8RTeeP4h_elK1MIvk/s3024/20230311_110735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZ5j2O4q6QCN88DDevDFN_aVeBPlBjfIa4oJL78TczmpVaMbffFqb7ZrMu8oY4EHK7JGNa59nVHDXtYzD68z__9Mhoh7eBi-x4QJhRztIy7ntj_kGSlzf8X3QFPZr6OcVEHrBQ9z_baxy3bc2hRTSLVjrYfblWL91HXkaw426iQ8RTeeP4h_elK1MIvk/w400-h400/20230311_110735.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: I noticed that even as pleasurable as traveling was, I felt a deep longing to be home almost the entire time I was gone.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">April</h4><p>Rose: This month was pretty non-eventful. Most of it was quiet. I began to notice that my PCOS symptoms were very well managed by the diet prescribed by my doctor. I was feeling so proud of myself for finding such an effective way to reduce my insulin resistance and increase my energy.</p><p>Thorn: I was (and still am) finding it difficult to communicate my dietary needs without using the word "diet" and then feeling like an explanation is necessary. My feminist ethic includes an anti-diet, body-positive attitude, and I've struggled to navigate my chronic illness and its treatment within a cultural shift from body shame to positivity. In fact, this has been a major barrier for me this year in actually keeping to the food choices that truly nourish my body's specific needs. I noticed this shift in April when my weight loss became noticeable and people began commenting on it. The attention people were paying to my body felt uncomfortable; so much so, that it was at this point in the year that I stopped following my anti-inflammation protocol and stepped back into the pattern of inflammation and insulin resistance. As of today, my symptoms have come back and my A1C numbers are abysmal; I hope to change this and gain more confidence in my chosen way of managing it this year!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaKPssbHwlTHpxf5iT7383fBFR_9jrSzCkvZ5Ue-Gy-9Om1TYX9UMRz87o4DtF5DhVoBBq-pnilD3dvqzyUp2mXqN8Q2qR_DA7y9nwOSgmMwxh4W-uWMBaJTMcIbeyrpKjN5qkpUcRrLFn2ROxINDUvE2ptKkLPGIGXEKhWex7vmtugYQ5KfXAkwhpCY/s2208/20230411_130911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2208" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaKPssbHwlTHpxf5iT7383fBFR_9jrSzCkvZ5Ue-Gy-9Om1TYX9UMRz87o4DtF5DhVoBBq-pnilD3dvqzyUp2mXqN8Q2qR_DA7y9nwOSgmMwxh4W-uWMBaJTMcIbeyrpKjN5qkpUcRrLFn2ROxINDUvE2ptKkLPGIGXEKhWex7vmtugYQ5KfXAkwhpCY/w400-h400/20230411_130911.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">May</h4><p>Rose: Facilitating the Nourishing Kin Beltane gathering was certainly a highlight for this month. I self-elected to be the May Queen for our Beltane fire ritual, and I had such a great time doing so. At the end of the month, my family and I traveled to Ephraim, UT for the annual Scandinavian festival. The festival was held on the Snow College campus, where my husband and I first met. It was so much fun to walk down memory lane and spend time together in this way. Finally, this month I took a deep dive into the concept of pleasure.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyv5JxzFuxFv03N6zP35-ko9-C0S7nisNGSQWNHvz9u8GLbDODDfOJiahweNnjs5o-X-73pcj77lODPy9vGzYaX2uQomrIJv8cLQYHio-KUPjwvvcXQUa91MLSYxkC5xgooLjrtBy4LSmX3f4u6Em4Td2QR4A6EsKxrgEuPE4eZgLZQ_TLyB8eCbNY20s/s3216/20230527_095202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="1808" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyv5JxzFuxFv03N6zP35-ko9-C0S7nisNGSQWNHvz9u8GLbDODDfOJiahweNnjs5o-X-73pcj77lODPy9vGzYaX2uQomrIJv8cLQYHio-KUPjwvvcXQUa91MLSYxkC5xgooLjrtBy4LSmX3f4u6Em4Td2QR4A6EsKxrgEuPE4eZgLZQ_TLyB8eCbNY20s/w225-h400/20230527_095202.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: There was some interpersonal conflict in relationships at this time, but it was all managed super well with incredible communication skills and an abundance of compassion!</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">June</h4><p>Rose: This month, Nourishing Kin hosted a retreat in the mountains outside of Cedar City, UT. It was an incredible four days of dancing, learning ancestral skills, discussing pleasure, stargazing, walking through meadows of flowers, and eating delicious foods. I truly can't believe I am so lucky to be a part of a community that was equally excited to dance around a fire naked to 90s music as I was.</p><p>Thorn: On the way up to the retreat, my car got a flat tire. Thanks to the efforts of a few highly-motivated women, it was repaired by the time we needed to go home! On the way back down the mountain, two different tires on my car went flat and needed to be replaced before we could make the trek home. It added an element of stress to the otherwise incredible weekend, but all is well that ends well, I suppose!</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">July</h4><p>Rose: I created and announced the Runic Rhythms course. It was something I hadn't ever anticipated doing, but has been a genuine delight to teach. Its a six-month deep-dive into the Elder Futhark runes, and is a huge commitment from everyone participating. But doing so has been such a pleasure. It was also at this time that The Faithful Feminists podcast came to a close. My co-host and I felt it was time for the project to end, even though we hadn't completely closed out the content as we originally intended. As sad as it was, ultimately, it was the right decision for us and for the project.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijUjUT73S2yVr86FvIzlIsBhGqVDoMikNEnp53FfDD7nGeL3NQmRqf8dZk1GkMhdGObovicglTge4tp6JZpbMrcGby9-koKFs4aVIS6JqYiaKMZFDQzIWuoKIrnfvRfviYL3XFJB2UnbKHhwj0vW935MVmD2z-3b5lCo9NuTC_rBaSSUQbrfZQieeidE/s3216/20230726_103614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="1808" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijUjUT73S2yVr86FvIzlIsBhGqVDoMikNEnp53FfDD7nGeL3NQmRqf8dZk1GkMhdGObovicglTge4tp6JZpbMrcGby9-koKFs4aVIS6JqYiaKMZFDQzIWuoKIrnfvRfviYL3XFJB2UnbKHhwj0vW935MVmD2z-3b5lCo9NuTC_rBaSSUQbrfZQieeidE/w225-h400/20230726_103614.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: Some unhealthy relationship patterns became conscious for me around this time, and it was an incredibly uncomfortable realization. I began to see the ways I had relied on co-dependency and people-pleasing to manage discomfort in my relationships. I began working to understand these and move toward authenticity and genuine love.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">August</h4><p>Rose: The Runic Rhythms course began in full swing and I was so excited to be doing something that felt good to do. My family was preparing for another school year as well, which is something we all look forward to.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZXE_aVXLONPjF2d7UnlNPzw9nBLTmNHHbx4JNS98xu0TMnr6Qzh8uQZakWOHwpj1_pAjU1n_UYnQJJzZNtqRtX5-ZhZPHiTwhrvb7QJCZABNesAV8-WyzqYg3g_igEeFklwcXdjPlGz2HLF4n0Fkj24wN2OEJNqUAOwj8Nwz3HTDOu-PG-ppIuPESBY/s1280/VideoCapture_20230911-234542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZXE_aVXLONPjF2d7UnlNPzw9nBLTmNHHbx4JNS98xu0TMnr6Qzh8uQZakWOHwpj1_pAjU1n_UYnQJJzZNtqRtX5-ZhZPHiTwhrvb7QJCZABNesAV8-WyzqYg3g_igEeFklwcXdjPlGz2HLF4n0Fkj24wN2OEJNqUAOwj8Nwz3HTDOu-PG-ppIuPESBY/w400-h225/VideoCapture_20230911-234542.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: Continued growth in my relational participation was incredibly uncomfortable, and tension in this area increased.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">September</h4><p>Rose: There was very little to sustain me this month, but the Circle of Security parenting class I took through a local mental health organization helped. I also attended a concert with friends, and that was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of this month.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDG8RW20Gseo6c6g6ZDuZc4FnYxnLHSlVtoWtoFTUOVOjCwBIrRlrez8qp0PhJIn5CJeD7PkXEH3kJcKLB6g_ZWBodqvIiLXmg82SqLuMHXZPlRz2yfWcwaGzN77A8iX4pUM2LSmOJLswb0Pl8oNHjuBFRBFwxalxGiyos_Gw1byjcPot7NgsMQPZT9A/s3216/20230923_223113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="1808" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDG8RW20Gseo6c6g6ZDuZc4FnYxnLHSlVtoWtoFTUOVOjCwBIrRlrez8qp0PhJIn5CJeD7PkXEH3kJcKLB6g_ZWBodqvIiLXmg82SqLuMHXZPlRz2yfWcwaGzN77A8iX4pUM2LSmOJLswb0Pl8oNHjuBFRBFwxalxGiyos_Gw1byjcPot7NgsMQPZT9A/w225-h400/20230923_223113.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Thorn: The month began with the death of my grandma. I was grateful to have had an opportunity to visit her before her decline intensified. Some of my family members experienced an increased need for support during this time, and I'm grateful I had the capacity to show up in this way. The most challenging part of this time was caring for myself and a bit of a broken heart while also taking care of others. </p><h4 style="text-align: left;">October</h4><p>Rose: The Samhain gathering for Nourishing Kin was again a huge highlight for this month. I found the perfect outfit (crowned myself as "The Star Bride") and thoroughly enjoyed facilitating this gathering.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVIShznM6PyGDyHPeQX5YWvSpt1wKXaHVrNohMYcf31lQ92ag5nz4IJ-ka6oVU4ztn80NEEwhQS4vNalyCIzOaU3_TQMA8Yc439br6tIjT_ak2GiSU-_86pPMzAYU4DBzi8uA9w6OzI_MW4Wo93ECWMst-heMrKFCzML0ctXz4xWZ02ZyUGxg965h0XGg/s670/c74c9a13aade664d0d98de4f570d8d82.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVIShznM6PyGDyHPeQX5YWvSpt1wKXaHVrNohMYcf31lQ92ag5nz4IJ-ka6oVU4ztn80NEEwhQS4vNalyCIzOaU3_TQMA8Yc439br6tIjT_ak2GiSU-_86pPMzAYU4DBzi8uA9w6OzI_MW4Wo93ECWMst-heMrKFCzML0ctXz4xWZ02ZyUGxg965h0XGg/w359-h400/c74c9a13aade664d0d98de4f570d8d82.jpg" width="359" /></a></div><br /><p>Thorn: Moving through grief is always a complex process, and there were so many griefs to move through.</p><h4 style="text-align: left;">November</h4><p>Rose: I traveled so much this month! First, my husband and I went to Austin, TX for a work function. Austin is so much fun. I had a great time walking Congress Ave, going to the library, and watching the bats beneath the bridge at dusk. Because the conference he attended was a huge deal, there were lots of parties and fun things to do. We watched armadillo racing, played ping-pong at a bar, heard lots of live music, had the best peach cobbler in my entire life, got my very first Voodoo donut, and discovered a $2k pair of boots made from crocodile skin. A week later, I traveled to Hilo, HI with my mom. This was my first time visiting Hawaii, and it was exactly as beautiful as I thought it would be. We had beach time every day, ate amazing food, watched a sunset in Kona, found some sea glass (bucket list item), went to the botanical gardens, swam with sea turtles, ate fruit we'd never had before, and went to bed at like, 8pm every night. It was amazing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoNJClWK23bjUYX4nvngxaMTPON3sUo9p_d6vOzOIG7v-BTZWauXHBQ5ZI_-vPyMZdZmIPo6NV2cnOseloMApjP3FcbyN8EZqekUAxBHi7VQy5_p8gODxej37czL398Z8W6VdyjFMC5KjXugQ9k54qYj_Kf96GFFamPk-mNHjQtCW4CkBpu8hMU9-cWM/s4032/20231103_192955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoNJClWK23bjUYX4nvngxaMTPON3sUo9p_d6vOzOIG7v-BTZWauXHBQ5ZI_-vPyMZdZmIPo6NV2cnOseloMApjP3FcbyN8EZqekUAxBHi7VQy5_p8gODxej37czL398Z8W6VdyjFMC5KjXugQ9k54qYj_Kf96GFFamPk-mNHjQtCW4CkBpu8hMU9-cWM/w400-h300/20231103_192955.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: When I visited Hawaii, half the trip I was experiencing a weird sensation of seeing an "alternate" lifetime. I had a boyfriend in high school who lived in Hawaii, and we would often talk about living there together when we were married. That never turned out to be the case, but being in the place we had talked about living together... not together... was strange in a way I didn't anticipate. I allowed myself time for a grieving ritual while I was there, and that helped immensely; almost like acknowledging what I was feeling helped me process it! I also missed my kids immensely this month.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqIVYLW7EbGb91cNLp9EHgfu2CvZBJThn4VVj_7tWtCarsQQjT4RkILT4KQehpfSWYXZlE1H5RZh0Ykr_UZHRunl8jIuhZnTYuWmWR8YXORKoOkuzOFTzSf1qK3-mjhrGvsdneOoeF43TvpJuQylQoK0_GRcYe0v8D_mFVHIy0yJEtrW89Ez-7nv1Lies/s4032/20231116_102655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqIVYLW7EbGb91cNLp9EHgfu2CvZBJThn4VVj_7tWtCarsQQjT4RkILT4KQehpfSWYXZlE1H5RZh0Ykr_UZHRunl8jIuhZnTYuWmWR8YXORKoOkuzOFTzSf1qK3-mjhrGvsdneOoeF43TvpJuQylQoK0_GRcYe0v8D_mFVHIy0yJEtrW89Ez-7nv1Lies/w400-h300/20231116_102655.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">December</h4><p>Rose: My kids played basketball this month and it was a bi-weekly joy to go to their games and cheer them on. My husband and I also celebrated our 13 year anniversary, and it was fulfilling to reflect on our time together and celebrate how much we have grown together.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyfC3P95PXS3aTp8Tfz3X7OLtWo6dedz8tc18PBiW-bNVKRfza5b84mfXWMErRJP91VZk7gQLYkMPCPEvxH3iRUtXLdkmTHxGqVBhXooumOU1XIdD9uDT003fQSJSz10FJYNjUaD0F-JoITW1ypiZpsuxbk6yvh_5hpxPB_LmXys00Tic-mp99JR7JPI/s3000/20231205_185423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1686" data-original-width="3000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyfC3P95PXS3aTp8Tfz3X7OLtWo6dedz8tc18PBiW-bNVKRfza5b84mfXWMErRJP91VZk7gQLYkMPCPEvxH3iRUtXLdkmTHxGqVBhXooumOU1XIdD9uDT003fQSJSz10FJYNjUaD0F-JoITW1ypiZpsuxbk6yvh_5hpxPB_LmXys00Tic-mp99JR7JPI/w400-h225/20231205_185423.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Thorn: A meaningful relationship came to a close this month, and though it was a sad parting, it was a relief. I also didn't experience a lot of "Christmas Spirit" this year, but I'm chalking that up to living in the midst of genocide more than anything else. Its very difficult to celebrate a holiday when its birthplace is being systematically destroyed.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">2023: The Word</h3><div><b>tend</b></div><div><i>to stretch oneself toward</i></div><div><br /></div><div>I kept this word with me all year long. I have been devoted to tend-ing and tend-erness in the most sacred places in my life; myself, my kids, and my marriage. I wrote a poem at the beginning of 2023 about the Norse goddess Sigyn that has held me through this year, and I still feel it is not only relevant but perhaps one of the most important things I have crafted. This has undeniably led to a spiritual devotion to the goddess Sigyn, and I strongly feel that I have become a gentler, more patient and compassionate person because of this relationship. I feel radically transformed after spending time with Sigyn and the word <i>tend</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVRl7SNmYjBRmYzeKV7scCsBVCtcLTRyYQ2thaTho4D6gHqEYc2iDMDD2So1H5XCLqlCfx19W0yOLMRIHDaxAPt9xy89N_WtpUHJtfrRw77rPTo6y9lWOX-TdL-seMRizubcLRt7OJIDlk2fpDYpk2ghe4ThxjHvzNa5rMK5IZBxBcI5wjqCWsNgLYvc/s1058/102acb46d01badcce6616f01c4294601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="735" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVRl7SNmYjBRmYzeKV7scCsBVCtcLTRyYQ2thaTho4D6gHqEYc2iDMDD2So1H5XCLqlCfx19W0yOLMRIHDaxAPt9xy89N_WtpUHJtfrRw77rPTo6y9lWOX-TdL-seMRizubcLRt7OJIDlk2fpDYpk2ghe4ThxjHvzNa5rMK5IZBxBcI5wjqCWsNgLYvc/w278-h400/102acb46d01badcce6616f01c4294601.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">2023: In Summary</h3><h4 style="text-align: left;">What I Watched</h4><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Witcher Series (rating 5/5 stars)</li><li>finally finished Game of Thrones (5/5 stars)</li><li>House of the Dragon (3.5/5 stars)</li><li>Lady Chatterly's Lover (new Netflix version - 5/5 stars)</li><li>Ghosts (BBC version - 5/5 stars)</li><li>A Discovery of Witches (5/5 stars)</li><li>The Great (3/5 stars)</li></ul></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">What I Read (what was notable, anyway)</h4><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Fantasy: The Witcher by Andrzej Sapkowski (the entire series + prequels - 4/5 stars)</li><li>Romantasy: The "A Court of Thorns & Roses" series by Sarah J. Maas (5/5 stars)</li><li>Smut: Wicked Villains series by Katee Robert (5/5 stars)</li><li>Smut: The entire Orc Sworn series by Finley Fenn (5/5 stars) </li><li>Non-Fic: Messy Minimalism by Rachel Crawford (5/5 stars)</li><li>Non-Fic: Codependent No More by Melody Beattie (4/5 stars)</li><li>Non-Fic: How to Manage Your Home Without Losing Your Mind by Dana K White (5/5 stars)</li><li>Sci-Fi: The Bear by Andrew Krivak (4/5 stars)</li><li>Sci-Fi: Woman on the Edge of Time by Marge Pearcy (4/5 stars)</li><li>Literary Drama/Horror: The Book Eaters by Sunyi Dean (4/5 stars)</li><li>Horror: The Watchers & The Creeper by A.M. Shine (5/5 stars)</li><li>Horror: Lapvona by Otessa Moshfegh (1/5 stars - just not my style)</li><li>Poetry: New & Selected Poems by Mary Oliver, Vol.1 (5/5 stars)</li></ul><div>This was my most well-rounded reading year in a very long time! Look at all those series and genres!</div></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">What (or better, Where) I Ate</h4><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Dolcetti Gelato on 9th & 9th in SLC</li><li>The Dough Miner in SLC</li><li>Seaside Donuts in Newport, CA (very yummy Thai tea!)</li><li>Sawadee Thai in SLC</li><li>Hawaiian Style Cafe in Hilo, HI</li><li>Pineapples in Hilo, HI</li><li>Salt Lick in Austin, TX</li><li>Torchy's Tacos in Austin, TX</li><li>Split Leaf Coffee in Bountiful, UT</li><li>Caffe Mercantile in South Ogden, UT</li></ul></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">What I Fell in Love With</h4><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Great Salt Lake</li><li>monthly Full Moon circles with friends</li><li>understanding astrology & natal charts</li><li>complete silence while driving</li><li>Star Wars (again)</li><li>doing less</li><li>freezer meals + crock pot</li><li>seasonal capsule wardrobes</li><li>securely attached relationships</li><li>farmers markets</li></ul><h4 style="text-align: left;">What I Fell Out of Love With</h4></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>social media</li><li>traveling</li><li>an overwhelming schedule</li><li>too-short shorts</li><li>wearing pants to bed (ew)</li><li>being outside (I know, completely unexpected)</li><li>crafting</li><li>herbs</li><li>co-dependency</li></ul><h4 style="text-align: left;">Who Even Am I Anymore?</h4></div><div>This has been a year of quiet, understated growth. Now at the end of it, I am exhausted; as if I've run a marathon I hadn't prepared for. And I feel changed, different in ways I previously believed myself incapable of. I feel strange, and new. It feels impossible to over-emphasize that <i>I don't know who I am anymore</i>. Everything I feel I understood myself to be has changed drastically. And yet, there is a peacefulness that underlines this process. 2023 felt like a massive deep clean of my entire life. I can feel something building on the edges of my awareness, but I feel unhurried and unworried about its development. </div><div><br /></div><div>All of this internal experience has been unfolding, as it always has and will continue to, in the context of a large-scale systemic societal and climate decline. This cannot be ignored, and the reality of genocides across countries, global climate collapse, late-stage capitalism, white cishetero patriarchy, and colonization as the background to my life experience continues to add rage, disgust, panic, shame, and overwhelm to the everyday. I am still, always, grappling with the question of what it means to be a white middle-class queer mother in a drying-up red state in the US. </div><div><br /></div><div>2024 is coming whether I hate and shame myself through it or not. So I'm trying something different next year. I'm going to disappoint some people, and I'm going to have to learn to breathe through that. Gather. Release. Gather. A new rhythm to dance to.</div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-68375801045607132772023-04-17T19:26:00.013-07:002023-04-18T13:44:18.386-07:00Bisexuality: Why Bother?<p> I am a bisexual woman in a straight-passing relationship.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7uXcfhC9Zmz9-UikBOiG-xI1WpsL38l2eKii7UWHryh4tYHsO7pukmPODrvcjSSxdL3l7S-BOOsjt-KltHIl91M48ri-qfYfkD-dhyG0ot7r1jvd2umZvjBfZmfUdSy08AKielHRhe_73_jSQ7gfp0PIJc8JrdJekUhYXwctr6vH9khfjgkHV_SG/s3600/DSC_8596.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7uXcfhC9Zmz9-UikBOiG-xI1WpsL38l2eKii7UWHryh4tYHsO7pukmPODrvcjSSxdL3l7S-BOOsjt-KltHIl91M48ri-qfYfkD-dhyG0ot7r1jvd2umZvjBfZmfUdSy08AKielHRhe_73_jSQ7gfp0PIJc8JrdJekUhYXwctr6vH9khfjgkHV_SG/w426-h640/DSC_8596.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Since coming out two years ago, I've grappled with questions like</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Am I really queer if I am married to a man?</li><li>Is my marriage considered a mixed-orientation marriage?</li><li>Is my queer identity worth exploring and affirming?</li><li>Is bisexual the right identity for me?</li><li>Do I bother telling people I'm bi?</li></ul><div>I can't answer these questions for all queer folks, but to answer them for myself feels important and affirming. I want to answer these questions publicly, both because I think others can benefit from this type of openness and sharing; and also because I want to be able to return to my own words when I question myself, which happens more often than I'd like to admit.</div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">Am I really queer if I'm married to a man?</h4><div>Yes. The idea that my sexual orientation is defined by my partner separates my sexuality from my being entirely, actually. My sexual preferences, appetite, and orientation are mine and mine only. I share them as I please, but my partners do not own and therefore cannot define my sexuality for me. They can give opinions, they can give perspective, they can offer reflection; but they cannot make a choice for me. Past queer experiences provide me information about my sexual preferences, but they cannot define me. Only I can do that. The ability to explore and choose what language and terminology to express myself in the world is a power that I claim for myself. I'm bisexual and I'm queer because those are the terms that most accurately communicate my sexual orientation.</div><div><br /></div><div>People are queer because they are queer - a woman isn't any less a lesbian because she's had relationships with men in the past. A man isn't any less gay because he's had relationships with women. The idea that there is such thing as a "gold-star" lesbian (a lesbian woman who has only been with women) is a holdover from heteronormative purity culture. To use a person's past sexual experiences as "proof" that they are legitimately queer, virginal, righteous, straight, or whatever is a holdover from an overculture that relies heavily on discriminating who is "real" enough to deserve love and who isn't. One might ask themselves - which is more important: double checking to make sure that one only give love to people who deserve it, or loving the whole person whether you fully understand them or not? Are you caught in the throes of queerphobia when someone must meet your standard of queer purity before you accept and believe them? Are you holding that same bar to yourself? Put it away. You're a fucking fabulous rainbow unicorn, goddamit.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zguVn4Gf8MolVcotdmo4jKgNz-2GzcZ_Q7TcEgEozM8ngRnyNpARzxFd9ga76Tvph5JAIROtsisMpUo2gKm65_skjO5IjY53wiC3lo14RF6rvjT8bpzCAlus0cCKuatqFru19e_buXP7NeI9OcWY_9QDKiyfPB3j-P0oIaZp_uqKA0NtExCfBJqY/s6000/pawel-czerwinski-XQqd6JKDkSM-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zguVn4Gf8MolVcotdmo4jKgNz-2GzcZ_Q7TcEgEozM8ngRnyNpARzxFd9ga76Tvph5JAIROtsisMpUo2gKm65_skjO5IjY53wiC3lo14RF6rvjT8bpzCAlus0cCKuatqFru19e_buXP7NeI9OcWY_9QDKiyfPB3j-P0oIaZp_uqKA0NtExCfBJqY/w640-h426/pawel-czerwinski-XQqd6JKDkSM-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">Is my marriage a mixed-orientation marriage?</h4><div>Yes. A highly successful one too. Now, some people may not agree, saying that because a bisexual partner and a heterosexual partner are complementary, their orientations are not different. To this, I would argue that this understanding is rooted in bi erasure, and this is why.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bisexuality is not heterosexuality. Bisexuality is also not heterosexuality half the time and gay the other half of the time. Bisexuality is bisexuality, 100% of the time: bi people get the whole pie, the whole pizza, all of the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>My marriage to a straight partner doesn't mean that its only 50% a great marriage, or that I'm only living out 50% of my sexual identity in that relationship (because remember, my queer identity depends on me, not on my sexual experiences). I'm not living a half-life in my marriage. In true bisexual fashion, my marriage is many things at once. It is straight-passing (meaning that most people perceive both my partner and I to be heterosexual and we both benefit from straight-passing privilege) AND is also a mixed orientation relationship.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is a common perception that most mixed-orientation marriages are between closeted or semi-closeted gay and lesbian folks and a straight partner. These relationships can be fraught with a lack of fulfillment, betrayal, and unhappiness because their sexual orientations are not complementary. But when examining bisexual-heterosexual relationships, I feel that by definition, they are mixed orientation. In my opinion, to assume otherwise is to erase the sexual orientation of the queer partner. Just because heterosexuality can be complementary to bisexuality doesn't mean they are the same. Additionally, a mixed orientation marriage doesn't necessarily have to be an unhappy and unfulfilled one. My straight-passing marriage is affirming to me because my partner is affirming. Its not straight-passing because either my partner or I are too straight to make it be "really" queer: its straight-passing because other people see it that way. That's their problem. I don't own that. </div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">Is my queer identity worth exploring and affirming?</h4><div>Hell yes. But I don't know yet how to do that, and I'm working on figuring it out. But just like I celebrate and support many other aspects of my being, such as </div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>getting a haircut that highlights my hair's natural wave pattern</li><li>wear makeup in colors that complement my green eyes</li><li>wear clothes that support, fit, and feel good to my unique body</li><li>practice a spirituality in a way that feels in alignment with my beliefs and values</li><li>decorate my home in a way that feels authentic and pleasurable</li></ul><div>I can also give myself permission to celebrate and support my queer identity.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU9Hi7A0byLaLbHNuDGsRXtpcDIWspExK5gD1_fAv4wP3Q5bu0UA6l6YsUgFsyZNxlGPp4RPzqqQnMWwkDP7ihLONi2vnczNcbg7XOUQKjO3RSa0dBbZmA4w2N42ex3dR8JCWP6KH8oa7rocS0-dbd3WITtXyqUEKxRxSk0ICnem0CkwM6iVh3oWnF/s5472/daniel-james-Dhw68hz9KbA-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU9Hi7A0byLaLbHNuDGsRXtpcDIWspExK5gD1_fAv4wP3Q5bu0UA6l6YsUgFsyZNxlGPp4RPzqqQnMWwkDP7ihLONi2vnczNcbg7XOUQKjO3RSa0dBbZmA4w2N42ex3dR8JCWP6KH8oa7rocS0-dbd3WITtXyqUEKxRxSk0ICnem0CkwM6iVh3oWnF/w640-h426/daniel-james-Dhw68hz9KbA-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><h4 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h4><h4 style="text-align: left;">Is bisexual the right identity for me?</h4><div>Yes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've learned from <a href="https://robynochs.com/biphobia/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Robyn Ochs</a> that we live in a culture that believes people are primarily mono-sexual, meaning they are attracted to just one gender, whether the opposite or the same gender. But bi-sexuality is opposed to that, recognizing that there are those who are more-than-mono-sexual. Bi-sexuality is an orientation that embraces attraction to more than one gender. It encompasses all genders. The argument that bisexuality is transphobic is one that is misinformed. Bisexuality is all-gender inclusive.</div><div><br /></div><div>So why not claim pansexuality? I'm not against the label. It works for some people! But I've learned that bisexuality is a highly stigmatized identity in large part because of the AIDS crisis, as bisexual folks - especially men - were seen as people who transmitted the disease across monosexual groups (heterosexual <i>and</i> homosexual). There are <a href="https://aninjusticemag.com/reclaiming-bisexual-labels-as-bandaids-for-and-reinforcers-of-internalized-biphobia-b96063c64269" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">those who wonder </a>if the increase in alternative terms to bisexuality, or those which fall under the bisexual umbrella, are modern linguistic attempts to distance oneself from the discrimination and stigma of "bisexual." Because I feel both that bisexuality is an accurate term for my orientation AND that there is power in the reclamation of a stigmatized identity, I choose to identify as bisexual. I do it for myself and for my bisexual foremothers and forefathers. I would have to confront biphobia anyway with a more-than-mono sexual preference. Having language and community, both living and ancestral (in the chosen-family type of way) empowers me to live more fully into my queerness.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxG03ZMtnXsTPfET-mMQqUuTBET3np9IscO2h-rEkC2aVco4Jh9NteiS02yz7hOfunKxXOSgrbJqKrgi-aGEYUDudrBxEjLgpcYdF5TUR7Up4-sb9XsW9cWoSYSVZdGqe3RuozwOmQ42aLUp682znYZpcdE60qBLDvKeLRYe9pz7AgQ6NYe9W6t6c/s3600/DSC_8557.