tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71136691025034910172024-02-07T15:38:32.785-08:00So, um, anyway...Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-84475971824174658192014-09-25T12:25:00.001-07:002014-09-25T12:29:21.003-07:00How The Lord's Prayer Helped Me Have A Baby<div>
Hi friends. My church has been test-driving a new portion of our service known as "Our Stories," similar to "testimony time" in an old timey Baptist church...except without the emotional manipulation and political grandstanding. ;) Just joshin' ya, SBC peeps. Sorta. <i>Anyways...</i></div>
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Here's my story from a recent Sunday service. The text that week was "Moses in the Bulrushes," the story about Moses' mother putting him in a basket in the Nile River to keep him from being killed.</div>
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Hi, I’m Rachel. Our sermon today is about a young woman who did what she had to do to protect her infant son. It’s a good story, but it’s not the one I want to tell. I want to tell you about when I became a mother.<br />
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I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant, and somehow I just knew it was a girl! All I had ever wanted, all I could ever picture myself with was a daughter. I didn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, but deep inside, I knew.<br />
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And then we went for the ultrasound appointment and I really knew. It really was a baby girl! I laughed and cried all at once from the joy. And then in the car on the way home – I was blindsided by terror. Sheer terror. My stomach was hollow and my heart was beating through my chest. My mouth was dry; I didn’t speak. <i>“I have to protect her!”</i> was all I could think. You see, when I was very small, an adult I trusted did something really bad to me. Something that adults should never, ever do to children. This bad thing wasn’t a secret anymore. I had told someone and I let them help me, and I let God help me, and I had found peace and healing. But now, I was feeling that old wound in a completely different way - as a mother. And I was just paralyzed with fear.<br />
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Y’all, I just couldn’t pray. I tried. For so many days, I would start to pray and then my mouth was a desert and my mind was a tornado and my emotions were a thunderstorm. The only thing that seemed to help was The Lord’s Prayer – more specifically, the first line of the prayer. “Our Father, who art in heaven.” I prayed these six words over and over again, all day, every day and especially anytime I felt the panic creeping up. Bedtime was the worst! “Our Father, who art in heaven…our Father, who art in heaven…Our Father, who art in heaven...” And eventually I would sleep. Little by little, as I turned my mind and heart to the Father, the times of peace would last longer, and the times of terror would disappear sooner.<br />
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My daughter is four years old now. I wish I could tell you that I have been a paragon of peace and wisdom ever since those days, but alas…I cannot. I can tell you that I believe God is good, and He loves us. I can tell you that the horrible things that happen to the innocent ones are not from God. I can tell you that I am still a little too anxious and watchful at times, and on the hardest days, the idea of living in one of those walled-in survivalist compounds is oddly appealing. Nevertheless, I have chosen to <i>really live</i> in this world and to allow my daughter to <i>really live</i> in it as well.<br />
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Because if we hide from the brokenness, who wins?<br />
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If we don’t go out and shine our light, then won’t the darkness just get stronger?<br />
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I can’t protect my daughter perfectly. I can’t be everywhere, all the time. My everything may not be enough.<br />
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But as it turns out, my everything is still an awful lot, and I’m not giving up anytime soon.Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-3158471915257830242014-03-28T07:55:00.002-07:002014-03-28T07:56:28.907-07:00What Just Happened?! :: My Impression of the World Vision Fiasco<div>
I can't find a way to make this funny, or poignant, or profound. I can't make a connection or tie a string to bring it all around again. On Monday, I was impressed and hopeful. On Tuesday, I was sad and incredulous. And then Wednesday...I don't even know. It was just so painful.</div>
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All I know to do is tell you how I feel. Some of you won't know what it's like to be in the minority. Some of you won't know what it's like to be LGBT. Or what it's like to follow God down this road instead of that road, and then those who used to look at you that way now look at you this way. You won't know how any of that feels. But I do retain enough faith in humanity to believe that if I talk about how I feel, maybe you will see some of your experience in this small piece of my experience and, <em>my God</em>, maybe you can let yourself be connected to me for a fleeting moment.</div>
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I feel this massive hollowness in my chest -- like you could walk up and knock on my sternum and it would just echo. It's been there since <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2014/03/26/294945076/two-days-later-world-vision-reverses-policy-that-allowed-hiring-of-gays" target="_blank">Wednesday afternoon's news</a>. My eyes are watery, and I catch myself staring off into the distance during normal conversation, my mind a total blank. My sister sent me the kindest text message at 8:23 PM on Wednesday that immediately brought a stream of tears and a labored sigh and my head in my hands as I was reminded that I am still connected to someone. That I am still a person, at least to her.</div>