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUxG03ZMtnXsTPfET-mMQqUuTBET3np9IscO2h-rEkC2aVco4Jh9NteiS02yz7hOfunKxXOSgrbJqKrgi-aGEYUDudrBxEjLgpcYdF5TUR7Up4-sb9XsW9cWoSYSVZdGqe3RuozwOmQ42aLUp682znYZpcdE60qBLDvKeLRYe9pz7AgQ6NYe9W6t6c/w426-h640/DSC_8557.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">Do I bother telling people I'm bi?</h4><div>Yes. </div><div><br /></div><div>I find great joy and purpose in being out. I believe that queer folks who come out make it safer for other queer folks to do the same. Its also helped me find deeper connection with queer folks who were hiding in plain sight - many women who I was friends with but did not know were queer came out to me in celebration of our shared queer identities. It was also immensely helpful to be so warmly welcomed by queer folks who were out publicly and discover new friendships there.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is harder to be out in heteronormative groups. I've been lucky to have been accepted, loved, and celebrated by my family of origin. In other spaces, my bisexuality is largely ignored and/or whispered about to others, but never discussed with me personally. The unspoken agreement to never speak of it is a blessing and a burden - sometimes in relationships that are less stable (like my in-laws) I'll admit its nice to be able to lean back into the straight-passing privilege and blend in a bit. But its also a burden to know that sometimes people in those spaces forget there is queerness among them. There are still hurtful comments. I still don't know how to navigate them. But I tell myself that being queer and present is enough. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I'm visibly queer and present - in a rainbow tee or sporting a huge rainbow sticker on my emotional support water bottle. Being visible and queer feels a heck of a lot more high-stakes and dangerous now than it did when I identified as an ally. But when I feel brave enough to be, I tell myself that my mere willingness to be queer and present reminds people that queerness isn't something relegated to closets - its everywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bisexuality is one of the two spheres in my life where I am the most marginalized by society. I still can't believe that nearly 50% of the LGBTQ+ community identifies as more-than-mono sexual, but is the least represented and understood queer identity. Its because the bisexual identity is twice-marginalized - once by its opposition to heteronormativity and once by its opposition to mono-sexuality. Living in opposition to two very strongly held societal ideals makes visible bisexuality unquestionably necessary and radical to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>For all the challenges of my queerness, I am protected by a lot of privilege. It is far safer for me to be out and bisexual because of my proximity to systems of heteronormativity (in my straight-passing relationship), whiteness, monogamy, wealth, property ownership, and cis-normativity. It doesn't make my experience as a bi woman any easier, but it also doesn't make it any harder either. Its because of this privilege that I can be out and visibly queer in most places without much threat to my safety. I recognize this isn't the same experience for everyone, and so in no way am I advocating for every queer person to be out. Every person's experience is different. This is mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't really think I have anything new or radical to say about queerness or bisexuality that hasn't been said by people who have been writing and speaking in these spaces a lot longer than I have. But when I hesitate to write or share or remind myself about the validity of my queer identity, my queer struggles, and my queer joy, I remember back to the words I heard on an episode of Brooklyn 99 that I watched not long after coming out. One of the characters comes out to her coworkers as bisexual. Her boss, who is also queer, pulls her aside and says "Every time someone steps up and says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place."</div><p></p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="tenor-gif-embed" data-aspect-ratio="0.903125" data-postid="18746237" data-share-method="host" data-width="100%"><br /></div> <script async="" src="https://tenor.com/embed.js" type="text/javascript"></script>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-42536829816940640372023-04-11T15:06:00.006-07:002023-04-17T19:52:16.552-07:00Things Are A Bit Different Now<p> Its been a while since I've written in this space. I've missed it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNOr7ZrLCO0-L_0dKkGgJc04DsYV4fLzws_L6tu5H-Ynk-GBjgIKXqyDYbfQX7TCqKtJQMVHsumIUovpEZif-0xpUvL2T06plQWWhyIuyuAK6qv5QSUFY3iLj4LWCmVTkbY_W_tpdzDqZcf1YblaYHg7Snno8N8b8ydgLVjM5DXmIfx5dAC1Cg6ob/s4598/miti-DFtvglCPWjY-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2877" data-original-width="4598" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNOr7ZrLCO0-L_0dKkGgJc04DsYV4fLzws_L6tu5H-Ynk-GBjgIKXqyDYbfQX7TCqKtJQMVHsumIUovpEZif-0xpUvL2T06plQWWhyIuyuAK6qv5QSUFY3iLj4LWCmVTkbY_W_tpdzDqZcf1YblaYHg7Snno8N8b8ydgLVjM5DXmIfx5dAC1Cg6ob/w640-h400/miti-DFtvglCPWjY-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>For many years, my creativity has found a home on Instagram, where it has received much celebration. I have had the additional benefit of connecting with other creators and forming real, lasting friendships beyond what I ever anticipated. People I once admired from afar are now my co-creators, my inner circle, my closest and most trusted friends. I've grown. I've learned. I've seen and been seen. </p><p>Lately I've been thinking a lot about the whole reason I started writing in the first place. When I first began, much of my writing content focused on spirituality, then faith transition, then my writing disappeared from this space entirely. In the meantime, I've been devoting my heart and soul to The Faithful Feminists, a podcast co-hosted by myself and my bestie. Its been incredible to see a project that began with two friends saying "We should record the conversations we're already having because others might be interested," to a flourishing podcast with an incredibly loyal following. As the four-year project comes to a close this year, I am reflecting back on Channing, four years ago.</p><p>Channing, Four Years Ago:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>had a lot of answers she was super certain about</li><li>felt incredibly unseen</li><li>was deeply insecure about her lack of higher formal education</li><li>had two children still at home at least part time</li><li>was devoted entirely to the idea that it was possible to be faithful to the LDS church and embrace feminist ideals</li><li>nursed a growing interest in the occult, witchcraft, and earth-based spiritual practices</li><li>grappled with healing from developmental trauma and complex PTSD from childhood abuse</li><li>had a TON of energy and get-up-and-go</li><li>was really mad about moving from Arizona to Utah</li></ul><div>Channing Now:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>still has a lot of answers but is less threatened by the need to explain, challenge, and change</li><li>is a woman confident in her ability to communicate and teach from the vast wisdom of her lived experience and hyper-focused personal research</li><li>embraces her bisexuality after coming out to herself and the public in 2021</li><li>is nearly certain it is impossible to wholly embrace a healing, decolonized, equitable ethic while still remaining faithful to the LDS church</li><li>leans hard into the occult, witchcraft, and earth-based spiritual practices based on the beliefs and traditions of her pre-Christian northwestern European ancestors</li><li>feels a lot more equipped and supported in tending to her mental health</li><li>navigates her PCOS diagnosis with some difficulty, but a stubborn hopefulness all the same</li><li>is like, really into astrology, herbalism, and birding</li><li>has had her nose pierced twice, unsuccessfully</li><li>has two tattoos</li><li>is in love with Great Salt Lake and the place she lives</li></ul><div>That's a lot to catch up on if this is the first time you're hearing from me since my devotion to Instagram; but if you've been following along there, you'll know this has been a slow and progressive journey that has been built step-by-careful-step. That's the beautiful thing about Instagram - it is easy to share and connect over pieces of a life and moments of beauty.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>But Instagram has proven itself a tricky platform all on its own. From the constant advertisement, the encouraged endless scrolling, and the difficulty of engaging in hard conversations from behind a de-personalized screen, Instagram has become to feel more like a chaotic breeding ground for perfectionism, competition, and sales.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I first started writing on this platform six or seven years ago, I deliberately chose not to feature ads on my website. The reason for this was two-fold. First, I find ads to be obnoxious and annoying. They are often conspicuous and difficult to ignore. I wanted my website to be a space uninterrupted by the constant stream of "buy, buy, buy." Additionally, as my content focused on often counter-cultural or spiritual devotions, it felt extremely out of alignment to be talking about loving and accepting oneself and rejecting the norms of beauty and youth and have an ad for beauty products and diets alongside my words.</div><div><br /></div><div>Its funny to me how much those exact things show up on social media but in ways I didn't (or refused) to notice. Social media is not what it once was five, six, seven, ten years ago. As my spiritual journey has taken me into spaces that require silence, softness, and quietude, I've found it more and more necessary to cut out the ambient noise that is not life giving. Its not to say that I want my life to be quiet. Not at all. But there is a difference between the sound of children playing in the backyard, adults laughing at a birthday party, my favorite music blasting on full volume so even the neighbors can hear, the sound of the birds rising with the sun, and the noise of advertisements, a 24-hr news and tragedy stream, and small, ever-repeating audio and visual clips. Its just so much for me. I don't know if its a sign of neurodivergence, a trauma trigger, or just a proclivity to quietude in my childhood, but noise bothers me. In a world that already seems overwhelming, cutting out unnecessary noise is one way I am choosing to soften my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this brings with it a gamut of fears. Where will I share my writing? How will I be seen? What will happen to my friendships if I happened to not see their latest Instagram post, or the drama unfolding in social media spaces? I don't know. But I do know I need a space to share what is swirling around my mind without the constant worry about being accosted by Noom ads right after seeing a news headline about the latest public shooting. What a fucked up world we live in.</div><div><br /></div><div>It feels nice to return to this space. I am a different person now, with a different worldview and different priorities. Its good to be back in a space of my own making. My hope is this can function in the future as a journal, a landing space for fleshing out ideas big and small, and continued connection, teaching, and sharing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Channing</div><p></p>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-10860210668418303262022-01-27T20:09:00.005-08:002023-04-17T19:51:53.054-07:00Testimony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKZtoY2D-8MjIZdIn50iLfL1SOpW_gUkFKbVPQQiE2Z1nX4ZqmHUiTjGOUxGFmEeZbS61pg8ckKow4krMY2GvSpmHjPCR_BmkL9WCLl4eCRRvlF7VHyoYk0-0RfRXQl0HZhrsfuRaisXgA6soM3ZYr-oirbIK5tYOITXGHHb959C1yazj2oPsDRyxy=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKZtoY2D-8MjIZdIn50iLfL1SOpW_gUkFKbVPQQiE2Z1nX4ZqmHUiTjGOUxGFmEeZbS61pg8ckKow4krMY2GvSpmHjPCR_BmkL9WCLl4eCRRvlF7VHyoYk0-0RfRXQl0HZhrsfuRaisXgA6soM3ZYr-oirbIK5tYOITXGHHb959C1yazj2oPsDRyxy=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I read the following piece aloud at a fast and testimony meeting for my ward. I'm sharing it here because it has brought courage and encouragement for others, and I hope it will continue to.</p><p>...</p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A few weeks ago I taught a Relief Society lesson during which I shared the following statement: I am Channing. I am a feminist mormon woman who appreciates the contemplative and mystical. I am beloved by God. I feel alone and disliked at church. I feel like I am not wanted here because I talk about things that make people uncomfortable. Church is painful for me, but I deeply desire a religious community that I feel safe and welcome in.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After the lesson was over, some of my good friends came up to me and showered me in love. “Channing, we love you. Just be yourself. Don’t worry about what other people think.” I really appreciated that because it was a good reminder of a few things.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First, it was a necessary reminder that I am loved, and that my responsibility is ultimately to God, who created me in their divine image. Secondly, this experience showed me something incredibly important. It showed me where I have been sacrificing my god-given and blessed authenticity for belonging to a church community because I do worry what other people think. I worry about it a lot, because unfortunately, what other people think has an impact on me, on my children, on my family, and on my real, lived life.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I desire to bear testimony of my heart, and to offer clarification for my statement in that Relief Society lesson that day: I feel alone and disliked at church. This is why.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I share a strong and incredibly deep relationship to God, and not just any God, but my God. My God is a god whose love surpasses understanding, transcends boundaries, whose capacity to shift and continually surprise in the most joyful ways fills my heart with awe and wonder. I love God. I could bring myself to weeping with the knowledge of the depth and breadth of the love that literally holds me, you, us, this entire world in its soft and gentle hands.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is this love that shapes my understanding of the world. It is this love that shapes my understanding of all beings. If God is a god of love, or even better, like our hymn says, if God IS love, and if we are all created in the image of the Divine, then we too, are loved. Love, deep and abiding, more incredible than we could ever imagine. We are not just made in the image of love, which makes it sound like we are a derivative work. No, we are literally created in love. Which is why God and people are so incredible to me. Every day we walk amongst the images of God. CS Lewis once wrote, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is what informs my approach to God and the world. The world and all living, creeping, swimming, walking, talking, flying, thinking, eating things upon it were made not just in the image of Love, but literally hold Divinity within. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This understanding commands respect for all beings. If we all carry evidence of the Divine within, then we all each have the capacity to bring God’s love forward into the world. This also means that each of us have something to teach the world about Love, about God.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our first meeting back from the pandemic centered around a Gospel Doctrine lesson about the Shakers. The first words I heard in that meeting were ones of seemingly light-hearted joking about the Shakers, but I was ashamed to have heard them. “No wonder they all died out,” someone said, referring to the Shaker belief against sexual relations between married couples. It was these opening statements that set the stage for what would turn out to be a lesson focused on “us vs. them” thinking, as if we, in the form of the early church, could provide them a way out of their delusion.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the weeks since, I have still continually seen, in this very ward, more of the “us vs. them” type of thinking. Some of us have been brave enough to name our supposed enemies, always in the guise of “not understanding” or “deceived by Satan,” among them: LGBTQ persons, the other political party, people who have left the church, etc. And instead of maintaining our belief that every being is a child of God, we, collectively, have given ourselves permission to trample their names under our feet and prematurely harvest them as tares.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because of my stubborn belief in the inherent Divinity in all, a belief that was formed in me in my early days in Primary, a belief that was born in the very walls of the church, I have, for the last 5 years of my membership in the church, stood up for those who have been forgotten and misnamed as “lost.” Those lost sheep, the 1 that Christ seeks out because the 99 have not. LGBTQ people, women, victims of abuse, liberal snowflakes, all those ones are not lost of their own accord. They are lost because we have refused to create a space for them in the safety of our walls. Because of this, I too have inched closer and closer toward the margins of belonging, because I am seen as antagonistic, intimidating, threatening, intense, and sometimes even misguided or that I have lost my own testimony.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nothing could be further from the truth. I have read the very same scriptures you hold in your hands. I have read the words of Jacob the prophet in the Book of Mormon, who called the church to repentance for the treatment of women and children. How very like them we really are! As a woman, I feel very unwelcome and unloved here. Many of you might be asking yourselves, why? I am more than happy to share!</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the four months we have been attending in person, I have attended three times as many meetings where only men speak in Sacrament and only men teach, as compared to meetings where at least, but only ever, one woman speaks in Sacrament meeting. I believe this is due more to an unconscious bias than a purposeful exclusion of women, but combined with the small, one hundred thousand cuts to my soul I experience at church, it is a weight that is unbearable. We sing songs to Father and Son, say prayers to and in the name of the Father and Son, speak only in he and his pronouns, dare to name God as exclusively male, we literally ingest maleness through the sacrament, bread and body and water and blood of exclusively male deities. The scriptures are written by, for, and about men. 93% of general conference talks are given by men. Every time! </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As a woman, I can only experience God in these walls by translating the male experience into my own. I have no permissive access to a female God, even though Heavenly Mother is secretly, sacred revered in our theology. I do not have the priesthood. I cannot hold the majority of church callings, because they all belong to those who have priesthood. And though this is bandaged by claims that I have access to priesthood power through my temple covenants, I still experience unequal access, unequal representation, unequal opportunities, because I was born a woman.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some will claim that I imagine my own oppression at the hands of the church. But I ask you, what am I to tell my sweet, beautiful daughter, who knows in her heart that she can do and accomplish and be anything in the world: an Olympic gymnast, a dancer, an artist, a teacher; that she will be unable to ever hold the power of God, never give a blessing to her children, never hold a calling she can act independently in, never really be able to access a relationship with God independent of her husband… what am I to tell her? When I told her, gently, that this would be her experience in the church if she chooses to be baptized, she said to me, “Mom, I will tell them they are wrong. Girls can do anything and everything boys can. Girls are smart and strong, and so am I.” Will you tell her otherwise?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And it is precisely because I say these things, precisely because my testimony hinges on the Love of God and I dare to speak against the things that stand in the way of Love reaching all corners of the earth, that I too, find myself on the margins of the church. Because I dare to speak the name “Heavenly Mother” or “Sophia,” because I dare to express my pain at the hundred thousand million erasures and cuts to my very soul as a woman, that I am named a danger to you all. It is because of this that some of you have taken it upon yourselves to call up your church leaders and complain to them about me. It is because my words are threatening, poking, confronting you and your refusal to be surprised and open to God, that you push, sometime violently, against my comments in classes. It is precisely because I am being myself, because I am being the Channing God made me to be, fiery, whip-smart, quick, and deeply passionate, that I feel more belonging on the hot asphalt in the parking lot of this building than I do on the pews with people who feel I am too much for them.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I stand here as a testimony and a warning. If we, as a collective church, continue to push out voices like mine, voices that call in the night for belonging, for change, for recognition, acceptance, welcome, love, voices that cry from high city walls for justice first and peace second, feet shod with proclamations of inclusion and radical love; if we close our ears, shut our eyes, shield our hearts, border our nations, who is it that cannot hear or see God? Who must repent? Has our faith so hardened into certainty that we can no longer be surprised by the God of Love?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">People have said, Channing! Be yourself, do not worry what other people say or think. I am here, now, a woman in her power, who sees what she sees, who feels what she feels, and knows what she knows, being myself. Speaking and giving language to what has weighed on my heart for the better part of a year, and saying to you all: I am not welcome here and I know it, and I refuse to pretend that I do not recognize the ways you’d wish I’d disappear. I also refuse to pretend that I do not feel the fire of God burning in my heart every moment, and that it is this fire that calls me to speak on the behalf of the downtrodden, to lift up the hands that hang down, to call upon the church to feed and clothe the poor with their surplus and give the inheritance to those whose names are written upon the record of the church as commanded in the Doctrine and Covenants, to forget not the needy, the outcast, the Samaritan, the prostitute, the leper, the tax collector, and act as Jesus did. Where are the long tables set with feasts of wisdom? Where are the weeping tears of the psalms, calling for God’s presence because it has been lost? God does not speak here because we already pretend to know what God says!</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are some who will question by whose authority I have to speak these things, and this is a valid question. I have waited a lifetime to be recognized as a worthy and whole woman in the church, and I have yet to see it happen in real and tangible ways beyond lip service. I have waited with baited breath at general, stake, and ward conferences for the proper authorities to recognize the power and presence and worthiness of all marginalized identities, including my own, and I have yet to see it happen. If I have waited and waited and waited for liberation to occur through the proper channels AND sought faithfully for humility and patience and counsel from those same authorities AND read the scriptures, said my prayers, attend church like a very good Mormon girl, AND still feel an indescribable ache to be seen and known AND leave this building every Sunday weeping because I do not feel safe or loved here AND know, because my own freedom, liberation, and wholeness is promised in the scriptures, not in the future but in the here and the now, what am I to do, but speak to my own pain and erasure through the only power I can ever really claim: the power of God in me?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are some, who, after today will be making more phone calls and wanting me to be called in for discipline. Pick up your phone. Let them know that Channing Parker showed up as herself here today. I am right with God in my heart, and I am not afraid. I no longer wait for belonging and acceptance in a community that cannot, will not, accept me as one of their own, because I already know who I belong to. I know whose name is written upon my heart, and I know by whose power I speak here today. I am Channing Parker. I am a daughter of Love. I was raised on the apron strings of my Mother in Heaven, I learned at the feet of Jesus the Christ, I am embraced by a Father of Justice and Mercy. My conscience is clear, and I go out from here in peace, with one final question I beg of you:</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If God is love</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And one does not feel love</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the church,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Is God in the church?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the name of Our Mother, a</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">men.</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-18708816140362752482020-10-29T10:03:00.004-07:002022-01-27T19:16:09.069-08:00Catherine, Lost and Found<p><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This story is of my 7th great grandmother Catherine, pictured on the right, next to her husband Alexander. Earlier this year I felt pulled to find and tell her story. Because Catherine did not keep journals and because the only records for her are brief mentions in her husband's biography, most of my understanding of Catherine's story has come through meditative and dream experiences, as well as some creative imaginings from my own experiences as a woman and mother to fill in any blanks. Its taken me months to gain her trust and learn to understand what she most needed from me. I am grateful for the thinness between veils during this Samhain time because it has provided great clarity and purity of communication and understanding between Catherine and I. We have accomplished something we are both proud of. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PTQGZTy-AHmR-qD0HhY3pos3madMQYe0y8uCZ7XOnSf5W7DL_2FXGhedede5jaL3cAMzQvTCdEoeLFudBJEZRj6uX1znMk4YIiDDcd_lZhmgnOwUSiozE82sAziwPsxFskSfUhF0g6Q/s1071/Alexander+Beckstead++Catherine+Lince-Colorized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1071" data-original-width="749" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PTQGZTy-AHmR-qD0HhY3pos3madMQYe0y8uCZ7XOnSf5W7DL_2FXGhedede5jaL3cAMzQvTCdEoeLFudBJEZRj6uX1znMk4YIiDDcd_lZhmgnOwUSiozE82sAziwPsxFskSfUhF0g6Q/w448-h640/Alexander+Beckstead++Catherine+Lince-Colorized.jpg" width="448" /></a></div><br /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">......</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Catherine Elinore Lince Beckstead, born July 6, 1807 in Williamsburg, Canada, just north of the St. Lawrence river that borders upstate New York, was a little girl once. And though I can't say for certain, I imagine her to be always in love with something. With a heart open to the sky, the trees, the river that carried her secrets and dreams out to sea, how could she not be? Catherine, who loved vanilla custard and the smell of freshly-turned dirt on her family's farm, had a heart for adventure and a lust for something more. What exactly, she couldn't say, but the way the fish glimmer just beneath the surface of rushing water and the nodding of the wildflowers at the edge of the woods whispered hints tp her every once in a while. Yes, more. Something more. And so her childhood was one of chores like baking bread, sweeping floors, planting seeds, shucking corn; but it was also a childhood of picking sun-ripened berries from the bushes. What July lass can resist the sugared promises of destiny?</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ubj8DYu7FuB4EkObgFAAU-T2WW_AkaMB4g5txOe4d2eqI7WYliaJ4T3YKcdI2xR_bt68l75_5AW602Mb_vxawunzWeRrB0so0zDq0IHU6qn_cev5ARc4IXahJx7ElPSUQKW3juT5C_Y/s2048/timothy-meinberg-phx4UXMQRTg-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1535" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ubj8DYu7FuB4EkObgFAAU-T2WW_AkaMB4g5txOe4d2eqI7WYliaJ4T3YKcdI2xR_bt68l75_5AW602Mb_vxawunzWeRrB0so0zDq0IHU6qn_cev5ARc4IXahJx7ElPSUQKW3juT5C_Y/w640-h480/timothy-meinberg-phx4UXMQRTg-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Was it destiny, Catherine, that brought Alexander to you? You played as children together. Perhaps you were friends that made mud pies and looked for frogs in the irrigation ditches. Maybe there was a childhood hate there, an envy, a jealousy of the way he got to ride the horses with your brothers, swim the river naked with your brothers, be free, like your brothers. Maybe he promised you freedom when he proposed marriage to you. At 15, a girl with a heart open to the sky, the trees, the river that carried her secrets and dreams out to sea, how could you not believe him?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Together you both created a life you thought you'd love - your own home, your own farm, your own family. Not long after you turned 16, you gave birth to Margaret, your perfect baby girl. And in years coupled together, Gordon and Henry and William came too. And for a moment, everything was perfect. The babies cried and there were always chores, the same chores of baking bread and sweeping floors and then some, but all seemed right in the world. The fish scales still glimmered, the wind still shared her laughter with you, the clouds still brought in blessings like rain. Yes, Catherine. This is the life you wanted. This is the life you deserved.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then suddenly, William died. At nine months old, that baby boy died. He slipped out right from under you, through your fingers, in your arms - no one's really sure how it happened, and neither are you. That's why you never wrote it down. He was there one moment, and the next you were hanging a freshly-cleaned cloth diaper on the line for the last time. Your breasts were still heavy with milk, your arms still heavy with the grief, nowhere to put any of it, so it absorbed into the same softness your body was using now for another baby, already 3 months along in your womb.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Things were different after William. You stopped hearing cloud songs and the river lost her sparkle. Even when Harriet was born, you couldn't stop the flood of worries. Who will you lose next? Who will will disappear into the cold softness of your grief? You were sure it would be another one of your children. You were so wrapped in your shawl of tender loss and increased responsibility, you had no time, no energy, no life left to pay attention to Alexander. That's when you lost him. You may hate me, Catherine, for speaking the truth out loud, but you must allow me here to open this wound. With William, Alexander lost himself too.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was alive enough to plow the fields and trade and barter and lick the lingering lard from the biscuits you baked for dinner each night, but not enough life was left in him to love. The warm arms you slept in turned cold from blame and hatred. His affections didn't turn elsewhere; they just up and vanished, just like your little William. And then, you were alone in most senses of the word. Alone, with Margaret and Gordon and Henry and now, Harriet too. Alone, with emptiness to hold and no one to hold you.</span><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK40SLYoyNWg2zqY4-MkuFcoM5ZOxE9ogBwpHPJcp7Y_5cera7PzbOHlOaQTODIkAtoZ8IljeocB6BsHvXv3BN7SuDufOfYhvNt3wAoIVbmg_zo5UnPSBOgObtvDp1A1PN-WZa11L3bU4/s2048/michael-held-w6xU735k6LU-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK40SLYoyNWg2zqY4-MkuFcoM5ZOxE9ogBwpHPJcp7Y_5cera7PzbOHlOaQTODIkAtoZ8IljeocB6BsHvXv3BN7SuDufOfYhvNt3wAoIVbmg_zo5UnPSBOgObtvDp1A1PN-WZa11L3bU4/w640-h426/michael-held-w6xU735k6LU-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Years went by, and with them more children came. But it was around this time too that Alexander met the Mormons. With the missionaries, everything changed, especially Alexander. He was alive again. Not alive enough to love, but alive enough to find Jesus and try. That's good enough, you thought to yourself, and it was out of this sheer woman's hope , that you agreed to move to the United States and put down roots in Missouri.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">But you weren't there long. Catherine, you never kept journals, but the horrors I know you saw in Missouri haunt you to this day. I know, because I have dreams of them. Eventually your family escaped with the Saints to Nauvoo, Illinois. And for just a moment, everything was right again. Not perfect, maybe, and not the warm life you'd known in Canada, but it was right. William was gone, but Alexander, was born anew. There was warmth in his eyes, in his arms, in your bed again. You were familiar with not enough by now, so good enough felt just right to you.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then Joseph Smith died, and the Saints, led by that character Brigham, made their way across the plains to Utah. You had 10 children now, and the trek was intimidating. More than that though, was a feeling. Just a feeling, you told yourself, but the sinking, writhing in your stomach said otherwise. You tried to convince Alexander to stay, but he was determined. "After all, we've come this far," he said, and like a good wife, you didn't argue. Your energy was spent elsewhere - on the twins growing in you.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your journey began, and I refuse to desecrate it now with primary songs of pioneers singing and dreaming and come come ye July 24th fireworks and parades, because the walk and the handcart and the story of your crossing is nothing to sing about. Screaming, perhaps, but what song can honor the truth of Lucy Ann, your 13 year old baby lady, buried in an unmarked grave beside the trail?</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkKOYoRYBpSKw7AUulYvMtySnr1IPZItDhyphenhyphenpLW-NtX8m7FUCqUDuUNqMZim0CqeAGF-Y1oDGajMl3eWrhiki9LzBwXjGdV9DXHAgCST35W6YFLnWfSZL88WVZFdkDdzSbuFK3Iptb12I/s2048/dave-hoefler-6IpVpbrxHhc-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1463" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkKOYoRYBpSKw7AUulYvMtySnr1IPZItDhyphenhyphenpLW-NtX8m7FUCqUDuUNqMZim0CqeAGF-Y1oDGajMl3eWrhiki9LzBwXjGdV9DXHAgCST35W6YFLnWfSZL88WVZFdkDdzSbuFK3Iptb12I/w286-h400/dave-hoefler-6IpVpbrxHhc-unsplash.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><br /><div><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The books and records don't say why, from what, or exactly how. But it matters little. Lucy Ann was there one moment, and the next there was freshly-turned dirt and wildflowers sodden with tears where her freckles and soft-beating joy used to be. Lucy Ann, who had never rested safely since moving from Canada, who walked from violence to violence as one changes coats for shawls as the seasons turn, rested now. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know you wanted to mourn. I know you wanted to scream at the sky, beat your fists on the heart and Alexander's chest, but everyone urged you to stay calm and press on. After all, the babies needed you. And so you endured, like the good Mormon girl you'd become. And on an August summer morning, there was blood, birth, breath as John Alma arrived earthside, pink and hungry. And on that same August summer morning, there was freshly-turned dirt and wildflowers sprinkled with tears for Mary Ellen, who arrived long enough to breathe a breath that was both her hello and farewell.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mourn not, they said. I can hear it now. What do they know? You couldn't see it then Catherine, but I can now, and I will tell you: they, the grand "they" of prophets and prideful men, have forgotten what it means to be alive. They have forgotten the rightness of sodden wildflowers, of bursting and breaking and the beating of chests. They have forgotten that it is from the ashes of grief that love is reborn.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">William. Lucy. Mary. You did not grieve them then. Can I let you in on a little secret? Glimmering fish and sparkling waters that carry your secret dreams out to sea makes for a good story, but it makes for a shallow life. Even if you've never admitted it to anyone, you know in the way important things are known that fish, especially those that glimmer, are caught, gutted, roasted, eaten; that rivers that sparkle run over rock and carry sediment and shells sharp as knives out to sea. Life is rarely kind, Catherine, but it was especially not so to you. Can you see that now? Can you grieve that now? Come, let us gather the tattered scraps of promise and weave our stories together. I'll warp, you weft. It is the tension between us that binds.</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXPmqd_MFHGcbqzwySYQyKLXGDzt1fCSGUOFMAkm1n-u0lF-qv9OSJQ6pwfsQIJ3dfxDSNuECD4F5HLQvBR1YHDZuxkcd5sidj2QkbIPzXinNiwk6fNoXJgHW64sacVVwowTijQARND8/s2048/aaron-burden-WFzA16YoHcI-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXPmqd_MFHGcbqzwySYQyKLXGDzt1fCSGUOFMAkm1n-u0lF-qv9OSJQ6pwfsQIJ3dfxDSNuECD4F5HLQvBR1YHDZuxkcd5sidj2QkbIPzXinNiwk6fNoXJgHW64sacVVwowTijQARND8/w640-h480/aaron-burden-WFzA16YoHcI-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You made it to Utah, and This Is The Place looked more like tumbleweed and crumbling rock than it did a blossoming rose. Alexander decided to settle the area of South Jordan. I'm not sure if you'll be happy to know this or not, but the city still exists and their website, unlike their monuments, lists Alexander and your name as the founding members of the city. But Catherine, I know this matters little to you, and so it matters little to me. You'd rather be remembered for William, for Lucy, for Mary, and Amanda Jane, who died just a year after arriving to Utah, right after her eighth birthday.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What you'd rather not be remembered for is your husband, who had forgotten the love and the family of his youth, who had all but abandoned his heart somewhere between Ottowa and South Jordan, and spent his days digging ditches that would one day be known as the South Jordan canal. You spent your days split, looking after the 12 children living, and looking for the 4 gone in the darkness of the dirt dugout you had to call home. I know you looked for them. I know you are looking for them still. Catherine, between you and me, you've really messed up my ideas of heaven and hell. You come to me in dreams and tell me you can't find Lucy and Mary, and you weep the bitter tears I used to think were reserved for sin alone. All is not well, and has not been for some time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Alexander came to you and told you he was taking a second wife, you had no fight in you left. That was always his way - to ask for just the thing when you were too tired and overworked to give an opinion one way or another. He didn't love you; not like he used to. Not like he should. So what did it matter to you that he took another wife?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Indeed, I would like to know Catherine, what did it matter to you when Alexander, 52 married Keziah Petty, 19? What did it matter to you, to see his arms and lips and legs wrapped around a woman, a ghost-in-living-flesh of the woman you used to be? Young and bright like the glimmering sea? What did it matter to you that Keziah's son looked a spitting image of William, the only difference being that her's lived and yours did not? And what did it matter to you that soon after that, Alexander, 54 married Clarissa, 19? And kept wrapping and kissing and sleeping and being, but not with you? What was it to you to be together apart?</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWCzlyA5T9f2lBwQtjzjES1pBYKPjYEKgGEy2qgnyYnw2rl7bJDuD_9MbRslqB5X6Yl15Z9KYU7Lp7aFFqADxS7gobW5US3ipgiFO7j_g_FQypVYRIGU7dcp8kNXehJA_fWAFCpSh9sM/s2048/zdenek-machacek-D0hILsoEXD4-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWCzlyA5T9f2lBwQtjzjES1pBYKPjYEKgGEy2qgnyYnw2rl7bJDuD_9MbRslqB5X6Yl15Z9KYU7Lp7aFFqADxS7gobW5US3ipgiFO7j_g_FQypVYRIGU7dcp8kNXehJA_fWAFCpSh9sM/w640-h426/zdenek-machacek-D0hILsoEXD4-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Catherine, there is an old story from your homeland of creatures called the <i>huldra</i>. Perhaps you know it? The <i>huldra</i> are a species of shapeshifting forest creatures. Sometimes they are fox, or deer, or wolf, but they all have one thing in common in their human form: from the front they look like a beautiful woman, but if you were ever to catch a glimpse of their back, you would see a gaping hole that revealed the emptiness inside their being. They were known for seducing men into their bed, allowing the men to live if they pleased them and killing them if they did not. Therefore, it is always a risk to love a <i>huldra</i>.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It might please you, Catherine, to hear me call Keziah and Clarissa <i>huldra</i>, but I cannot tell a lie. The <i>huldra</i> your husband loved and worshipped was known by different names: polygamy. pride. gluttony. greed. lust. fear. privilege. pain. This <i>huldra</i> called to him from the edges of being to satisfy her again and again with <i>more, more, more</i>. Again and again he answered, spilling his seed from his hard and hollow love into a creature that wanted nothing more than a warm body to suck life from. For what can fill a bottomless chasm?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alexander died in the arms of the <i>huldra</i> that had taken over what we now call the Church of Jesus Christ (of Latter-Day Saints). If only they were as picky about the way they treated their people as they are about their name. Even after his death, you watched the <i>huldra</i> consume the people you loved most - your sons, your daughters, your friends. You died in 1889. You were warm and safe in your daughter's home. I'd like to think that then, just for a moment here, a moment there, everything was right. Not perfect, and not the life you'd have known in Canada, but good enough.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You passed, Catherine, but only to the other side. I've never been there, and I can't claim in good conscience to know anything about what it might be like. But I met you in a roller skating rink in a dream once. Was that a hint? Either way, I have a message for you. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Catherine, you have wept in the night to me that Lucy Ann and Mary Ellen are lost to you. This has always confused me, because even though I too have wept for their pain and yours, they don't feel lost to me. They have never visited me, nor I them, but I feel them, nearer than breath if I slow down to notice. I couldn't understand why you couldn't feel them too. But then, last night, I remembered the <i>huldra</i>.</span></div><div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><span style="font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5LM-oBzNvWjk5GIVXuI67qPKr2hAktfZALG93QO4UL7Ah1wBV88dacEmjVNSI7oDwa_8aA1WwWsTIDceiC5NdiEqj2WJmogfqlLUdrkb-KpZh_L-FRihECHhyphenhyphenOG2ol74am8bLpuu3UU/s2048/adrien-olichon-RCAhiGJsUUE-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5LM-oBzNvWjk5GIVXuI67qPKr2hAktfZALG93QO4UL7Ah1wBV88dacEmjVNSI7oDwa_8aA1WwWsTIDceiC5NdiEqj2WJmogfqlLUdrkb-KpZh_L-FRihECHhyphenhyphenOG2ol74am8bLpuu3UU/w640-h426/adrien-olichon-RCAhiGJsUUE-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></span><div><br /></div><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Catherine, my friend, my mother, with all the love in my heart I must tell you that Lucy and Mary are not lost. You have simply been looking in the wrong place. There is no life for the living or the dead in the back of a <i>huldra</i>. Sometimes promises are so beautiful that they obscure pain and untruth behind them. I say this with the gentleness of a mother wrapping a blanket over a sleeping child: perhaps you were lied to. Perhaps the <i>huldra</i>, wrapped in the guise of a patriarchal religion with a vengeful god and a thinly-veiled suspicion of women, still is keeping you enraptured. Will you come away with me, Catherine?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stories from your homeland, from the wisdom older than history tell of a place, not so unlike the "other side," called the Other World. Here there is food and dessert of every kind, of fine wine and great halls full of laughter, of joy and pleasure. Here families feast together, love is found again and anew, and something with a strikingly Godlike is there. But here in the Other World, she is known by different names. I wonder what hers is to you?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know, in the way important things are known, how to get there. Go to the bank of the river. Yes. The very same one with glimmering fish and shimmering secrets and dreams carried out to sea. Begin walking. Wade until you must swim, for what do you see on the opposite bank? Could it be?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: none; letter-spacing: 0.2px; white-space: pre-wrap;">William, Lucy, Mary, Amanda, waiting for you in the warmth of the arms of the Queen.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynyDNqgFVQCvx5FSarSfaPlzCFXuZN6OPVpAyHpOKqLzwczhMChX3_kqIMJqmgWZ9CNhkMYskTAtEg4WRfLQOQgFuhyq5rfCeinytADYzu97eIXUsmifZbJWw-lZ-Uz-edEkW_5sFn-0/s2048/jordan-sanchez-u8tZwGAH6w8-unsplash+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="2048" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynyDNqgFVQCvx5FSarSfaPlzCFXuZN6OPVpAyHpOKqLzwczhMChX3_kqIMJqmgWZ9CNhkMYskTAtEg4WRfLQOQgFuhyq5rfCeinytADYzu97eIXUsmifZbJWw-lZ-Uz-edEkW_5sFn-0/w640-h428/jordan-sanchez-u8tZwGAH6w8-unsplash+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-47448870698227107562020-06-16T15:15:00.004-07:002022-01-27T19:16:31.771-08:00A Perfect Reflection<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; white-space: pre-wrap;">Its a strange tale, isn't it? As if a man who loves no one can fall in love with himself. Its downright impossible.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkEgENtF_yrDdXow-E1TR-u2f5-uP34VA2mreMxbagRzm-q4e4NN3btnQNrGEKVyJoORPSwfv64ZmiOoLDvCKjtMU61kgnQXUwpkjClcUErUGyG5i1iXj9cqvjxHdHADC6WoY3tXJ6ERvNOMUJ_9V-MamWSMiJfOonoqsgbWmYIpFODer8EVwlQPQK=s1050" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1050" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkEgENtF_yrDdXow-E1TR-u2f5-uP34VA2mreMxbagRzm-q4e4NN3btnQNrGEKVyJoORPSwfv64ZmiOoLDvCKjtMU61kgnQXUwpkjClcUErUGyG5i1iXj9cqvjxHdHADC6WoY3tXJ6ERvNOMUJ_9V-MamWSMiJfOonoqsgbWmYIpFODer8EVwlQPQK=w640-h366" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="bj002-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But impossible things happen every day. And why not? You are here, after all, alive in a world on fire. Are you weary, traveler? What burdens I see you carry. Come, rest here beside me, at the edge of the pool. Take off your shoes and dip your toes in the water. Feel how it cools and quenches the burn of your tired feet? Can you feel it inviting you in, deeper and deeper into soft, surrounding peace? This is the gift of Limnoula, for those who are willing. Limnoula, the name for She who has seen it all. She was there that day, you know. She saw that man fall in love with himself. Listen, can you hear? If we are quiet she will tell us the story.</span></span><br /><span data-offset-key="ap8ls-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At first, when Nemesis arrived at my shores and told me what she planned to do, I argued. After all, Narcissus was young, and hubris is natural for those born gifted. </span></span><br /><span data-offset-key="ce14e-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Surely, he will grow out of it in time?" I said to Nemesis, unsure of why her punishment was so severe. She sat down on the bank, propped her elbows on her knees, and held her face in her hands. "I don't think so, Limnoula. Not this time." I knew Nemesis to be fair to a fault, so her surety alarmed me. "What happened?" I asked.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 660.4px;"> </span><br /><span data-offset-key="ee0h9-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Narcissus had a certain lover, Ameinius, who cared for him above all else in his life. It was nothing short of obsession, as humans in love are bound to fall in from time to time. But Narcissus became increasingly annoyed with Ameinius. Ameinius did all he could to keep Narcissus' love, but Narcissus, he didn't care. No, more than just uncaring. He was unfeeling. Ameinius came to him one day and professed his love, saying that it would be better for him to die than to never feel Narcissus' love returned. So Narcissus presented Ameinius with a gold-gilted sword and told him to prove his love by killing himself. Ameinius did so, and with the sword through his stomach he turned to Narcissus and shared his love one last time. </span></span><br /><span data-offset-key="5ic7t-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The horror of Narcissus' story stirred up the silt beneath me. The cruelty was heavy and dark to hold. "What do you plan to do?" I asked Nemesis. She said, "The curse has already been placed. He has planned a hunting trip in these woods tomorrow. When he arrives to your waters, he will look in and see his reflection and become transfixed by it. He will be unable to turn away, pulled again and again back to his own image. If he reaches down to drink, he will find his thirst impossible to nourish. He will die slowly, Limnoula. And now that you know my plan, I need your help."</span></span><br /><span data-offset-key="8vfup-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Narcissus, with hair as dark as the waters of the North, with eyes as green as forest moss, with skin as warm and dark as bread crust, was beautiful. But it hurt to look at him. I looked for hubris, for fear, for pride, for pain, for anything. What I saw as the day went by was not the eyes of a young man astray, not pain wanting to be passed on. When I looked into those soft green eyes from below, I saw nothing within or behind them. And that is when I understood. This was a man who wanted nothing of love. All he desired was worship.</span></span></p><p></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Long ago, in my homeland, there was a man renowed for his beauty. His hair was black as the seas of the North. His eyes were soft and green as the moss that grows over the rocks in the woods. His skin was dark and warm like the crust of a well-baked dutch oven bread. Its no wonder he was loved by so many. He could hunt, run, swim, and fight as well as the other men in the village, no better, no worse. But Narcissus was as selfish and pompous as he was beautiful. He forgot the simple truth that gifts are meant to be shared.</span><span data-offset-key="4mo2h-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span data-offset-key="4mo2h-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, there were those that would have him. Plenty of women and plenty of men, young and old alike longed to share themselves with him, and he was happy to oblige them the pleasures of his mouth and body. But his heart he would give to no one. Some say he was afraid. Some say he was proud. I might be tempted to agree, but what I saw the day he died was neither pride nor fear. It haunts me still.<br /></span></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span data-offset-key="9ah2n-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Can you love me now?" He asked Narcissus. Narcissus bent low, cradled Ameinius's head in his hands and whispered softly into his ear. "I could never love you, not even now. Do not be sad, friend, for I do not hate you even. I feel nothing but gratitude for your sacrifice in my name." With a smile he laid Ameinius on the ground and walked away. With his dying breath, Ameinius asked the Gods to punish Narcissus. So I am tasked, and I have decided his punishment."</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 660.4px;"> </span><span data-offset-key="2e4kk-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span data-offset-key="c4o2t-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was afraid. How could I face such a man? But Nemesis is my friend, and her judgments, though harsh, were always true. "What do you need me to do?" I asked.</span></span><span data-offset-key="4lvi1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span data-offset-key="4lvi1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"There is only one way for the curse to be lifted. If Narcisuss comes to an awareness of what he has done, his grief will be overwhelming. He will surely mourn the death of Ameinius. If a single tear drops to your surface, the curse will broken, and he will be free. I need you to do two things. One, account for the tears that fall, and two, be still and be clear, stiller and clearer than you have ever been. If he awakens to himself, he must give and receive a full and undistorted accounting. He must see clearly. Only then can he be forgiven."</span></span><span data-offset-key="e2nem-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span data-offset-key="e2nem-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I agreed. The next morning, Narcissus arrived. It happened just like Nemesis said it would. He cupped his hands and bent low to drink, and as he did so, the enchantment was sealed. From the moment he locked eyes with his reflection, he did not look away.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 660.4px;"> <br /></span></p><p style="position: relative; text-align: left;"><span data-offset-key="a4b9l-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dead eyes are unforgivable, not because there is no forgiveness available but because they believe they do not need it. Nemesis came to sit by Narcissus in his final hours on the shore. As death loomed closer, it became increasingly clear that there would be no tears, not one spared for himself or the death of his lover. No matter how still my surface, how clear his reflection, Narcissus would not see. And so he died that day, in the evening as a breeze passed by and shook the leaves of the trees. In his place grew a small nodding flower which always has its head turned down and shows itself only in the spring. Why Nemesis choose a daffodil to remind the world of the story of Narcissus, I'm not sure. Maybe she didn't want the world to forget that not love is worth living for, not dying.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 660.4px;"> </span></p><p></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="1qav2" data-offset-key="5dllu-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-family: aktiv-grotesk, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-63234618616406475242020-06-04T15:17:00.005-07:002023-04-17T19:52:28.878-07:00Fire & Midwives<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuUe1ANtiKOQ1MTSAW8HduW4ZKVms9yiFTIV8sUy4GUKCzYvlUndOt3rPrMyoNS49TnNSubbk3j7VicxG0l6rd6lyzbEgPLgx6g8PCLlCs9Y9hJAVPToBn7eQ6ggurffpvP010OPBGhgGstblpQgEpyVIvO6jf3FfNeQ-p7BSL0IC0xGSmljDUkBB4=s1050" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1050" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuUe1ANtiKOQ1MTSAW8HduW4ZKVms9yiFTIV8sUy4GUKCzYvlUndOt3rPrMyoNS49TnNSubbk3j7VicxG0l6rd6lyzbEgPLgx6g8PCLlCs9Y9hJAVPToBn7eQ6ggurffpvP010OPBGhgGstblpQgEpyVIvO6jf3FfNeQ-p7BSL0IC0xGSmljDUkBB4=w640-h366" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">The world is on fire. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Good.</span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because sometimes things need to burn in order for new things to grow. Some plant seeds are unable to sprout until they have been subjected to intense heat. It is true for new systems too.</span></span></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="6undl" data-offset-key="o6k5-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; margin: 1em 0px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p style="position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="o6k5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">So if you feel shifts beneath your feet, if you feel like your world is on fire, you're not wrong. It absolutely is. What you're feeling is real.<br /></span><span data-offset-key="cpbh-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="cpbh-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">And I've been watching people on my social media feeds trying to put the fire out with metaphorical garden hoses. At first I was angry. But now I feel comfort, because garden hoses are no match for forest fires. This movement feels big because it is big. The US is in labor right now: we are collectively trying to birth something new. Sure sure, labor sucks and it involves sweat, tears, and pain, but at the end of it is something glorious, promising, and beautiful.<br /></span><span data-offset-key="20vpr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="20vpr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I deeply want to midwife this process. I can offer my encouragement, my strength, my energy, my everything, but I know that I do not know how to give birth to what needs to be born. And I really feel that in discussions of race, the role of midwife is one of the most impactful for white women.<br /></span><span data-offset-key="79q7e-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Black people have been pushing, pushing, pushing for change. And instead of showing up with an epidural to numb the pain, midwives understand that the pain makes sense for what is happening, and so they do all they can to ease it. Back rubs, hot baths, kind words. Midwives offer solutions and support, understanding that ultimately, it is the person giving birth that should have the ultimate say in how the birth happens. Midwives care and advocate for and protect the birthing person, watching out for their health and safety as they journey through the process. But midwives never birth the baby: the victory belongs to the mother alone. The distinction is subtle yet necessary.<br /></span><span data-offset-key="72ac6-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="72ac6-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Women, we know what it is to be harmed in the birthing process. We know what it is to be cut in our tenderest places, to be unheard, to be invalidated and invisible. We know what it is to have our power overridden, to be vulnerable and exposed and taken advantage of all the same anyway. And this means we know better. We know better than to do the same to someone else.</span><span data-offset-key="27hsq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span data-offset-key="1amqd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span><span data-offset-key="c679k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">A sign at the George Floyd protest said " All mothers were summoned when George Floyd called out for his momma." Mamas, we have to show up for this birth and we have to learn how to be effective midwives. I do not pretend to know perfectly what that looks like but I do know we have to try to figure it out. I do know birth is a serious matter, and therefore requires us to act with swiftly and deftly, with caution, care, and bravery. The time to both prepare AND act is now. We have no choice but to show up and learn on the job, because the collective is in transition. Birth is nigh. Our Black friends need us: not to save them, but to make and hold space long enough for them to step in safely and stay there.<br /></span><span data-offset-key="55ltl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="55ltl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">The world is on fire and its re-birth is imminent. Breathe and ease the pain wherever and however you are able.</span></p></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-38092666079510154792020-02-12T10:26:00.002-08:002023-04-17T19:52:41.599-07:00The Land of Promise (A Sunday School Lesson)These are my notes and outline of a Sunday School lesson I taught on 2/2/20. I was assigned chapters in the Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi 16-22, which covers the story of Lehi's family in the wilderness, Nephi's broken bow, Nephi building a ship, and Lehi's family arriving in the Promised Land.<br />