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I want to say...when you hold thousands of hungry children hostage, I guess anyone of good conscience will give in to you.</div>
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Or I want to say...if you're going to take a stand, then please count the fucking cost before you do it.</div>
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But these statements are not fully authentic. They are honest, but they aren't completely from my integrity. They are also from my hurt and my desire not to feel that hurt. So I'm not going to explore these sentiments; I'm just throwing stuff off and I know I need to stay with my integrity.</div>
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I was reminded by my sister that I am still a person. And immediately this text message called forth another memory, of myself lying on that same sister's couch about a year ago on a too long and too lonely Saturday afternoon when she walked over to me and said, "You look cold," and covered me with a blanket...and how that simple act helped me feel a little less lonely and a little more cared for.<br />
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And then I pondered what type of person would stand and hold her blanket instead of covering someone who is cold...and not even because the cold person is gay, but because the person who supplies the blankets may or may not be gay. Or, may or may not have answered a phone call from someone who may or may not be gay. Or, what-the-hell-ever.<br />
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I've thought about it a lot, and all I can come up with is that this person is afraid. She doesn't want to touch a blanket that a gay person has touched. She doesn't want to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a gay person to care for someone less fortunate because you only stand shoulder-to-shoulder with equals, and well...that would just be sending the wrong message, wouldn't it?<br />
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What she stands against is more important to her than what she stands for. </div>
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Brothers and sisters, I am grieving today. It is my most authentic response to the events of the past week. And if you want to grieve with me, I will hold space for you. And to that fourteen year old kid whose parents had a strained conversation over dinner Monday night about canceling their World Vision sponsorship which suddenly made you lose your appetite because, <em>oh my God, what if they knew about me?</em>, then I want you to know that you are, without a doubt, so beautiful and</div>
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you are fearfully and wonderfully made and</div>
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you are not alone.</div>
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You're not. I am here, and so many others, and we are all on this journey with you. I'm probably going to be sad for a few more days, but I'm going to hang in there. And I want you to hang in there, too.</div>
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Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-53258828217927072972014-03-15T12:37:00.000-07:002014-03-15T12:42:32.847-07:00These Hands<div>
<em>(Hi everyone! This story was initially written back in 2010 when Jelly Bean was an infant. I am sprucing up some old writings, and this here sorta-new blog, as well as a couple ETA TBD blog posts. I get to hear so many wonderful stories and reflections from people's lives, and I share my own with my own friends...and I'm to the point now where I really believe that this is </em>the<em> sure fire way to connect with and learn from each other. Like, 200 proof. That level of sure fire. So, I share the thoughts below in hopes that some other parental types out there are encouraged in this marathon we are running.)</em></div>
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When I was a little girl I would lay my head on my mother's lap while we watched the evening news and she would comb her fingers through my hair. I reveled in these moments, soaking in her attention, and often I would find myself studying her hands. I noticed how soft they were, and that her fingernails were always so well manicured, and I liked to twist her wedding ring around on her finger as my little mind worked hard to make sense of the world.</div>
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For a tiny dose of perspective, my mother was younger at that time, when she had four daughters in elementary school, than I am now with my first baby girl. My mother's 30 year old hands symbolized nurture and kindness to me. And they symbolized adult-ness. Adults can't be kids anymore; they have to keep their act together and know about the world and have answers for kids' questions, etc. Children expect a lot from their parents, and the great irony is that they don't realize this until they are parents themselves.<br />
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Sometimes when I am nursing Jelly Bean, she does this thing where she delicately lays her little hand on her cheekbone, or over her eyes. Her perfect little hand, that is barely big enough yet to completely cover her temple. And when she lays her hand just so, it's more than I can bear. It just devastates me. And so, I cover her hand with my own and pray with all of my wrenching heart that I can protect her and guide her and <em>love her the way she needs</em>. <br />
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So, I am conflicted. Half of the time I want to be her adventurous/unpredictable Tour Guide For Life, a la Willy Wonka. And the other half of the time I just want to hold her close to my chest and stay inside the house and scream out the front door, "You can all just stay away! Nobody here has anything for you, and definitely nobody will ever be interested in leaving to adventure into the broken world which you operate and which you continue to make worse, <span data-mce-style="text-decoration: underline;" style="text-decoration: underline;"><em>byyyy theeee waaaayyyy!!!</em></span>"</div>