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I try to make my blog posts (and lessons) relatable enough for everyone, no matter what stage of faith development or what spiritual path you find yourself on, but I do understand that the context of this post and the audience it was written for (Mormons) is pretty niche. If you have no idea what or no desire to know what I'm talking about, I want you to know thats 100% ok and I truly, really, with all my love encourage you to skip this one.<br />
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One of God's favorite things to do is call people into the wilderness. It sounds weird, but think about it. What stories do you know from sacred text where wilderness wanderings were a God-led thing?<br />
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In case you need a few examples to get you started:<br />
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<ul>
<li>our beloved pioneers</li>
<li>the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt</li>
<li>the Jaredites</li>
<li>The prophet Elijah</li>
<li>Christ in the desert for 40 days</li>
</ul>
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Today, we are going to use the journey of Lehi's family as an archetype to work with and see what applications it has for our own lives. I'd love for you to think of two things: a journey in your past and a journey you are presently on. It can be a literal journey, it can be a journey of faith, a journey of trial, whatever comes to you. Just hold those two experiences close as we examine this story.</div>
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Every journey starts with a call into the wilderness. Sometimes we are led, sometimes we are pushed, and sometimes we are dragged kicking and screaming along the way. Truly, I think it really doesn't matter whether we embark on the journey as a faithful Nephi or a murmuring Lemuel. At some point, all that matters is that we answer the call. Sure, there is something to be said about having a trusting heart and a "go and do" attitude, but be honest with yourself - do you always respond that way? I don't. In fact, its something like 70% of the time I resist the call until it becomes impossible to ignore, murmuring in fear the entire way.</div>
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No matter the posture of our heart and spirit, when we follow the call, we step into the unknown. We have left the beginning and for the rest of our journey we find ourselves in the arduous and challenging middle of our story. As we get further into our journey, with wilderness behind and before us, I think its pretty normal to get (or at least <i>feel)</i> lost. It makes sense then to ask for directions.</div>
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This reminds me of a verse from Proverbs 3</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge (or turn to) him and he shall direct thy paths.</blockquote>
God is good.<br />
God's promises are good,<br />
and God makes good on every promise.<br />
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So it makes sense then that God would direct the paths we are called to. We can trust God's directions.<br />
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Sometimes the directions make perfect sense,<br />
and sometimes you walk out of the house to rush your kids to school and find a fancy brass compass ball thing on your porch.<br />
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The idea of the Liahona is pretty wild, which is wonderful for me because I am absolutely obsessed with these weird stories. Lucky for me the scriptures are full of them. I mean, brass ball compasses, blind people seeing, people building boats without Youtube, dead people not dead anymore... wild. Our sacred stories are weird and complex and mystical and magical. That is why I love them.<br />
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So instead of thinking about the Liahona as a literal ancient artifact, I'd like you to think about it more like a metaphor for your two journeys. What has been a Liahona to you? What has guided you when you've felt lost? What has pointed the way when you needed direction? What guides you even now?<br />
<br />
At the beginning of the year, my ward had what they called a "musical testimony meeting". Members had the opportunity to stand up, share their favorite hymn and why it was meaningful to them (in less than 60 seconds - believe it or not, no one spoke for more than that) and then the congregation sang one verse from their favorite hymn. I loved hearing how many of those songs had carried people through some of the darkest times in their life.<br />
<br />
For me personally, something that has carried me is Mary Oliver's poem "<a href="http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_wildgeese.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Wild Geese</a>". It has guided me and offered comfort for many years.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBRBCEx4N3e32yjiySDBhxRZPnA-o42FgpZkYied3BqxaD-8l3w2Lth3DnV68jYkqPNreS8i1z1BqfxnwMeF18uUFbUDYVnPMwX5IxWHurLfvW52kjK_VRg2zEPOFfAaMQlTkSgD3s3s/s1600/michael-maasen-bu-6kNWQj6U-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBRBCEx4N3e32yjiySDBhxRZPnA-o42FgpZkYied3BqxaD-8l3w2Lth3DnV68jYkqPNreS8i1z1BqfxnwMeF18uUFbUDYVnPMwX5IxWHurLfvW52kjK_VRg2zEPOFfAaMQlTkSgD3s3s/s640/michael-maasen-bu-6kNWQj6U-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But there is a real kicker about the Liahona. The text says it runs on faith. Like, faith is its power source. So my question is<br />
<br />
What happens then when you're fresh out of faith?<br />
<br />
What happens when you had a baby six months ago<br />
and every morning since, you've woken up from your nightly 3 hour nap<br />
with a heaviness that envelops you,<br />
that slumps your shoulders<br />
lower, lower;<br />
threatening to sink your ship<br />
that barely stays afloat now?<br />
and every evening as you lay you down to sleep<br />
you think<br />
"give me this night<br />
tomorrow's breath"<br />
because you're not sure you'll make it.<br />
Faith? Fresh out.<br />
<br />
What happens in the moments when you look in the mirror<br />
and you don't recognize yourself because you're<br />
tired, ragged, running to a hundred doctor's visits<br />
only to get a slice of news here, some there,<br />
most of it not good.<br />
and you're worried, you're afraid,<br />
especially when you're laying in a backless hospital gown,<br />
waiting.<br />
What happens when someone says<br />
"have faith" then?<br />
Do you turn your eyes to the speckled grid ceiling and whisper,<br />
"I'm fresh out, God."<br />
<br />
What then?<br />
Does the Liahona still work<br />
when you're fresh out of faith?<br />
<br />
I think of Jairus who was once caught in a moment like these. His daughter had just died. He did the only thing, the last option left, by going to Christ and asking for help. Upon hearing his request, Jesus asks Jairus, "Do you believe?" Jairus replies, "Yes Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief."<br />
<br />
All that was required in that moment was a mustard seed of faith. Such a small and simple thing. Nephi says in 1 Nephi 16:29<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"by small means the Lord can bring about great things."</blockquote>
A lot of religious accounts I follow on Instagram will occasionally post an inspirational quote that says something along the lines of "How big is your faith?" as if the measure of it is what matters. But according to this passage, Nephi is essentially saying<br />
<br />
it.doesn't.matter.<br />
<br />
because God magnifies and multiplies all we offer.<br />
even a mustard seed.<br />
knock and it shall be opened to you -<br />
even if you knock softly, gingerly;<br />
even if all you can do is place an open palm on the door and weep.<br />
ask and it shall be given -<br />
even if the asking is a silent, desperate,<br />
half-feeling prayer.<br />
<br />
because God is good<br />
to me,<br />
to you,<br />
to all.<br />
<br />
To those that cry out with quivering breath,<br />
who hold their mustard seed with trembling hands,<br />
God gives this promise:<br />
<br />
"out of them shall proceed thanksgiving;<br />
I will glorify them,<br />
and they shall not be small."<br />
<br />
All of this to say, friends, that the Liahona works on faith.<br />
Not big faith.<br />
Not mountain faith.<br />
Not Nephi-large-in-stature faith<br />
<br />
just faith.<br />
only what you can muster in this moment.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
So returning to our story of Lehi's family in the wilderness, very soon after they receive the Liahona, a series of tragedy strikes, culminating in the story of Nephi's broken bow. Archetypally, this is the point when the journey's trajectory arrives at a cross-roads.<br />
<br />
There are two examples in this story to follow:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Nephi, who does stuff</li>
<li>everyone else, who complains</li>
</ol>
<div>
To be fair, lets get real right now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Have you ever lived with a 3 year old? I currently do. I love my little guy to pieces, but I like him just a tiny bit less when he crawls into my bed at 5:30 am and says - with morning breath right up to my nose - </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mooooooommmmm</div>
<div>
I huuuungry.</div>
<div>
I waaaaant a prooooooteeeeein baaaaaar."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because I'm a good mom, of <i>course</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I turn over and pray my most sincere prayer</div>
<div>
that if I promise to lay very still and quiet,</div>
<div>
he will think I'm asleep and he might go back to sleep too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Just as I think my prayers are answered,</div>
<div>
he asks again,</div>
<div>
louder this time,</div>
<div>
until there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hunger is a real thing.</div>
<div>
A three year old's hunger is a very real thing.</div>
<div>
And there were definitely some 3 year olds </div>
<div>
in Lehi's family out there in the wilderness.</div>
<div>
As a mom I can almost guarantee you that</div>
<div>
most of the "murmuring" looked at lot like</div>
<div>
my house at 5:45 pm when I call my hubs on his way home from work and say,</div>
<div>
"The natives are restless. Please bring pizza."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So today instead of giving you a speech about pulling yourself up by the bootstraps Rachel Hollis style, to make yourself a bow and be the hero of your own story, I'd like to offer you a new perspective. The hunger, pain, and doubt Lehi and his family experienced were real. As real as your own hunger. As real as your own pain, your own doubts. Nephi did NOT look down on them or tell them to stop their whining. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No. He sat with them, encouraged them, and with his own strength and faith he helped them. There are times when we need people in our lives to step up, step in, and help us. I look at these verses as an opportunity to honor those who have helped us in our wilderness. How have others used their strength to bless you in times of trial?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Very soon after we moved into this ward, I got a phone call on Pie Day. A new friend asked if I'd like to come over and bake a fresh pie. "You see," she said, "its my mother's birthday. She passed away a while ago, but I always like to do something fun to honor her and pie just seems like the right thing to do." There was no way in heck I was going to say no to 1. a tender invitation like that, and 2. fresh banana cream pie. She was kind and welcoming and tender in a way I had not felt since moving from Phoenix.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few months later, I fell into a really bad depression. A quiet friend followed me closely on Instagram, and on some of my hardest days she left 2 liters of Dr. Pepper, fancy lavender dish soap, and kind notes of encouragement. She never knocked, never asked for a bit of my time or any recognition. Just kindness and friendship and the pure act of Christlike love.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On one of these hard days, I woke up to find that my dear, sweet 3 year old had turned the temperature control on our fridge to "OFF" and all the perishable food was warm and spoiled. I had just done a huge Costco run the day before, so hundreds of dollars worth of food was wasted. That day, another sweet friend invited my son to play while I went for a small grocery run AND made my family dinner that night, which helped my budget and stress levels immensely. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These are small and simple acts of kindness that are not small at all. I needed these gifts of strength because at the time I was fresh out. These people stepped in, stepped up, and helped me. We cannot always be a Nephi. Luckily, we don't have to be.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdutqM43ordrZQFucBKF_FV1XhaWNWFLBFnJtkpIx-nc4ZLBUdYRy_gCtxPlWbE0QWOfrjAse8RuRx9ziF75_lhPVQg7p4fURVK1kbLy915gnDJcNUcAykXhk2jw6SYMMzAgKRgSyaegE/s1600/alex-loup-aX_ljOOyWJY-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdutqM43ordrZQFucBKF_FV1XhaWNWFLBFnJtkpIx-nc4ZLBUdYRy_gCtxPlWbE0QWOfrjAse8RuRx9ziF75_lhPVQg7p4fURVK1kbLy915gnDJcNUcAykXhk2jw6SYMMzAgKRgSyaegE/s640/alex-loup-aX_ljOOyWJY-unsplash.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We know that in the end, Lehi's family's story ends well. Nephi makes a bow, finds food, builds a boat, everyone travels overseas and makes it to the promised land. In our own lives and journeys, we rarely have the benefit of knowing how our story will end, but we always still have the promise that goes hand-in-hand with the call.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
God is good.</div>
<div>
God's promises are good,</div>
<div>
and God makes good on every promise.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What is your promised land? I'm not talking about primary answers. (spoiler alert: we all make it in the end) What I'm really asking is </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What has God promised <i>you</i>?</div>
<div>
What is the land of milk and honey on the other side of your wilderness?</div>
<div>
If you don't know,</div>
<div>
if no promises have been made yet, </div>
<div>
ask. right now.</div>
<div>
Ask for an image of your promised land.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You don't have to know how to get there</div>
<div>
because God is good.</div>
<div>
God will direct your paths.</div>
<div>
God makes good on every promise.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Wherever you are now, </div>
<div>
you have everything you need </div>
<div>
to get you there.</div>
<div>
One small step forward,</div>
<div>
one little push forward,</div>
<div>
what you have in this moment</div>
<div>
is all that is needed to get you to </div>
<div>
the Land of Promise.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yJsdMS8zTnC3jdsahjo2AvsQ-cnfsbAkQdVhMqie0BD5Do4rAUlSR5xjZPzfsCO0MMM7pdSTNPEYITigHmvBEtmDh8Ymb11yrH_o17k1k9VPGdgprW_C4JJf_v99cfivvaINg-mE6zg/s1600/20200202_105837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yJsdMS8zTnC3jdsahjo2AvsQ-cnfsbAkQdVhMqie0BD5Do4rAUlSR5xjZPzfsCO0MMM7pdSTNPEYITigHmvBEtmDh8Ymb11yrH_o17k1k9VPGdgprW_C4JJf_v99cfivvaINg-mE6zg/s640/20200202_105837.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
*This is a drawing I did for my class. For me, my promised land is symbolized by a honey bee. I found all the loving phrases in these chapters that started with "be" and made sure to include them here.*<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
</blockquote>
Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-62891061599735593952020-02-04T15:20:00.001-08:002022-01-27T14:55:15.604-08:00Phone Calls & Cigarettes<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgenmUqCn1W2C583tN79TYmweZHBIfSXKh5wYwJgDw2JSWAvryGy6ncwx4kUeGyxv8IY-T7oY7sQ8yanaXAyqn2bhdm8lyY2ikgXN1X4QbRcGuGunMSQVUKFKeA_wb5cTE0MBtRjDy7E-w8kzgFbERTogIvQwq8ouL8j1pS_tsoXSHzGg0d0R7Z4TvW=s1050" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1050" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgenmUqCn1W2C583tN79TYmweZHBIfSXKh5wYwJgDw2JSWAvryGy6ncwx4kUeGyxv8IY-T7oY7sQ8yanaXAyqn2bhdm8lyY2ikgXN1X4QbRcGuGunMSQVUKFKeA_wb5cTE0MBtRjDy7E-w8kzgFbERTogIvQwq8ouL8j1pS_tsoXSHzGg0d0R7Z4TvW=w640-h366" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few weeks ago, a woman I follow on Instagram asked a question on one of her posts and encouraged everyone to write their response in the comments. Her question? "What is the one thing you would say or ask Heavenly Mother right now?"</span></span></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="7l99q" data-offset-key="3vg0g-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="3vg0g-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The responses were equally eye-opening and heartbreaking. "I would ask her to tell me the story of how my spirit was born," one woman wrote. "I'd ask her to squeeze me tighter." "I want to know her favorite thing about me." "I would ask her if she would take extra special care of my boy 'til I get there." "I'd ask, 'Where are you?'"<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="eteuh-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="eteuh-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My one ask was this: "Show me what it means to love myself."</span></span><br /><span data-offset-key="1q69c-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1q69c-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No "please." No "If I could, I would ask..." I didn't realize this until later, but there was no separation between the possibility of or appropriateness of asking and the actual asking itself. Just my request, hanging out right there in the middle of Insta-land. Consciously, I wrote it as a question. Subconsciously, I already knew I'd get my answer soon.<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="48l1d-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="48l1d-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So imagine my surprise as one day, right in the middle of an EMDR therapy session, Heavenly Mother reveals herself to me. For those of you who are unfamiliar with EMDR, it is a kind of therapy technique that accesses the subconscious mind. The mental state I am working in during these sessions is very similar to that of a dream. That's my most relatable way to describe it.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="2mcdc-0-0"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="2mcdc-0-0">It was in an office setting. Heavenly Father sat behind a secretary's desk, shuffling through papers and licking his fingers occasionally as he sorted through the stacks. I walked up to him and said, "I want to see Heavenly Mother." He paused his work and looked up at me, smiling. "You know you don't have to ask. You know where she is. Just go in and see her," he said. As if all these years of being told by prophets, bishops, and Young Women and Relief Society presidents that talking to my big-M Mother was a huge no-no meant as much to him as the stack of papers in the "To Be Filed" folder on the corner of his desk. </span><span data-offset-key="2mcdc-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">Alrighty then</span><span data-offset-key="2mcdc-0-2">, I thought. I guess I will go and do.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-0-0"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-0-0">As I walked to the door that I knew Heavenly Mother was waiting behind, I felt a rise of anticipation. Here was the moment I'd waited for for </span><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">years</span><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-0-2">. Of course I had ideas of what Heavenly Mother was like - or at least what I'd hoped and thought she was like. Over the last two years I have seen a handful of amateur and professional LDS artists paint her likeness. Among my favorites are those in the </span><a class="_4X_-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-LinkSpan--linkSpan" href="http://www.writandvision.com/after-our-likeness-works-by-j-kirk-richards" style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d9bdb; cursor: pointer;"><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-1-0">After Our Likeness</span></a><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-2-0"> collection by J. Kirk Richards and the works of </span><a class="_4X_-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-LinkSpan--linkSpan" href="https://www.ettakay.art/shop" style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d9bdb; cursor: pointer;"><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-3-0">Ettakay</span></a><span data-offset-key="9i2a1-4-0">, but my assumption of Heavenly Mother as either a motherly or grandmotherly figure has gone quite unchallenged by every artistic representations of her I've come across. The moment I pushed open the door, I honestly expected to see an elderly face wrinkled with kind and twinkling eyes, and a woman with a heavy-set, long-ago postpartum, post-menopausal body draped in flowing white robes.<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="96k36-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="96k36-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead, I found myself in a softly-lit room. Sensuous burgundy velvet drapes framed large windows, and the walls were the same shade of red, accented with a glinting gold pattern. Large paintings of still-life floral arrangements hung on the walls in gilded frames, and resting on an over-sized chaise lounge was a woman laying with her back turned to me, smoking a cigarette in a long, sheer, white lingerie robe. She took a moment to take another long inhale of her long lady's cigarette before puffing it out and turning towards me. I could hardly believe it when I realized I was looking into the eyes of Rizzo from the 70s film "Grease".<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="47dr2-0-0"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="47dr2-0-0">I panicked for a moment. </span><span data-offset-key="47dr2-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">This</span><span data-offset-key="47dr2-0-2"> was Heavenly Mother? Holding a cigarette between rouged lips, dressed in a black nightie with a white silk robe and raising an eyebrow at me? What the heck was happening?<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="ch69u-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I had too much time to think about it, Rizzo put out her cigarette and pointed to a vintage pink rotary telephone on her nightstand. "You see that?" she asked me. I nodded. I knew exactly what it was. Over the last few weeks, the same image has been popping up on my Pinterest boards, social media pages, and in real (not EMDR) dreams. "We gonna start the revolution," she said.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span data-offset-key="1vadt-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span><span data-offset-key="3sk3g-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Whatever this project was that Heavenly Rizzo was cooking up, I knew I wanted in. But something kept holding me back from a "yes." She must have seen these emotions play out on my face, because she asked me, "What's up?"<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="f01bh-0-0"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="f01bh-0-0">"I... I'm not ready," I said. "A revolution? How much more upheaval can I handle? I want a simple life. I want to garden, decorate my house, and write. I want to be a good mom. I want to love my hubs and I want to keep him around. I'm not sure how much more of feminism my marriage can handle. Not only that, but I am still right.in.the.middle of healing childhood trauma and now is the moment you want to talk to me about </span><span data-offset-key="f01bh-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">revolution</span><span data-offset-key="f01bh-0-2">?"<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="b5kdm-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b5kdm-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Its your choice, babe. Garden, grow one hundred zuchinni a summer. Mother, kiss those skinned knees and boil a thousand pots of water. No one here is stopping you from loving your man. He's a good one, and you ought to keep him. Give him time. All good things in time. But here's what you need to consider. Garden, mother, wife, full stop. Are you happy there? Is that really what you want? 'Cause you are the one who came barging into my bedroom mid-smoke with your big, heavy questions, and that doesn't sound to me like a woman content with the simple life. You can stop and turn around, back out anytime you like. But is what what you want?"<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span data-offset-key="4vela-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="26n2v-0-0">"Fine." I said. "You want me to say it out loud, right? Okay. I want more. I want a big-a** piece of your revolution cake. But a change on that scale needs power, and I don't think I have enough. Show me how..." my voice trailed off as I remembered the "ask" I had written on the Instagram post. </span><span data-offset-key="26n2v-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">Show me how to love myself.</span><span data-offset-key="26n2v-0-2"> A lyric from Frozen II's "Show Yourself" came to me in that moment. </span><span data-offset-key="26n2v-0-3" style="font-style: italic;">Step into your power... <br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="fdio9-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fdio9-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"But I don't know how!" I said, tears of frustration welling in my eyes. Rizzo walked over to me, put her arm around my shoulder. From the pocket of her robe she pulled what looked like a business card and handed it to me. I read the writing on the front. "Get Out Of Jail Free" was printed in metallic rose gold ink.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="bs9t8-0-0"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="bs9t8-0-0">"This is what I want you to do. For three days I want you to do nothing except listen to your body and do </span><span data-offset-key="bs9t8-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span><span data-offset-key="bs9t8-0-2"> what it tells you to in the moment. After three days, call me. If anyone judges you or tells you what you're doing is wrong, give them the card and tell them to come talk to me. I'll handle it." I agreed with a quick nod of my head as I wiped away my tears. At that moment, Secretary Heavenly Father walked in and poured himself a cup of coffee. <br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="1nna0-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1nna0-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What are you girls up to?" he asked. <br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="5loj1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"We're starting the revolution," Rizzo said.<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="au997-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I expected nothing less," he said, pausing to smile gently at me wrapped beneath Rizzo's arm before taking a huge swig of his cuppa.</span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="au997-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="n5iv-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Three days," Rizzo said as she turned to me. "If you don't call me, I'll call you. I know how much you hate the phone." I laughed. Suddenly I realized the phone on the nightstand was ringing, and I woke up, or "came to" my real life again, sitting on my therapist's white leather couch. I told her everything, questioning the validity of what just played out in my mind. "What's the harm in trying it out for a few days?" she asked mischievously.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span data-offset-key="769qh-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span><span data-offset-key="42dt7-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three days later, a phone rang. I answered.<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="48ajs-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"The revolution is already here," I said, a hint of girlish glee in my voice.<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="auvll-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Do your thing, girl," she said.<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="4r8r-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I smiled into the phone speaker and answered,<br /></span></span><span data-offset-key="2s14j-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"With relish."</span></span></p></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-31328178970692783422020-02-03T15:21:00.000-08:002020-08-18T15:22:01.055-07:00Sacred Geometry<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not too long ago</span></span></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="e1n8i-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="e1n8i-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="e1n8i-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I walked the halls of an art museum.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="b0np9-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b0np9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b0np9-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The patrons quietly shuffled</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="fbc0v-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="fbc0v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fbc0v-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">from painting to sculpture to artifact</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="4f0kk-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="4f0kk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4f0kk-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">when suddenly,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="5boct-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="5boct-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5boct-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">clear and brilliant as the shallow pool</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="c8po7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="c8po7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="c8po7-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">that children tossed their wish pennies into, </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="fqp4u-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="fqp4u-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fqp4u-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">a woman behind me said,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="ds5bf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ds5bf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ds5bf-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"The circle painting gets</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="adpid-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="adpid-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="adpid-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">really f**king old</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="8udfl-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="8udfl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="8udfl-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">especially by the time</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="c7jgv-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="c7jgv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="c7jgv-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">you turn 51 years old."</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="1t5ea-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1t5ea-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1t5ea-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="5rme1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="5rme1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5rme1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I laughed, shocked at her vulgar honesty,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="cl0vb-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="cl0vb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="cl0vb-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">observing the way it humbled me,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="avk64-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="avk64-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="avk64-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">observing the way it pleased me</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="b39ip-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b39ip-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b39ip-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to be human</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="c6kbn" data-offset-key="c4osb-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="c4osb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="c4osb-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">together.</span></span></div></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-7732847212995768062020-02-01T15:24:00.000-08:002020-08-18T15:24:48.923-07:00"It" Girls<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My sophomore year of high school I took a US history class. One of my assignments was to complete a report on a famous person from the 1920s. I knew who I would be focusing on before I even left the classroom. Years before, I had fallen in love with a woman named Clara Bow.</span></span></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="caf3s-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="caf3s-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/33452492/2ad88dde2bf040d38ab1dd2ae5776456/1.jpg?token-time=1598998939&token-hash=z6cA3sABXLO5QnF_uW4kZlpeDskRsvJUUWLsUQJB0-M%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 500px; height: 500px; letter-spacing: 630px; line-height: 500px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 630px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="92hdp-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="92hdp-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="92hdp-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Clara Bow was a famous actress who played her most iconic roles in silent film. She mastered the art of storytelling through emotion (for a modern-day reference, think about the silent, emotive technique Pixar and Disney used in films like UP to tell the love story of Ellie and Carl or the interactions between Rapunzel's parents). She had a relatively short-lived career as an actress thanks to the arrival of sound films about 8 years after her debut, but she exited the film industry with a title never before given. She was the world's very first "It Girl".</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="76cla-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="76cla-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="76cla-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An "It Girl" is defined as " a young woman with sex appeal and a magnetic personality." Think Marilyn Monroe, Bridget Bardot, Edie Sedgwick, and Kate Moss. For a young girl who longed to be seen and loved, "It" seemed to be the greatest and highest honor achievable as a woman. As I look back on my adolescence, I notice that I had missed a very key teaching from my teenage role model. Recently, one of my favorite quotes from Clara has played a front-and-center role in my understanding what it really means to be an "It Girl."</span></span></div></div><blockquote data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="72l6n-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="72l6n-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="72l6n-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"They yell at me to be dignified. But what are dignified people like? They are snobs. Frightful snobs. I'm a curiosity in Hollywood. I'm a big freak, because I'm myself!"</span></span></div></blockquote><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="ehl87-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ehl87-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ehl87-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because I'm myself.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="9ovpg-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="9ovpg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/33452492/a4e4df2304ed41db953d8b7ca9311636/1.jfif?token-time=1598998939&token-hash=_0Junbe17Z8YaFg4k2GnHh6JZo4HffgapA-yOtbs6rs%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 837.165px; height: 837.165px; letter-spacing: 660.4px; line-height: 837.165px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 660.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="fkvun-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="fkvun-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fkvun-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In a way, this demonstrates exactly how subjective the definition of "It Girl" really is. It can mean anything. This is both its downfall, as it can be defined by the dominant culture which focuses heavily on physical appearance and the meeting of patriarchal standards for women; and its hope. No one really knows what "It" is, so there really is no standard. This leaves room for creativity, subversiveness, and liberal interpretations of what makes a woman attractive and magnetic.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="4sr8i-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="4sr8i-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4sr8i-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I think of the "It Girls" of my life, they aren't supermodels, Instagram influencers, or fashion Icons. They are women who make my heart pitter-pat for one reason: their badassery.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="alvrk-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="alvrk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="alvrk-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Amazons, Aphrodite, Artemis, Persephone, Psyche, and Athena from Greek myth.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="fv9kk-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="fv9kk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fv9kk-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Joan of Arc, Nellie Bly, Amelia Earheart, Maya Angelou, Grace O'Malley, Boudicca, Anne Frank, and Cleopatra.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="e9til-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="e9til-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="e9til-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rizzo from Grease, Hermione Granger, Elizabeth Bennett, and Princess Leia Organa.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="46t18-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="46t18-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="46t18-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Deborah, Miriam, Rebecca, Rahab, and Mary Magdalene.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="b35eg-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b35eg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b35eg-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each one of these women and their life's story and example has gifted me with an increased understanding of what "It Girls" can look like. I find Maya Angelou's presence and body love incredibly sexy. Elizabeth Bennett had a pretty magnetic personality. Rizzo's sarcasm and vulnerability was so authentic - how could I not love her? These women, in their defiance of cultural norms and expectations and their resilience and determination, continue to show me what it means to be wholly human and alive in circumstances that seek to suppress their voice and spirit.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="2an8h-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="2an8h-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2an8h-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This month, I invite you to consider whose portraits hang in your own "It Girl" gallery. Give special thought to those who you secretly love, the ones you feel you can't say their names out loud because you're not supposed to love or relate to "those girls". Challenge that silence. Give voice and appreciation to the women in history, fiction, and your own life that have nursed your inner fire. If you'd like, you can start that practice right here in the comments by sharing with me who your "It Girls" are. Trust me, I'd LOVE to hear!</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="92d1s-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="92d1s-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/33452492/39debd0037824687879ad331041930b1/1.jfif?token-time=1598998939&token-hash=4LkNftseT6wZp_CMeGFN6Fid62mD53pk2AsyGbb8yww%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 992.015px; height: 992.015px; letter-spacing: 660.4px; line-height: 992.015px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 660.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="69pb6" data-offset-key="eaf9q-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="eaf9q-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><br /></div></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-9090396104105949992020-01-16T14:57:00.003-08:002020-01-16T14:57:37.122-08:0010 Things I've Learned from the Great British Baking ShowWho doesn't love the Great British Baking Show? Not only is it persistently positive and mostly void of interpersonal drama, but it also inspires and celebrates home bakers. I've walked away from each season with new baking knowledge and skills that have greatly improved my bread, cakes, and fancy desserts. I once even attempted an apricot galette - which is basically a rustic French pie. And it was delicious. To celebrate my love for baking and to express gratitude for the only show that can successfully see me through pre-bedtime anxiety attacks, I give you, in no particular order of importance, the 10 things I've learned from the Great British Baking Show.<br />
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<li><b>It is the most wonderful experience in the world to let people surprise you with their hidden talents.</b> Every season has had a contestant whose daytime occupation seemed in opposition to their baking hobby. These people, including a general contractor, an engineer, a prison warden, and a pediatrician I personally would assume to be too busy or completely disinterested in baking. And yet, those same people were skilled enough in baking to make it on the show, some of them even to the finals with their amazing bakes. You can't judge a person on their looks <i>or</i> their occupation. A lot of times their skills and talents overlap and play off one another in ways that directly contribute to their success. So, if you are one of those people who swing the giant balls that demolish buildings AND you love creating intricate little caramel decorations for your petite fours - freaking go for it! You're amazing.</li>
<li><b>There is not always a right or wrong way to do something</b>. A lot of bakers on the show make something in the way that their families or they personally enjoy eating. Though these bakes may not meet the judges' standards, it is easy to tell that a lot of passion, time, and consideration for their loved ones goes in to the creations we see on the show. There is absolutely nothing wrong with baking something with love. Sure, it may not make you THE Greatest British Baker, but it certainly makes you a great one nonetheless.</li>
<li>I will never forget the time in season 1 that Ian threw his baked Alaska in the trash because he felt it wouldn't win the challenge. Even though the rest of his bakes were very good, because he had nothing to show for his efforts the judges had to send him home that week. It broke my heart to see him leave! But I learned an important lesson from watching.<b> It is always better to try and fail than to not try at all</b>. All the judges wanted to see was his best effort, but they never got to because he hid it away before they could judge him. That knowledge alone has encouraged me in my own creative pursuits. Keep trying, don't trash it, and give it your best.</li>
<li>Apparent in the case of Ian's baked Alaska and a lot of other contestant's bakes is this surprising fact: <b>It does not have to be beautiful to be good</b>. So many creations have won challenges on merits of texture, flavor, finish, and the pure luck of just once being better than the rest. There have been beautifully decorated cakes, perfectly colored breads, and inventive chocolate delivery systems (looking at you, Season 3 Ian) that did not win challenges. On the flip side, there have been some downright ugly looking bakes that surprised everyone, sometimes even winning Star Baker! So, I think its important to remember that presentation is not always everything - its whats inside that counts.</li>
<li>There is a good chance that someone will be better than you, even at your best thing. Don't let this discourage you! Try to see this as a learning opportunity. Your only job is to <b>believe in yourself</b> and give whatever it is it your very best anyway. Leave the comparison to the judges.</li>
<li>Sometimes the difference between Star Baker and just another person in the tent is the <b>willingness to accept and take criticisms to heart</b>. Sometimes watching Paul Hollywood judge technical challenges makes me feel SO bad for the bakers. But what I do know is that the audience doesn't get to see is the time the judges make to teach and constructively critique the bakers <u>so they can succeed</u> in future challenges. Flexibility and the willingness to learn makes you a better baker (or artist, or writer, or parent, or.... you get the point).</li>
<li>Paul Hollywood is infamous for his harsh critiques and high standards. Its no wonder contestants shiver and sometimes crack under his scrutiny. There have even been times where Paul just outright tells bakers that he doesn't think their bakes will be very good. One of my favorite PH quotes comes from season 2 when Paul didn't believe in Beca's chocolate orange cake and straight up told her so. In the end, it turned out beautifully. One of the most glorious moments in my television-watching life was hearing Paul say, "I annoyingly really like that." <b>So when someone doesn't believe you</b>, maybe even especially when its Paul Hollywood, don't let it stop you. <b>Try anyway and surprise us all</b>.</li>
<li>Who you are is important and makes you special. I love watching contestants flavor their bakes and fillings with spices, meats, and fruits from their family's countries and childhoods. It makes the show interesting and above all, I can see in their eyes the excitement they have for sharing a piece of themselves with the judges. <b>When something is meaningful to you, share it.</b> It blesses everyone to take part in the simple joys of life. </li>
<li><b>Practice</b> practice practice and then practice some more. You don't get good at anything unless you've tried and failed and tried again. Take notes. Experiment. Study. Ask for advice. Then practice again. I have a cinnamon roll recipe I've used for years and only recently have I started experimenting with different fillings. All that practice has paid off - it is by far and wide the best thing I can bake, and people are always excited when I do.</li>
<li>Its okay to cry. I have seen so many tears on this show and it always touches me. These people love being in the tent and they want every opportunity to keep trying. Its okay to be disappointed, afraid, nervous, heartbroken, and devastated. Even over miniature meringue pavlovas. <b>Its okay to let the things that are important to you be important to you</b>. And simply because I can't choose one to eliminate from the 10...</li>
<li><b>The experience is its own reward</b>. There is no money prize for the winner of the Great British Baker title. They go home with a lovely bouquet and an etched glass cake stand. I think this minimalist prize really drives home the real purpose of the show - to just simply be there and try your best. And that is a good approach not just on TV, but to life.</li>
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Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-55543304110685459302020-01-15T16:05:00.000-08:002020-01-15T16:05:03.738-08:00All-Consuming Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-85297820150622351462020-01-11T15:56:00.003-08:002022-01-27T14:47:31.992-08:00What I Want My Daughter To Know About Elsa*Spoilers ahead. If you haven't seen the movie by now its your own fault.*<br />
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On the drive to pick up her brother from school, I heard my daughter sigh from the backseat of the van.<br />
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"What's up babe?" I asked.</div>
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"Mom! I am so mad! I made a wish when I made my bear at Build-A-Bear and it never came true!" She said.</div>
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"What did you wish for?" I asked.</div>
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"I wished to be Elsa. Every time I get in the bath I test out to see if I have ice powers, but nothing ever happens."</div>
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I held back a giggle, trying to recover my daughter's faith in magic and wishes. "Wishes don't always work, and that's okay. Maybe it didn't work because the world already has an Elsa, and what it still needs is you."</div>
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The conversation soon moved on to another topic, but its stuck with me since.<br />
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Both my daughter and I have joined the world in a mutual love for Frozen II and Elsa. Since seeing it in theaters over a month ago, my mind has replayed its songs and scenes over again so I can squeeze every bit of joy and meaning from them. I have read every article, blog post, and Instagram caption I have come across about Frozen II (<a href="https://www.katharinedever.com/blog/2019/11/27/the-wild-feminine-amp-frozen-the-movie?fbclid=IwAR0OP9yJtELh1r4it3eO6qp8eaOY7m3hyse_eirfSs57-QjEVDloxMCMq3c" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">this one</a> being a particular favorite), but this conversation with my young daughter highlighted something I hadn't realized before - she and I walked away from the story and characters of Frozen II with two very different treasures.<br />
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This makes sense, given there is a 20 year age difference between us. Part of me is thrilled knowing that the enchantment of story, the possibility of magical ice powers, and the potential of being the "chosen one" (or the "fifth element", whatever you want to call it) is still very real to her. The other part of me houses my desire for her to see beneath the glittering facade of magic powers to what is really at the heart of her favorite heroine. "There are so many things to love about Elsa," I want to tell her. "Her ice powers are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg."<br />
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<h3>
Elsa Is Prudent</h3>
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Within the first 10 minutes of the movie, it is obvious that Elsa has learned much from her adventures in the first Frozen. The castle gates are open. Elsa has integrated herself into both a family unit (charades, anyone?) and the larger society, which is apparent just by observing the attitudes of the Arendelle citizens - seeing Elsa is totally normal for them. Even though she feels restless and is not completely at peace, she recognizes and appreciates the important role that community and connection play in her life. Her simple lines in the song <i>Some Things Never Change</i>, "I'm not sure I want things to change at all," and in the song <i>Into the Unknown</i>, "Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls / I've had my adventure / I don't need something new / I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you into the unknown." showcases two things: 1. Elsa's purposeful and measurable efforts and success in finding a place in which she feels a sense of belonging, and 2. her wisdom in being unwilling to abandon the goodness she's found at the first call to adventure. From this alone I feel we can clearly see that Elsa is capable of learning from her experiences and consciously chooses to follow a growth trajectory.</div>
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Elsa is Intuitive</h3>
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Elsa is a tad bit more lucky than the rest of us who best recognize intuition as a soft inner knowing. Her intuition literally called to her in an audible and unmistakable way, via a "voice" singing a haunting lullaby from a far-off, unseen somewhere. From the moment she first heard the call, she leaned in to hear what it was trying to tell her. Through the day and night the call followed her - which follows the pattern of intuition in life off-screen, too - and because she both recognized its voice and allowed herself to be open to it, she was able to give voice to her deep and forbidden desire to follow her heart wherever it took her. Her acceptance of her intuition is easily apparent as she softly sings, </div>
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What do you want? 'Cause you've been keeping me awake<br />
Are you here to distract me so I make a big mistake?<br />
Or are you someone out there who's a little bit like me?<br />
Who knows deep down I'm not where I meant to be?<br />
Everyday's a little harder as I feel my power grow<br />
Don't you know there's part of me that longs to go<br />
Into the unknown?</blockquote>
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As she continues to follow her inner guide, her confidence grows. She becomes more sure of herself and of her path and purpose. The story is propelled almost by her certainty alone. It is her trust in her intuition that awakens the Nature Spirits, that helps her recall her father's bedtime story of the Enchanted Forest as more truth than tale, and brings her into alignment with a purpose greater than that of Queen of Arendelle.</div>
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<h3>
Elsa is Reliant</h3>
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If there was one takeaway from the first Frozen, its that disconnection never ends well. So instead of pushing those closest to her away when she realizes she must go to the Enchanted Forest, Elsa welcomes their company. Even though her first concern is their safety, she realizes that this is a journey she can't take alone. She doesn't walk herself to her destination; she allows Christoff to take her there. She takes as many people with her as are willing to go until they are unable to go any further. Elsa understands that her story is part of a greater story of past, present, and future, and therefore excludes no one who is willing to do the work with her. She welcomes every effort, every explanation, every piece of wisdom that comes her way because she recognizes she does not have all the answers.</div>
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<h3>
Elsa is Tenacious</h3>
She has only one goal through the entire film: find answers. Who is calling to her? Why? What is the full story of the past? What happened to her parents? What is her purpose? Elsa is relentless in her pursuit of knowledge. Eventually, she finds herself at a place where she innately knows she must travel to alone. For the first time in forever (see what I did there?) Elsa is alone on a dark, rocky beach because she knows that this particular part of her journey is meant just for her. She's sent everyone else away under the guise of "keeping them safe," but I think it really comes down to the fact that there are some journeys in life that must be taken alone. On a journey of self-discovery, at some point the worry of others becomes a hindrance. Anna could not have survived the tempestuous sea Elsa had to cross or faced the Nokk and come out victorious. Anna had nothing waiting for her in Ahtohallan. Elsa intuitively knew this and therefore had to make a tough decision she knew would hurt her sister. Tenacity means being capable of holding tightly to something; Elsa refused to let go of her calling, no matter what.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_llg4yZcJGONXnJoSE7Z3EeAYWDz3ACuyRd7QfgQvmJEqBwB7OnSTGQ8Kpzb6mgWg4-n602gOh4eWWgZfK3qY52SzZEKJMb0hDTny6Usn41MRmoOOlVZcBVM6sjtInCOVs5uB2ahwbOo/s1600/xavier-balderas-cejudo-kxIE049IZ1g-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_llg4yZcJGONXnJoSE7Z3EeAYWDz3ACuyRd7QfgQvmJEqBwB7OnSTGQ8Kpzb6mgWg4-n602gOh4eWWgZfK3qY52SzZEKJMb0hDTny6Usn41MRmoOOlVZcBVM6sjtInCOVs5uB2ahwbOo/s640/xavier-balderas-cejudo-kxIE049IZ1g-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<h3>
Elsa is Vulnerable</h3>
<div>
Even though <i>Into the Unknown</i> is Frozen II's signature song, <i>Show Yourself</i> is what makes Elsa's character arc complete and brings an underlying sense of wholeness to the film. <i>Show Yourself </i>is vulnerability in song form. Lets just look at the lyrics.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I have always been a fortress, cold secrets deep inside. You have secrets too, but you don't have to hide."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I have always been so different, normal rules did not apply. Is this the day, are you the way I finally find out why?" </blockquote>
<br />
This would be incredibly hard to admit for anyone. The ache to belong is a strong and innate human need and Elsa is not immune. For her to find companionship, even if it comes in the form of an explanation from the divine is an incredible gift. The song continues,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Here I am. I've come so far. You are the answer I've waited for all of my life. Show yourself - let me see who you are."</blockquote>
<br />
This is a beautiful act of vulnerability to say, "I'm here. This is all I have. I've waited for so long and given everything to be here right now. Is this enough? Am I enough?" Have you ever had that experience in your own life? Where your need to be seen and accepted was so strong you'd give anything and everything to hear the simple words, "You are loved?"<br />
<br />
Then Elsa has a subtle realization about who exactly it is she's been waiting for. Her path forward is clear - all she needs is to embrace it. As she does, the audience is gifted with one of the most beautiful lines of song:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Show yourself. Step in to your power. Grow yourself into something new. You are the one you've been waiting for all of your life. Oh, show yourself. "</blockquote>
<br />
The message is:<br />
<br />
Wait no longer.<br />
Everything you'll ever need<br />
is already inside you.<br /><br />
I can't listen to Show Yourself without openly weeping every.single.time. And whenever I hear my daughter sing it? It is unadulterated peace, wonder, and awe.<br />
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<h3>
Elsa is Humble</h3>
Elsa is largely absent from the film from the point of her transformation until almost the very end. When she does reappear, she carries herself with a sense of quiet peace. Anna ultimately was the one who put into action the necessary steps to heal the Enchanted Forest and liberate the Nature Spirits and it is Elsa who helps her realize this. Elsa never rubs her powers, her transformation, or her new title of "The Fifth Element" in her sister's face. Instead, she reminds Anna with one simple sentence how necessary their sisterhood is: "Mother had two daughters. We did this <i>together</i>." Elsa steps down from the Arendelle throne knowing that Anna was the best fit for that role. She moves away from a life of castle comforts (not that she ever really felt comfortable there anyway) and into the Enchanted Forest. Elsa is not caught up in titles, royalty, roles, and authority. Her humility stems from her acceptance and realization of something much greater. Her power comes from her deep and resilient connection to her heart and soul self.<br />
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<br />
Elsa is so much more than ice powers, magic dresses, and a new horse. These are things she <i>has</i>, and they ultimately come to her because of who she <i>is</i>. So the next time my daughter tells me she wants to be like Elsa, I will do my best to show her what magic is really all about.</div>
Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-60703681393003119502020-01-09T15:25:00.000-08:002020-08-18T15:26:32.668-07:00Women's Work<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am barefoot in the kitchen</span></span></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="3vb18-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="3vb18-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="3vb18-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">doing women's work</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="3t1ba-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="3t1ba-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="3t1ba-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">when my daughter looks up</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="5okf0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="5okf0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5okf0-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">from her kindergarten homework</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="39jok-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="39jok-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="39jok-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and asks,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="2jt1q-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="2jt1q-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2jt1q-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">purple crayon resting in hand,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="6koss-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="6koss-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6koss-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="b9qkt-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b9qkt-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b9qkt-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Is it better to be fancy</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="sou1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="sou1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="sou1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">or to be strong?"
</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="ev1oe-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ev1oe-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ev1oe-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fancy is another word for </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="933me-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="933me-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="933me-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">pretty, or</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="2vte2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="2vte2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2vte2-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">beautiful.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="f8t9q-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="f8t9q-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="f8t9q-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="db74k-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="db74k-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="db74k-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I ask her if she'd rather sit on a couch in a dress</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="6p2cm-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="6p2cm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6p2cm-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">or perform a dance and headstands</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="bejs0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="bejs0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="bejs0-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">when guests come to visit.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="2uvf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="2uvf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2uvf-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="1ts3f-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1ts3f-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1ts3f-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Handstands," she answers,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="aq5of-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="aq5of-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="aq5of-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">her smile showing all her teeth</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="dgrm6-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="dgrm6-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dgrm6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">except the two she lost last month.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="7admq-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="7admq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="7admq-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her purple crayon returns </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="4la3l-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="4la3l-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4la3l-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to her bright yellow homework page</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="5alrc-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="5alrc-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5alrc-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to circle sight words.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="331f4-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="331f4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="331f4-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="ejm8j-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ejm8j-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ejm8j-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I want to grab her face in my hands,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="bdc7m-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="bdc7m-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="bdc7m-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">feel the softness of her full cheeks in my palms,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="f30g7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="f30g7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="f30g7-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">pull her close to me and plead</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="cd7nr-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="cd7nr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="cd7nr-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">that she remember beauty fades,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="4sst4-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="4sst4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4sst4-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to always choose strength over</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="8b610-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="8b610-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="8b610-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">a sequin dress and stilettos.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="8t96i-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="8t96i-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="8t96i-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="1rc7e-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1rc7e-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1rc7e-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She slams her crayon on the table.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="ebss8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ebss8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ebss8-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Done!" she shouts,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="7r57p-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="7r57p-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="7r57p-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> slips from the bench to the floor,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="b99se-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b99se-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b99se-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">crawls under the table,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="2ssub-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="2ssub-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2ssub-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and runs to the living room. </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="57s97-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="57s97-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="57s97-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She stops suddenly, </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="crev3-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="crev3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="crev3-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">raises her hands high, fingers spread wide,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="9tncg-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="9tncg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9tncg-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and dives into a upside down balance,</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="9elhv-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="9elhv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9elhv-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">all her weight momentarily held on two strong arms.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="20fu8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="20fu8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="20fu8-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her baby blue dress - always bowing to gravity's rule - </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="dgjga-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="dgjga-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dgjga-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">folds in half, exposing her legs and stomach.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="ahlcq-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="ahlcq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ahlcq-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="8fbov-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="8fbov-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="8fbov-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe this is</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="24emm-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="24emm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="24emm-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">women's work </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="1btvv-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1btvv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1btvv-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">after all: a balance </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="fdeeb-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="fdeeb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fdeeb-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">instead of a choice between</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="5b79v-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="5b79v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5b79v-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">beauty and strength</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="6jeor-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="6jeor-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6jeor-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">disruption and peace</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="b9pr1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b9pr1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b9pr1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">liberation and protection</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="76ob0" data-offset-key="b1lss-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b1lss-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="b1lss-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">nature and nurture.</span></span></div></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-51853395711032634082019-12-26T18:27:00.001-08:002019-12-26T18:32:40.265-08:00Good Girl | Vision Board Series Part 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsoSZZTosm4VAFx1j8OEEi0Byk3EfDiSR4cCVS8DBLQnYIYuUvs_90ykGaVcF2XxnA3pAUjpJeLK75eP6m9gSyQZp_LT-y5Mh0_E1wEbAIcjf4QxrkYG92Up1OCdasMpHSZx28OD8LfU/s1600/80247872_1202904663252421_8052230683977842688_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsoSZZTosm4VAFx1j8OEEi0Byk3EfDiSR4cCVS8DBLQnYIYuUvs_90ykGaVcF2XxnA3pAUjpJeLK75eP6m9gSyQZp_LT-y5Mh0_E1wEbAIcjf4QxrkYG92Up1OCdasMpHSZx28OD8LfU/s640/80247872_1202904663252421_8052230683977842688_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
They say<br />
sex is holy<br />
but here I lay<br />
indecent<br />
trying to both<br />
love and repent.<br />
<br />
I split myself in two -<br />
parts unclean and spirit -<br />
<br />
I try to make<br />
an awkward whole<br />
with a man<br />
who is broken also,<br />
<br />
Only to find<br />
"one flesh"<br />
is not<br />
halves of two<br />
come together.Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-8437961210457440782019-12-19T15:06:00.001-08:002019-12-19T15:22:43.093-08:00The Gift of Twenty Minutes | Vision Board Series Part 3Use it up,<br />
let it go.<br />
<br />
Whatever comes to you:<br />
use it up<br />
let it go.<br />
<br />
If it comes back to you:<br />
use it up<br />
let it go.<br />
<br />
Use it up,<br />
let it go.<br />
In that order.<br />
<br />
This is how<br />
to honor a gift.<br />
<br />
Five years ago, in one of my writing groups, I was given once piece of sage advice by our mentor.<br />
<br />
"Write for twenty minutes a day, " she said.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEIIBO7C0n-1oFJhEleCvAWcioUYZyOxUgiS2y7bxgHeOR38b67_iMugeIRJejdmkqDBXYXDbTJVgnLT0ls2JZiUdaKWi75r0BlHi1HHpLAAj-FOnbqo938W9fvfS0NacVeC8M_7YvqM/s1600/green-chameleon-s9CC2SKySJM-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEIIBO7C0n-1oFJhEleCvAWcioUYZyOxUgiS2y7bxgHeOR38b67_iMugeIRJejdmkqDBXYXDbTJVgnLT0ls2JZiUdaKWi75r0BlHi1HHpLAAj-FOnbqo938W9fvfS0NacVeC8M_7YvqM/s640/green-chameleon-s9CC2SKySJM-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Twenty minutes is really a reasonable amount of time. Its the average length of a shower, the time it takes to cook boxed mac and cheese from pre-boil to finish, and a quarter of the typical time a Facebook user spends watching random videos and arguing with strangers on their local neighborhood group.<br />
<br />
But twenty minutes to a bone-tired mom with two young children is precious, holy time. There is not enough for every twenty minute thing. So she must be choosy with her resources.<br />
<br />
Much of my writing post-college has been sporadic. I usually wait to sit at my keyboard until "something comes to me." Waiting around for inspiration works when one or two dips in the pool of creativity has to be enough, but for me, it is not.<br />
<br />
I am the kind of person who appreciates art in every shape and form. Poetry, music, painting, drawing, design, story, cinema - I love all of it. I've learned over the last few years that it is worth my time to pursue the arts for the simple fact that it brings me great pleasure. Not only that, but when I take part in someone else's creation, I've found hints and nudges toward my own purpose.<br />
<br />
Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes in her book Women Who Run With The Wolves,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
It is not the quality of our creative products we are concerned with... but the individual's recognition of the value of one's unique gifts and the methods for caring for the creative life that surrounds those gifts. Always behind the actions of writing, painting, thinking, healing, doing, cooking, talking, smiling, making, is the river under the river that nourishes everything we make. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Women's eyes flash as they create, their words lilt, their faces flush with life, their very hair seems to shine all the more. They are excited by the idea, aroused by the possibilities, impassioned by the very thought, and at that point, like the great river[s of the earth], they are meant to flow outward and continuously on their own unparalleled creative path. That is the way women feel fulfilled.</blockquote>
<br />
When creativity stalls we lose the nourishment that its water's bring. My biggest challenge for continuously flowing creativity is the responsibilities of adulthood. I have allowed so much of my time to be eaten up by tending to my family, my home, my yard, the dishes, the bills, the mail, the unswept floors... One particular paragraph from Estes really spoke to me. She says,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I've seen women insist on cleaning everything in the house before they could sit down to write... and you know its a funny thing about house cleaning... it never comes to an end. Perfect way to stop a woman.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A woman must be careful to not allow over-responsibility (or over-respectability) to steal her necessary creative rests, riffs, and raptures. She simply must put her foot down and say no to half of what she believes she "should" be doing. <b>Art is not meant to be created in stolen moments only</b>.</blockquote>
<br />
So it has been in my life. Writing only when dinner is made, the house is clean, the family is sleeping makes a dry well of creativity. After nearly seven years of trying to find time to follow my heart's calling, I've decided to change things up and <i>make</i> time instead. Twenty minutes is plenty easy to make. Estes' estimate of saying no to <u>half</u> of my "shoulds" list is pretty accurate. I am currently writing on a dining room table cluttered with twelve colored pencils, two bowls of cold pasta from my kid's lunch, a half-eaten tortilla from last night's dinner, and two dirty mugs of hot cocoa. I've let go of the myth that my space needs to be clean in order to create, or else I'm a bad mom, a bad housewife, a bad person. Whatever. I refuse to waste my life's purpose on waiting on my husband's schedule and my kids thirtieth request for fruit snacks. Everyone else is equally capable of helping. I am not solely responsible. Everyone can do a little so I don't need to do it all.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivpNu0rsd5kIubg5LIqJv6ossEFFNsjdYdxZjaJRyHa7bqDaT2OxqvGTVFOx3eNK7GFngu7Dyk3COdg8T7RHLeznODhLh1_g5E5C0FP1w8hT_HqQb1B8qQwxhdbiP8MZ8rRhTOW1-TBwk/s1600/roman-kraft-WOzVqzpScrk-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivpNu0rsd5kIubg5LIqJv6ossEFFNsjdYdxZjaJRyHa7bqDaT2OxqvGTVFOx3eNK7GFngu7Dyk3COdg8T7RHLeznODhLh1_g5E5C0FP1w8hT_HqQb1B8qQwxhdbiP8MZ8rRhTOW1-TBwk/s640/roman-kraft-WOzVqzpScrk-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
If I create only some of the time, I am not using my gift to its fullness. I am not using it up. I think about some of the female artists and writers I most love. What would we have if Mary Oliver only gave us stolen moments? We would not have her poem Wild Geese, that she wrote just to prove a point in a writing exercise. What would we be left with if Georgia O'Keefe painted only some of the time? I would not have seen Manhattan in such a beautiful light. What if Nellie Bly wrote just on her free time? Our mental healthcare would likely still be stuck in the 20th century. Women should not be expected to give stolen moments only.<br />
<br />
Women deserve the freedom and ability to give as much time as necessary to their life's work and passion, independent of relationships,<br />
<br />
just like men.<br />
<br />
Make time.<br />
If you've got a gift, use it up.<br />
Use it <i>all the way</i> up.<br />
Then, and only then,<br />
let it go:<br />
out into the big, wide,<br />
wild world.<br />
<br />
This is the way<br />
to honor your self.<br />
...<br />
<br />
This is part 3 of the Vision Board Series.<br />
<br />
Read Part 1 <a href="https://www.channingbparker.com/2019/12/i-rely-on-wisdom-of-divine-to-guide-me.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
The publication of Part 2, "I Participate In My Own Nourishment and Care", was live for a limited amount of time and has now been moved to my private collection.Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-47876148458052351442019-12-14T22:30:00.002-08:002022-01-27T14:45:09.439-08:00Secrets I Will No Longer Keep In 42 Haikus | Vision Board Series Part 2This is part 2 of my Vision Board Series. Read Part 1 <a href="https://www.channingbparker.com/2019/12/i-rely-on-wisdom-of-divine-to-guide-me.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a>. I'm including a trigger warning on this post for references to childhood abuse, rape, and disordered eating.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEz_mgDIAYoas97UY477oFkL-x6sUV3Bcuyg7aIacOh1riPNXdB7Uri_rk7PjgGYYEq-Y_FsE3LznCpSoWLDNvRw_PRfW9Z_sDcS5le1e3mZpf6DLREUJewP8o91DXzG3iTb6cg6EqrYQ/s1600/27500380_10155309908942263_3960907996167612258_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEz_mgDIAYoas97UY477oFkL-x6sUV3Bcuyg7aIacOh1riPNXdB7Uri_rk7PjgGYYEq-Y_FsE3LznCpSoWLDNvRw_PRfW9Z_sDcS5le1e3mZpf6DLREUJewP8o91DXzG3iTb6cg6EqrYQ/s640/27500380_10155309908942263_3960907996167612258_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
My body has not<br />
been my own before today.<br />
Every piece of me<br />
<br />
belonged to someone<br />
else first. "She has her mother's<br />
nose, her father's eyes,"<br />
<br />
they said about me<br />
when I was born, and still I<br />
don't see what they do.<br />
<br />
My body tells me<br />
secrets, whispers to me in<br />
night and day dreams, to<br />
<br />
say, "Your suspicions<br />
are correct. You are safe now<br />
to remember." Years<br />
<br />
of this shadow play<br />
and hide-and-seek to tell a<br />
simple truth made of<br />
<br />
seven syllables:<br />
I'm a victim of abuse.<br />
Five words, blinking one<br />
<br />
at a time on a<br />
sign outside a dirty bar<br />
in Old Town, run down<br />
<br />
Henderson, NV.<br />
I will spare you the details,<br />
but I will never<br />
<br />
forget the words said<br />
to my five-year-old body;<br />
seven syllables,<br />
<br />
scary, hot, humid:<br />
"If you move I will kill you."<br />
And I believed them,<br />
<br />
and every word that<br />
followed, no matter the one<br />
who spoke them. "You are<br />
<br />
a whore. A slut. You<br />
belong in a trash can or<br />
a homeless shelter.<br />
<br />
I can't decide which.<br />
No one loves you. Life is not<br />
fair. Get over it."<br />
<br />
All my life has been<br />
a small, and yet, not so small<br />
rebellion of sorts.<br />
<br />
If life is not fair<br />
would it not be kind, wise, and<br />
prudent to care for<br />
<br />
one another? Eighteen<br />
years, one month, and twenty two<br />
days old. I was raped<br />
<br />
on video, the tape<br />
shared widely among young men<br />
I thought were my friends.<br />
<br />
I'd like to say life<br />
was never the same again<br />
after, but the truth<br />
<br />
is it really was<br />
the same, lights still blinking<br />
one at a time on<br />
<br />
a sign outside an<br />
old, run down casino in<br />
Henderson, Nevada.<br />
<br />
I don't regale you<br />
with trash stories too often,<br />
but I need you to<br />
<br />
know that I'm alive<br />
thanks to Dr. Pepper, hot<br />
fries, Friendly Donuts,<br />
<br />
and McDonald's Hot<br />
and Spicy Chicken Sandwich.<br />
I grew up unsafe,<br />
<br />
unloved, and unsure<br />
of when, if, and what I would<br />
eat again. My high<br />
<br />
school boyfriend brought an<br />
extra lunch for me every<br />
day for three years. We<br />
<br />
dated only two.<br />
I owe a lifetime's worth of<br />
gratitude to that<br />
<br />
sixteen year old boy<br />
who still checks in on me once<br />
a year to make sure<br />
<br />
I'm doing okay.<br />
I know its gross and bad for<br />
health to drink soda<br />
<br />
daily, but some days,<br />
like last Wednesday, that's all I<br />
let myself have. Its<br />
<br />
not that way every<br />
day, just sometimes, but when I<br />
finally told my<br />
<br />
therapist Sarah<br />
about my bad habits and<br />
body shame, she said,<br />
<br />
"Be gentle with your<br />
body. It has kept you safe<br />
all these years long, and<br />
<br />
on so little. Its<br />
time to make a different choice.<br />
Start small."<br />
<br />
When I look at my<br />
body, fifteen pounds gained<br />
in a year's time, most<br />
<br />
around my middle,<br />
where old shame spills over the<br />
waistband of my jeans,<br />
<br />
I have to practice<br />
peacefulness. I have to be<br />
brave enough to hold<br />
<br />
space for the space I<br />
take up, to really see myself<br />
and refuse to hate.<br />
<br />
The words "I choose to<br />
participate in my own<br />
nourishment and care."<br />
<br />
Is a war cry, a<br />
significant rebellion.<br />
You see now, don't you?<br />
<br />
Seven syllables<br />
can change a life, starting<br />
now. Again and<br />
<br />
again, loudly for<br />
people in the back: "I will<br />
not make myself small.<br />
<br />
I will not believe your lies.<br />
<br />
I am not afraid of you.<br />
<br />
I will not carry your shame.<br />
<br />
I will not keep your secrets."<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-3933102392253309452019-12-10T13:58:00.002-08:002019-12-14T22:31:04.897-08:00I Rely On the Wisdom of the Divine to Guide Me | Vision Board Series Part 1<div>
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This is the mantra for the image titled <a href="http://www.charliebowater.net/tf5vstjaqaiqfmq8oeb3lzf85oc632" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Old Astronomer by Charlie Bowater</a> (click the link for the image)</div>
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For so long I have given my belief away.</div>
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I have absorbed messages from parents, leaders, my religious community, and prophets that have injured my heart, stunted my spiritual growth, and borrowed my power and labeled it with words and ideals that do not match my innate purpose and worth.</div>
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I have relied on their permission, acceptance, and validation as both a rubric for my spiritual development and proof that I am loved. Though I have sought for the better part of my life to be a good girl, to keep my shoulders covered and my skirts an appropriate length, to keep not only the commandments of God but of culture too, the truth is I am rarely gifted with either permission or forgiveness. Thus my spirit has largely made its own way, relying on a single guiding star with ever-changing names: Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, God, Heavenly Mother, the Divine, Love, the Universe; talking about my testimony at eight years old I said to my best friend, "I don't know what to call it, but I know there's something out there. Is it God? An all-wise and loving octopus? I'm not sure, but I feel it in my heart." How wild. How creative and full of sincerity and wonder.</div>
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At some point, everything I learned about the religion I was raised in fell apart. As my knowledge base grew and developed, my faith came under severe scrutiny. At the peak of my doubting and questioning, external events provided a unique opportunity for decision - did I believe enough in LDS teachings to justify staying or was leaving the right answer for me? If you know me, you'll know I've been an active and faithful member my entire life - the last two years have been no different. Church history, culture, and teachings are pretty wild, but they are also beautiful, deep, and meaningful. The LDS church gives me a framework and language in which to explore, communicate, and develop my faith and understanding of the nature of God. But if I'm wholly truthful, it is not my everything. It simply can't be - the church, its leaders, and its people are limited. I refuse to wait any longer for top-down instruction and permission to develop in the depths and directions my spirit takes me. To do so would be an act of willful ignorance against the greatest spiritual asset I have - my intuitive and intimate connection with the Divine.</div>
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When I am in sync with this inner voice, I am not called to the chapel, not called to scripture, not called to conference talks or articles in the Ensign, not an Instagram account, not a hands-on-head blessing of any sort. I am not called to exotic places in the great wide world, not even to the mountains and forests a twenty minute drive from my house. The call I hear comes from right in my chest. Sometimes I think if I pound on it hard enough with an open hand I will feel her in there, reaching out and poking me with a tree branch. She says, "Walk outside. Listen to the trees. Dig in the earth. Talk to the birds. Care for the snakes. Look people in the eyes when you speak to them. Finally, only after all this is done, write down what you have learned. Share generously."</div>
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That sounds unlike any church I have ever worshipped in. But I can't explain what or why the voice tells me to what it does. To eat the bread and receive a blessing from the pastor at my friend's Lutheran church. To light a candle - who knows what for - at a gigantic, gothic Catholic cathedral in Manhattan. To bow reverently and say the most sincere prayers of my entire life in a single <i>namaste</i> at the end of every yoga practice. To dance, to sing, to scream, to laugh loudly with abandon, and be fully and unapologetically human. To give voice to the rage, the confusion, to both heartbreak and hope. To speak words of genuine encouragement and love over a friend who vulnerably shares her decision to leave the church. When a day is filled with worship like this, my heart rests in the melody of a peaceful lullaby: well done. Well done.</div>
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My worship and spiritual practice is a graceful, evolving embodiment of the holy woman Mary Oliver's poem, Wild Geese. I share it here with love and gratitude: </div>
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<table style="background-color: white;"><tbody>
<tr><td><table style="width: 450px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></td></tr>
<tr><td>You do not have to be good.</td></tr>
<tr><td>You do not have to walk on your knees</td></tr>
<tr><td>for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.</td></tr>
<tr><td>You only have to let the soft animal of your body</td></tr>
<tr><td>love what it loves.</td></tr>
<tr><td>Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.</td></tr>
<tr><td>Meanwhile the world goes on.</td></tr>
<tr><td>Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain</td></tr>
<tr><td>are moving across the landscapes,</td></tr>
<tr><td>over the prairies and the deep trees,</td></tr>
<tr><td>the mountains and the rivers.</td></tr>
<tr><td>Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,</td></tr>
<tr><td>are heading home again.</td></tr>
<tr><td>Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,</td></tr>
<tr><td>the world offers itself to your imagination,</td></tr>
<tr><td>calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -</td></tr>
<tr><td>over and over announcing your place</td></tr>
<tr><td>in the family of things.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Being good is overrated.</div>
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Be wild.</div>
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Be free.</div>
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Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-56612948574946487522019-12-07T11:52:00.000-08:002019-12-07T11:59:45.791-08:00Notes on Birds, Sunflowers, and BelongingMoving to Utah broke my heart.<br />
<br />
I did not make it to Syracuse in one piece. The woman I was last year - my wild, creative, brave self I most love and value - stayed in Arizona. I could not pull her away from Saguaro. She fought tooth and nail to stay.<br />
<br />
I had to make the move without her. My husband needed his wife and my kids needed their mom. For over a year, she and I have lived apart. Doing so opened old wounds and hiding places of anger, which I see now is good and necessary. But in the process, it felt very much like a small series of deaths.<br />
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Despite my judgement and fear, Utah has worked its subtle magic on me. The credit goes to the birds. For a year I have watched them from my kitchen window. I've identified over 10 species of bird that visit my backyard at any given time of the year. The family of sparrows that helps me pass the winter. The robin I really, truly, cross-my-fingers-poke-my-eye saw pulling up an early morning worm in April. The magpies that incessantly harass the sparrows in late winter. A hawk that took cover from an especially harsh winter storm in the vine on my fence. An American Goldfinch that enchanted everyone at a small family bonfire with its bright yellow tail. The springtime starlings that eat the seed from the feeder before anyone else can get to it. Crows that come for a feast of walnuts in the fall, their murders everywhere. The single bluebird that visited once in summer and never again.<br />
<br />
And the seagulls. What more can be said for this seemingly obnoxious bird except that once, in early June, I heard the strangest sound. Why I remember it so clearly, I'm not sure. I was standing on my sister-in-law's front driveway. I placed my hand on the door handle of my mini van, the gold paint glimmering in the fading summer sun. Just as I was about to pull the door open, screeching music fell from the sky. It was unmistakably seagull, but instead of the usual "cah - - - cah - - - cah - - -" and momentary silence between calls, it was "ca-ca-ca, ca-ca-ca". So strange and unfamiliar was a hurried and desperate call from <i>this</i> bird, one that would soon as snatch a fry from your plate on the tables of the many Bear Lake "Best Raspberry Shake" shacks, that I looked up in wonder. The call came from a young gull. His wings were still shaky. He swayed back and forth in the wind like an unoccupied swing in a dust devil. He was terribly alone up there too - I could not see another gull in the sky for miles. The lake wasn't too far off, and I imagined his flock wouldn't be either. It was getting dark and I was a bit worried for his safety. "Go home!" I whispered to him. The answer came strong.<br />
<br />
"I'm looking," he said.<br />
"I am new here, too" I said.<br />
He and I both<br />
lost and in a hurry<br />
to get back to something better.<br />
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Soon after that day in the driveway, I went to a work party hosted at my husband's boss's home. I watched my kids jump on a trampoline in the backyard. The fence was just high enough that I couldn't see the street. The tall trees lining the yard (and all the neighbor's yards too) gave the impression of a seclusion. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon and the sky turned all my favorite sunset colors - it looked like the orange Creamsicles I used to eat drip-drip-dripped onto the pink sidewalk chalk I drew hopscotch squares with as a child. It was a surreal experience being briefly suspended in time. What a slippery, Jello-sweet moment to feel like I was seeing a classic Arizona sunset, and then to hear unfamiliar laughter behind me. Later, my husband's boss asked me how the move had been for me. I was honest.<br />
<br />
"It's been hard," I said. "I miss Arizona so much."<br />
"What do you miss about it?" he asked. "I'm not trying to be rude or pry, I just really want to know."<br />
I took a deep breath and a quick inventory of my feelings, trying to decide if I should share all the details with a man who had no idea what I left behind.<br />
<br />
"Well, my best friend Elise still lives there. It was hard to leave and have to navigate the changes that brought to our friendship." I said, almost stopping there. But no one had asked me about Arizona for six months.<br />
<br />
"I miss Bell Road, where all my favorite stores were five miles away. I wonder if they ever finished that Costa Vida right before 83rd Ave, where the Carl's Jr. used to be? I don't know, and it bothers me still. I miss Pita Jungle. What I would do for some garlic potato dip, some jalepeno cilantro hummus, and two puffy greek pitas. I miss the Glendale library. And I miss the Skunk Creek trail I spent hours walking, documenting in my notebook the difference between the eucalyptus tree's thorny black trunk and the Palo Alto trees that blossom in March. I miss the perfect teal-to-purple ombre of <i>opuntia macrocentra </i>and I miss the Saguaro. I had to give all my cactus plants away before I moved. They would not survive Utah. It is simply not the same here."<br />
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By this time my breathing became rushed and hurried like the young gull's call. My eyes filled with tears. I immediately felt immense shame about being so candid, worried my grief sounded bitter full of blame.<br />
<br />
He looked at me and gently said,<br />
"It sounds like it's been really hard for you.<br />
You're right. Utah doesn't have any of those things,<br />
but we really are so grateful you are here."<br />
<br />
His words, brief but genuine, opened up a space inside me that was just large enough to hold a small piece of Arizona me. <i>It might be safe here after all</i>, I thought.<br />
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In May, I headed to the foothills in Bountiful to take a field class on edible and medicinal herbs and plants of the Wasatch front. Most of the plants we learned about were not native to the area. At first I was confused - this was a class about plants of the western Wasatch front, right? Why waste my time on a class learning about plants that could be found in most of the contiguous US? But during the four hour class taught in rain and near-freezing temps I also learned that these non-native plants had, for the most part, settled beautifully and respectfully into the local ecosystem. Maybe I could learn something from the wild, healing <i>balsamorhiza sagittata</i>.<br />
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Twice this summer I found myself at Bear Lake. When I was a child, I used to play in the shallow beaches at Lake Powell and Lake Mead. One of my favorite things to do was to shell search, and because an invasive mussel species was thriving in those waters, there was never a shortage of shells. Thanks to the Utah Division of Fish and Wildlife has been so vigilant about keeping Bear Lake clean, there were no shells. I really am truly grateful for that, but it was a surprise to me to visit a lake and find limitless large, smooth stones, but not much else. On the trip when it was warm enough to play at the lake, I laid on the beach for some time. With my feet in the water and my stomach on the sand, I watched the waves roll in and out, in and over, in and under my body. Only, it wasn't just sand. With every wave, rocks the size of a lavender seed along with thousands of pieces of broken shells rolled in and out, in and over, in and under my body. Every once in a while I would find a full, intact shell.<br />
<br />
What a strange lake<br />
to not even have<br />
shells the size of a box elder bug!<br />
<br />
What a strange place<br />
with shacks on all four corners of Main Street<br />
each selling the World's Best Raspberry Shake<br />
made from "real Bear Lake raspberries"<br />
on Raspberry Days<br />
when raspberries haven't grown wild here in thirty years!<br />
<br />
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When I got home from the lake, I hopped in the shower and stripped my swim suit off. As I did, small rocks and shell bits fell from the folds of my suit and onto the porcelain floor of the bathtub, making small clink-clink-clink sounds reminiscent of crystal glasses and real silver flatware you'd more likely hear in an upscale restaurant instead of a private bathroom.<br />
<br />
As a young teenager, my Aunt Di introduced me to one of my favorite traditions. She'd pour sparkling apple cider into real crystal champagne glasses and give one to every person in our group. We'd each take a turn celebrating the things we loved most in life, and after each annunciation we would all shout "Cheers!" and clink our glasses together, making sure to hit every one. "To Reese's Pieces on top of yogurt!" she once said, remembering the time I came to visit her house at 12 years old and introduced her to the delicacy. She didn't like it much, but always kept it in stock when I came to visit. "Cheers!" we'd all say, laughing. I felt so seen and loved in that moment. "To fireworks! To scrapbooks! To trying on pants three sizes too small!" Eventually "Cheers!" ended with the circle falling apart into a chaos of giggles.<br />
<br />
Clink-clink,<br />
an invitation.<br />
<br />
"To belonging<br />
nowhere.<br />
everywhere.<br />
<br />
here.<br />
now.<br />
then.<br />
there.<br />
trees.<br />
cactus.<br />
coyote.<br />
sparrow."<br />
<br />
"To coming home<br />
to yourself<br />
again."<br />
<br />
"Cheers!" I said softly,<br />
brushing the last bits of<br />
shell and sand<br />
from underneath my left breast.<br />
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<br />
Is it possible<br />
for a place to lodge itself in the crevices of the<br />
heart and body?<br />
<br />
I spent the summer gardening. It seems like a far-away dream now, another life entirely, to remember the zuchinni plants waist-high and bearing fruit faster than my entire neighborhood could eat it. Pumpkins sprawled over and out of the small corner of the yard I had given them, in return giving me over 15 large gourds and countless small ones. Sharing them with the children in my neighborhood was honestly the highlight of autumn for me. And the sunflowers - oh! How grand and regal they stood, some twelve feet or more tall! I loved hearing the kids walk by on their way to or from the park and school, saying "Look at those sunflowers! They are <i>huge</i>! I want to take one home!" And occasionally, when an offshoot branch had a particularly beautiful bloom, I would cut it off right then and there and hand it to the passerby. "I have flowers enough for everyone," I said, making a mental note to dedicate more garden space next year for cut flowers. The children's smiles were always thanks enough for me, whether flower or pumpkin. Gardens really do bring people together.<br />
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<br />
In September, I went with my twin wife (my sister in law, we are married to twins) on a fall leaf hike. The mountain trees always start and finish their autumn celebrations earlier than the valley. By the time we arrived with cameras in hand, the branches were already bare. Disappointed yet undeterred, we went on the hike anyway. About a quarter of the way into the hike, a small, shallow creek ran its way through the trail path. It was wide enough that we couldn't clear it with a leap over. We'd have to walk. I was wearing waterproof boots - crossing the river was not a challenge for me. But Kyla had worn tennis shoes, and had she tried to cross like I did, she'd have wet feet and be miserable for the rest of the hike. As Kyla carefully chose dry stones scattered along the river path, I stood in the water and held her hand as she stepped from stone to stone, making sure she kept her balance.<br />
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<br />
Why me? I am a stranger to this land, and though I've been begging for the better part of the year for this desert rose to open her secrets to me, I have had no response. I have no business guiding people across rivers they already know. And yet, as the clear, cold water ran over my boots, I felt like the land spoke back to me.<br />
<br />
<i>You came here ready </i><br />
<i>to fall in love</i><br />
<i>to be taught</i><br />
<i>to find a place.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Not many people arrive here</i><br />
<i>calling to know the land.</i><br />
<br />
<i>We had to be sure you were willing. </i><br />
<i>What have you learned?</i><br />
<br />
As I held Kyla's hand<br />
my heart answered,<br />
<br />
Sparrow says there is joy in community.<br />
Crow gives permission to go about my purpose unfettered.<br />
Aspen shows me that every place is the perfect place.<br />
Vine teaches me persistence.<br />
Snake is gentle and embodies respect and reciprocity.<br />
Sunflower shows me fame is short but seeds last forever.<br />
Honeysuckle teaches evergreen sweetness.<br />
Apricot tree is generous.<br />
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<br />
<br />
"I have not left my back yard," I said, feeling ashamed.<br />
<br />
<i>You don't need to. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Welcome home.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Kyla crossed the river successfully with dry shoes, not knowing the woman beside her had transformed completely from one bank to the next.<br />
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<br />
Over the next few months, Wild Channing said a slow goodbye to Arizona. I think she flew home to me on the same November flight as Elise, knowing she'd need a companion for the trip. Elise eased and completed my transition with her signature love, adventure, and compassion. Our weekend together - which mostly comprised of sitting in front of various paintings, eating delicious food, and talking til our mouths were dry - taught me that love will follow me wherever I go. When Elise boarded her return flight to Arizona, I no longer felt the stinging loneliness that had been my companion for over a year.<br />
<br />
<i>Welcome home Channing</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
the land spoke to me again.<br />
<br />
"Cheers!" I said, this time with my whole heart.<br />
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<br />Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-50835864199966154542019-12-01T15:31:00.000-08:002020-08-18T15:32:20.752-07:00Letting Go of Christmas<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Christmas has been one of my least favorite holidays for three years counting.</span></span></p><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="bk06r-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="bk06r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="bk06r-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can chalk it up to a few contributing factors. The stress of buying gifts is overwhelming. I'm not great at gifting, especially when the gifts are expected and come with a lot of pressure. My kid's wish lists become more complex and expensive each year. What I gift my husband is rarely what he secretly hopes to receive, so in recent years we've been purchasing our own Christmas gifts. This is an effective strategy in that we both get what we want, but the anticipation and surprise are gone.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="63lu3-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="63lu3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/31983200/98009310ded8476492e0bb30ad4f3da0/1.jpg?token-time=1598998977&token-hash=0yQv4Jjf92OVNNkb_kFCKgayU2qjyX37B_IgsCJxR6w%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 440.852px; height: 440.852px; letter-spacing: 660.4px; line-height: 440.852px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 660.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="dehqa-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="dehqa-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dehqa-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="124mv-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="124mv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="124mv-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stores are awful from Black Friday to New Year's Day. Family expectations are high, and with them comes inevitable stress and disappointment. Its enough to make a woman want to throw in the proverbial towel.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="2soe1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="2soe1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2soe1-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My childlike wonder surrounding the holidays disappeared the year my parents divorced. I had been married for three years and had a two-year old daughter. Suddenly we had nowhere I wanted to spend the holidays. My family ended up staying in Phoenix and celebrating alone, which we did for the remaining three years we lived there.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="7b4o8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="7b4o8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="7b4o8-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For the first two years I bandaged the seeping sadness with celebrating Jesus. All our Christmas decor and activities were absolutely Christ-centered. The celebration soothed me during the transition through my parent's divorce. Sure, there were no more six-course Christmas Eve family dinners, no more Advent Activities countdown, no more gathering at my childhood home around the huge tree and Willow Tree nativity, but there was a baby Jesus and that made everything better.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="br3uj-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="br3uj-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/31983200/da5e400fb97a4b33a8f50437c18ac470/1.jpg?token-time=1598998977&token-hash=LaK6eptuWSn0JIv2AckDwb_ZiKKbm9TQ3PSsu1QofNI%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 440.852px; height: 440.852px; letter-spacing: 660.4px; line-height: 440.852px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 660.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="25rl5-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="25rl5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="25rl5-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="dbl78-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="dbl78-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dbl78-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Slowly, Jesus Christmas started to fall apart. I learned about the history of the holidays, suddenly realizing that it was historically inaccurate to celebrate the birth of Jesus when he was very likely to have been born in the Spring around Easter. I learned that historically, most Christian holidays and traditions were kind of twisted celebrations that mixed bits of pagan ritual and Christianity into a palatable, church-approved celebration. Christian attitudes and beliefs were enforced in attempts to wipe ancient pagan beliefs from conquered peoples, and it worked wonderfully. Something about knowing this sucked the last bits of joy out of Christmas for me. If Christmas isn't about presents OR Jesus, what is it about anyway?</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="dlvoq-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="dlvoq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dlvoq-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm still not sure. Just this last week, I spent Thanksgiving day scoping out the Black Friday ads, trying to get the best prices on toys for my kids that they don't really need but definitely will love. Black Friday I spent all day participating in the shameful tradition of consumerism, even taking my daughter early in the morning to let her see what the excitement was all about. All the while, a voice in my heart reminded me about shopping small, environmental impacts of mass consumerism, minimalism, essentialism, intentionality, and climate change. Yet, in the middle of a Layton, Utah Target Supercenter, I had a hard time feeling any bit of bad about it. Which definitely makes me a little uncomfortable now.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="6mj7g-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="6mj7g-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/31983200/8bd36ed70cfa416582b58f3489a2c649/1.jpg?token-time=1598998977&token-hash=YzPa0OFNAwe7RqTh4dtDNsyvZBC_VnpLOkvf41LHy2Q%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 990.6px; height: 990.6px; letter-spacing: 660.4px; line-height: 990.6px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 660.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="1fk0h-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1fk0h-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1fk0h-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="22fe8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="22fe8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="22fe8-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My Christmas shopping is widely done. Now I have an entire month of nothing looming in front of me. The Christ-centered decor and traditions are empty for me now. The faithful LDS girl inside me feels a lot of shame about that, but its the truth. I can fill a few days with baking, gifting neighbor gifts, and a few scattered parties, but my overall feeling about the holidays now is confusion and sadness. There is no Christmas Spirit in my heart. Bah, humbug! </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="eh2rd-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="eh2rd-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="eh2rd-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What can I do to make this holiday meaningful? For someone who can find the beauty in a fallen leaf or earthworm, I'm having an especially difficult time with this holiday that once meant so much to me. Maybe its time to let Christmas go.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="1gb7d-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="1gb7d-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1gb7d-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe its time to let the gifts mean nothing.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="fcnpk-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="fcnpk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fcnpk-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe its time to let Jesus rest for a while.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="akhi2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="akhi2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="akhi2-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even let go of the notion of service to others.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="66d4o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="66d4o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="66d4o-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though this all sounds terribly sad and disconcerting, especially for a Christian audience, I feel a strong undercurrent of surety and peace about this idea.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="et1ek-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="et1ek-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><div class="_3Y-components-SimpleRichTextEditor-components-ImageSpan--image" style="background-image: url("https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/31983200/c0603d7d2c724d408cd3748c4e36fbd3/1.jpg?token-time=1598998977&token-hash=N1oNu9q5qaNsU0Zyo04763XQxWRV6wV1-YVTqbcHeH8%3D"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; border: 1px solid rgb(161, 173, 181); font-size: 501.85px; height: 501.85px; letter-spacing: 660.4px; line-height: 501.85px; min-height: 16px; min-width: 16px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: bottom; width: 660.4px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="91the-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="91the-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="91the-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="4cmak-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="4cmak-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4cmak-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stillness. That is the Christmas that calls to me.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="7e1ad-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="7e1ad-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="7e1ad-0-0">A walk in the snow with my dog, taking pictures of frozen, sleeping Mother Earth, writing in a coffee shop, hosting an intimate dinner party with friends, a tree with lights, hot tea, a stack of unread books, a fur blanket, and sex by the fireplace. These are the things that seem to be most purposeful and full of promise. I am surprised by this deep desire to turn inward. Not to do inner work, not to shame or blame myself inside, not to do anything but </span><span data-offset-key="7e1ad-0-1" style="font-style: italic;">rest</span><span data-offset-key="7e1ad-0-2">. And rest seems to be the thing society is hell-bent on not letting anyone achieve during the holiday season.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="9ddc5-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="9ddc5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9ddc5-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe I ought to be hell-bent on resting anyway.</span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="a6onc-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="a6onc-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="a6onc-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe this is my flavor of rebellion and activism for now. A conscious resting. Purposeful care of the self. Meaningful connections. Careful stillness and meditative solitude. </span></span></div></div><div class="_2TO-components-SimpleRichTextEditor--paragraphElement" data-block="true" data-editor="cvdjc" data-offset-key="cd9s-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #241e12; font-size: 16px; margin: 1em 0px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="cd9s-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="cd9s-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe in the spring I'll wake with the vigor of the daffodils.</span></span></div></div>Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-70674045125234137622019-11-13T19:24:00.000-08:002019-11-13T19:24:06.040-08:00Cookie Dough CovenantsMy daughter was nine months old when I ate raw cookie dough for the first time after being pregnant. It was delicious, crunchy, and melted right in my mouth. That night, I began to feel a tummy ache beginning. With a sinking stomach I remembered eating the cookie dough. My worry that I had caught some uncurable strain of Samonella grew as the hours passed, even though no symptoms of food poisoning ever began. In the middle of the night, sick with nothing but a crushing sense of worry, I said a quick prayer.<br />
<br />
"Please God, don't let me die. My daughter is still so young and she needs me. If you save my life just this once, I promise to never eat raw cookie dough again for as long as I live."<br />
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Feeling that my bargain was satisfactory, I fell asleep. I didn't get sick. I faithfully kept my end of the bargain for years. One day, when telling this story to some friends, my friend Lauren asked me,<br />
<br />
"Do you still eat over-easy eggs?"<br />
"Yes," I said, confused.<br />
She laughed. With a gentle smile she said, "Channing, that's really not any different than eating cookie dough. It is still, essentially, eating raw eggs."<br />
<br />
I was horrified. I broke my promise without even knowing it! An immediate sense of guilt set in. For a few days I wrestled with the new understanding. I slowly came to a heartbreaking realization. My extreme and desperate cookie dough covenant perfectly illustrated what my understanding of God was, and what I saw was terrifying.<br />
<br />
I imagined God to be observing me through some kind of "earth security system," waiting for me to fail not only at my Cookie Dough Covenant but the hundreds of promises I had made. When failure did come, I imagined God to come up with an elaborate scheme through which he would administer my punishment. It would be intricate and hit me always where it hurt most: death. Losing my husband. Losing my child. At the moment of punishment, he would sit on his high and white throne and let loose his swift and justified "godly anger" with a smile.<br />
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This story I had absorbed about the nature of God was so entwined with my lifetime of church education, my OCD, and my childhood trauma that it took me years<br />
<br />
<i>years</i><br />
<br />
to eat cookie dough again.<br />
<br />
My first post-fast spoonful wasn't revelatory. Honestly, its not really memorable at all, except for one brave act of defiance that went with it. As I tasted the raw dough, crunched the chocolate chips between my molars, and savored the texture of the sugar crystals, I turned my thoughts to God and said,<br />
<br />
"I dare you.<br />
Do your worst."<br />
<br />
Then I waited. I watched for signs of epic Salmonella poisoning. When it didn't come, I waited more. For what I wasn't sure. A surprise car crash? Falling down my apartment stairs and dying? The apocalypse I was sure to burn in? I looked over my shoulder for months, fully expecting to find death and misfortune following me. None arrived. Eventually I relaxed into my rebellion and decided I had caught God on a good day and got off lucky.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until a few years later that I was exposed to new language and understandings about God. Through many books and podcasts I listened to, I learned about two different images of the Divine - the Angry God and the Loving God. I recognized Angry God immediately. He was the God of my Cookie Dough Covenant. He was the God who was always watching me, waiting for me to fail. He was the one who made the rules and turned people to salt for not following them. This was the God who destroyed cities, struck people dumb, and sic'ed whales on proud prophets. Quite frankly, I felt like he was outta control and needed to reign it in a bit.<br />
<br />
But I did not recognize Loving God right away. It took me time to understand what unconditional love meant. As hard as I tried, it was impossible for me to see Loving God as male. There was too much trauma for me there. Too many bishops shaming me. Too many men using their priesthood as privilege over me. No, I could not know Love as male.<br />
<br />
I went in search of my Heavenly Mother. I found her in all the unexpected places. I learned to trust her, to see her flavor of love work inside and outside of my heart. I learned to recognize Love everywhere - in the trees, the earth, the birds, people, places, my own reflection. Only after resting in this love for a while could I bridge the gap between Mother and Father and bring them into a loving whole. Unconditional Love is the God who has my heart today.<br />
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My conversion to Love required me to examine every part of my spiritual beliefs. It still does. Being a faithful, active LDS member often brings me to a crossroads of the paths of the Loving and the Angry God. There are a lot of gospel and cultural practices that I question. This causes me great anxiety sometimes because hanging in the balance between eternal life and damnation is not a comfortable place to be. But if I'm completely honest, I do question the necessity and health of some of the "saving" ordinances of my faith. Baptism? The ritual itself is beautiful. The covenant to love God and serve others is about as good as things get where promises are concerned. But is it necessary? Necessary, defined as "needing to be done to be fully accepted by God and have greater access to blessings"? I'm just not sure. As I move down the checklist of ordinances, practices, and experiences I've been taught are expected and necessary, I become even less certain.<br />
<br />
My experience with some of these ordinances and practices have been acutely painful. My endowment was one of the most layered traumatic experiences of my adult life. Wearing the sacred garment causes me to have, at best, heavy and condemning body image shame and at worst, intense and horrific PTSD flashback episodes. Considering these moments in my life, I have to question the validity of claims that these terrifying experiences are "life-saving", let alone life-giving. Surely, surely, a Loving God would not require these things of me. Surely Love exceeds expectation. That is my prayer, anyway.<br />
<br />
When I think of Loving God, I think of looking out at the meeting of sky and sea from La Jolla Beach in San Diego, California. I can't pinpoint exactly where one ends and the other begins because they melt into each other in the middle. Waves roll in from this center and crash on the sand between my toes. "I am bigger than even that," the waves whisper. Love, Love. Peace, Peace. Beneath the surface of stillness is a swirling under toe of compassion and acceptance that begs to sweep away my fear.<br />
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Last week I took a moment to look deeply into my daughter's eyes as she gave me a hug and kiss goodnight. In them I saw glitters and speckles and various shades of green and brown. With all the love in my heart, I said to her, "You have the most beautiful green eyes. They remind me of mountain meadows, where the grass sways gently in the wind and smells sweet in the rain." She smiled at me and said, "I love you, mom." Later, I thought on that moment. It was totally spontaneous and it was made of the purest love I had in me.<br />
<br />
There is not a thing in this world my girl could do that would make me not love her. I've considered as many scenarios as I could think of, checking my love against them to see if it would still hold. I can say with confidence that my love could withstand any of her life's choices. I think God's love is the same. It is a constant presence. Like my friend Rachel wrote recently, "love is what fills my children's snack bags." It does not wait until we do something good to arrive and it doesn't leave when we make a mistake. It fills the snack bags every day, every day, every day.<br />
<br />
I guess the question that's really been on my mind is this:<br />
<br />
Is my God a God of love?<br />
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Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5252785283690920939.post-48589381161198605622019-11-13T19:12:00.000-08:002019-11-13T19:12:08.118-08:00The Radical Love of Christ<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
This post was originally given as a Sacrament Meeting talk in early 2019. I'm sharing it here because 1. I'm very proud of it, and 2. almost a year after writing it, I'm still inspired by it.</div>
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Yes, its true. </div>
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I'm big enough to admit that I'm often inspired by myself. #leslieknope</div>
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Now that you've heard my terrible opening joke, on to the real post! Enjoy.</div>
...<br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-66d16f95-7fff-163f-d30f-1b6b1378839d" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In his October 2018 General Conference address, David A. Bednar teaches “The gospel of Jesus Christ provides the greatest perspective of truth and offers the richest blessings as we heed the admonition of Paul to ‘gather together in one all things in Christ’.”</span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I think of Jesus Christ, many words pop into my mind.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">love</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">service</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">forgiveness</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">example</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But what I would like to share with you today is how my understanding and implementation of Paul’s admonition to “gather together all things into Christ”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is shaped by the Savior’s example of radical love.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What makes the love of Christ so radical? I believe it is because of its unflinching availability to all.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If we look to the scriptures, we will find countless examples to explore.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who did Jesus exclude from his love and forgiveness?</span><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not a blind man,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">not an “unclean” woman with an issue of blood.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">not a Samaritan woman at a well,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">not a tax collector,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">nor the fishermen who became some of his closest friends.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not a woman with a thousand devils,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">not even</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the gentile woman </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">begging for blessing-crumbs for her daughter.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not the Savior’s sleeping companions</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">nor the Roman soldier with a missing ear come to take Him away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not even the fearful denials of a friend.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Christ commands us to both abide in and invite all into the experience of his love and forgiveness because he knows a fundamental truth of the origin of man. The countenance of the Divine is in every one of us.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Author C.S. Lewis wrote, </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship… There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.”</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij7uUJuT2ClXqUduFWW4QRjU4D9laVTLWPHGofcKYTSOmGuLGziUWcROnAiWZhmdccIo398fJvQG-mWsH12j3zAAp1Chp9qf-FgEnkXYEhrcMmn5x9Pf3238Fu_UP5f0G1fzkon8plh-U/s1600/eye-for-ebony-vYpbBtkDhNE-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij7uUJuT2ClXqUduFWW4QRjU4D9laVTLWPHGofcKYTSOmGuLGziUWcROnAiWZhmdccIo398fJvQG-mWsH12j3zAAp1Chp9qf-FgEnkXYEhrcMmn5x9Pf3238Fu_UP5f0G1fzkon8plh-U/s640/eye-for-ebony-vYpbBtkDhNE-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In essence,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">if we want to see the face of God, we need look no further than across our neighborhood streets, no further than the walls of this room. Indeed, look no further than even the faces sitting next to us now. We honor our shared divinity by first honoring it in ourselves. We do this by claiming the radical love of the Savior and the forgiveness from his atonement. We then honor it in others by proclaiming this good news to everyone we meet, much like the woman caught in adultery. For are we all not caught and accused in some way, at one time or another? That is what it means to be mortal. Let us then offer, time and time again, a drawing in the sand and a blessing on all we meet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: 400; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Conversion</span></span></h2>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I speak of “gathering all things one into Christ”, of course I am talking about conversion. But conversion to what?</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jean A. Stevens, a prior first counselor in the Primary General Presidency, teaches “The gospel of Jesus Christ is not a checklist of things to do, rather, it lives in our hearts.”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We become converted not to “read our scriptures, pray, come to church, eat the bread, drink the water.” </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These communions are important, surely, but not </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">because</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> we do them. Conversion is about </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">why</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are not converted to “get baptized, be confirmed, receive the endowment, and be sealed.” </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Again, these ceremonies and the covenants we partake in </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">are</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> important, but it is not because we do them. It is about why. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These practices are empty offerings without our hearts, our mind, might, and soul.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> They are empty without conversion. Not conversion to the events in the Sacred Grove, not to the Plan of Salvation or “forever families.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWccpTqsjNFFrRjsv0G0sZbv8fRKDmV7Lk2uYt0Z4g7YxmBtu3vhTYJA19AEFZGMfIXUDwqlD92-MPOGXhCSCO_jREstnMTNE_EteOhxAfZAYvkaN-EYcGzUO0a6qY-jfLBwMW8MmImN8/s1600/samantha-gades-jh8WipwZKBY-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWccpTqsjNFFrRjsv0G0sZbv8fRKDmV7Lk2uYt0Z4g7YxmBtu3vhTYJA19AEFZGMfIXUDwqlD92-MPOGXhCSCO_jREstnMTNE_EteOhxAfZAYvkaN-EYcGzUO0a6qY-jfLBwMW8MmImN8/s640/samantha-gades-jh8WipwZKBY-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Conversion must be to the source these beautiful practices and beliefs originate from - </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the radical, ceaseless, unconditional love of our Heavenly Parents and their son Jesus Christ, who is one in purpose with them</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Or else our checklists,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">our social media fasts,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">our Book of Mormon challenges</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">are for naught.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Or, as Elder Bednar says, “Only as we gather together all things one into Christ, with firm focus upon Him, can gospel truths... enable us to become what God desires us to become… Our only objectives are to facilitate continuing conversion to the Lord and to love more completely and serve more effectively our brothers and sisters.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<h2 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">Unity</span></h2>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Last year, the Relief Society in my Phoenix ward held a discussion about unity. When asked what unity meant to them, one woman answered, “togetherness”.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the discussion went deeper, our facilitator asked, “How do we develop unity with our ward and our community?”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One woman answered, “We practice unity each time we take the sacrament.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">She continued, saying that the sacrament is a unifying covenant in two ways. It unifies us with the Savior, binding us to him both with our re-birth into the fold bearing his name and with our promise to bear witness of him always. Secondly, it unifies us with our community because it reminds us every week of the promises we made at baptism to mourn with and comfort one another.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Every week we participate in renewing those promises, both to God and to each other.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Ministry</span></h2>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What does it mean to mourn? </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Using the story of God weeping in the story of Enoch, Terryl and Fiona Givens, religion professors and co-authors of the book “The God Who Weeps”, perfectly illustrate what godly mourning looks like.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Enoch asks God... “how is it that thou canst weep?” The answer, it turns out is that God is not exempt from emotional pain… He weeps because He feels compassion. It is not wickedness… but “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">misery</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”, not disobedience, but “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">suffering</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” that elicits the God of Heaven’s tears… There could be nothing... more perfectly good, absolutely beautiful, worthy of adoration, and deserving of emulation than this God of love and kindness and vulnerability.”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Let us not become blind or numb to the pain and suffering of the mortal condition. Let us instead allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to be broken open and therefore become a conduit of divine love.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRS7JsAPhtY981JCsoCDQ8BtedyFhgPK0dte_X0I2rGB8lnr1Tdnpj-801evA3LFbfNJrG3rJGxHGM_GaLQ5m1srGsnqC__AGEJuoq__xDOojKlQzb8jnIOGBicsO2siI1CS_GCyTA9Hk/s1600/annie-spratt-gq5PECP8pHE-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRS7JsAPhtY981JCsoCDQ8BtedyFhgPK0dte_X0I2rGB8lnr1Tdnpj-801evA3LFbfNJrG3rJGxHGM_GaLQ5m1srGsnqC__AGEJuoq__xDOojKlQzb8jnIOGBicsO2siI1CS_GCyTA9Hk/s640/annie-spratt-gq5PECP8pHE-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What does it mean to comfort?</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Comfort is ministry. That is the example Christ gives to us, and I am happy to see an increased focus on ministering both in our wards and our non-member communities.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colossians 3: 12 & 14 provides guidance for the kind of ministering we are called to do. I read it and was struck by the tone of the verses, which strongly reminded me of the wording of scriptures about the armor of God. How would our approach to ministering change if we were to dress ourselves as outlined? “Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering; And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Again, those articles of ministry, if you will, are:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">bowels of mercies - not just a singular mercy, but many -</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">kindness, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">humbleness of mind, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">meekness</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">longsuffering</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and above all else</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">charity, which is</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the pure, radical love of Christ.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unless we are willing </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to succor and serve, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">to comfort and rejoice with, and</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">without condition, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">feed every hungry soul that comes to the table, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">we are proverbial tares,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">not wheat.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4KfF27a1454LqFo0d9_gqUBCy0jiTE_bTSAWGX_6sW-VfoB_eddJZp7m_miaE-3dmjWEK4Wwjcfd3nukkReBRh2l52e7q7Gwlb8St60IEd0qPS9SL94Rur5dtKKXmcnJj1jRmDulBFs/s1600/monika-grabkowska-Ig-aswYWfDM-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4KfF27a1454LqFo0d9_gqUBCy0jiTE_bTSAWGX_6sW-VfoB_eddJZp7m_miaE-3dmjWEK4Wwjcfd3nukkReBRh2l52e7q7Gwlb8St60IEd0qPS9SL94Rur5dtKKXmcnJj1jRmDulBFs/s640/monika-grabkowska-Ig-aswYWfDM-unsplash.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each week the sacrament unites us in the body of Christ.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It should also prick our conscience. Each time we partake, we invite self examination, asking ourselves, </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Am I fulfilling my first estate?”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m gonna be honest with you guys, like 80% of the time, I’m really not doing a great job. ‘Cause people are scary, ya know? And I’m just a little woman staying at home raising her two young kids, no college degree, no fancy letters before or after her name. Just your everyday lady, with a buncha books and houseplants, an OCD diagnosis, and a big heart.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A nobody.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But God begs to differ, so I put on my snow boots and put my big heart on my sleeve and I go out into this big scary world and do exactly what the second sister in my old Relief Society advised:</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Have love and appreciation for our shared sameness.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When we practice opening our eyes and hearts to those around us, we begin to see all we share with those who seem very different to us. When we put aside our judgements, our fears, and our prejudices, we quickly see we are all woven with and by Love itself.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This practice equips us with a great and necessary spiritual gift: meekness, which Elder Bednar defines in separate talk as: “spiritual receptivity to learning from both the Holy Ghost and from people who may seem less capable, experienced, or educated, who may not hold important positions, or who otherwise appear not to have much to contribute.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Blessed are they that obtain it, for they shall inherit the earth.</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Again, those articles of ministry I spoke of earlier:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">bowels of mercies</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">kindness, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">humbleness of mind, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">meekness</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">longsuffering</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and above all else</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">charity</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">remind us</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the only people excluded from the radical love of Christ</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">were those who excluded themselves </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">on matters of pride with stony hearts</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and even still</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">his arms are open to them</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">like they are open to all of us</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">because we are one flock</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">with one shepherd</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">all things gathered into Christ.</span></span></div>
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Channing Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05965065329239916874noreply@blogger.com