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Okay, that's a lot to scream. And the sweet retired ladies who live across the street are probably the only ones who would hear me and I don't think they're making anything worse. They mostly just work in their flower gardens and make small talk with me and each other during the languid summer evenings. So, anyway...<br />
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I do realize that if we do our job, Jelly Bean will actually someday leave for her Big Adventure and we will not be invited. I will not be invited. And then probably years later on a regular day she will look down, as I have, unsuspecting, and realize, <em>These hands look just like my mother's.</em></div>
Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-77030190498434586642014-03-05T08:54:00.000-08:002014-03-05T09:01:17.587-08:00Ash Wednesday Meditation (15 minutes)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As a musician, I express myself most readily with music. I also <em>meditate</em> most readily with some sort of music involved. So I put this brief meditation together for myself and I offer it to you as well. Songs include "God Have Mercy (Kyrie Eleison)" by the David Crowder Band, "Lord, Have Mercy" by Michael W. Smith, and "Come Healing" by Leonard Cohen. Listen to each song while you meditate on the readings below the video link.</div>
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Cohen's voice is a strong one and may be a little off-putting for some of y'all, but it's honestly one of my favorites for it's richness and complexity. Hang in there with us, if you can. </div>
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I love the heck out of y'all. </div>
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"For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing." Romans 7:18-19<br />
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"For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust." Psalm 103:14<br />
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"Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God,</div>
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The God of my salvation,</div>
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And my tongue shall sing aloud of your righteousness.</div>
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O Lord, open my lips,</div>
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And my mouth shall show forth your praise.</div>
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For you do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it;</div>
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You do not delight in burnt offering.</div>
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The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,</div>
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A broken and a contrite heart --</div>
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These, O God, you will not despise." Psalm 51:14-17 NKJV</div>
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The definition of contrite is "feeling or expressing remorse or penitence; affected by guilt." <br />
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Synonyms include remorseful, repentant, penitent, regretful, sorry, apologetic, rueful, sheepish, hangdog, ashamed, shamefaced, and conscience-stricken.<br />
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"Come Healing" by Leonard Cohen</div>
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O gather up the brokenness<br />
And bring it to me now<br />
The fragrance of those promises<br />
You never dared to vow<br />
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The splinters that you carry<br />
The cross you left behind<br />
Come healing of the body<br />
Come healing of the mind<br />
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And let the heavens hear it<br />
The penitential hymn<br />
Come healing of the spirit<br />
Come healing of the limb<br />
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Behold the gates of mercy<br />
In arbitrary space<br />
And none of us deserving<br />
The cruelty or the grace<br />
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O solitude of longing<br />
Where love has been confined<br />
Come healing of the body<br />
Come healing of the mind<br />
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O see the darkness yielding<br />
That tore the light apart<br />
Come healing of the reason<br />
Come healing of the heart<br />
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O troubled dust concealing<br />
An undivided love<br />
The Heart beneath is teaching<br />
To the broken Heart above<br />
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O let the heavens falter<br />
And let the earth proclaim:<br />
Come healing of the Altar<br />
Come healing of the Name<br />
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O longing of the branches<br />
To lift the little bud<br />
O longing of the arteries<br />
To purify the blood<br />
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And let the heavens hear it<br />
The penitential hymn<br />
Come healing of the spirit<br />
Come healing of the limb<br />
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O let the heavens hear it<br />
The penitential hymn<br />
Come healing of the spirit<br />
Come healing of the limb <br />
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Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-35446251847705057562014-03-02T08:07:00.001-08:002014-03-02T08:10:39.865-08:00"I Would Never Do Anything to Hurt You," and Other Lies<div>
<em>(Originally composed on April 23, 2010, when Jelly Bean was two months old. Edited to share here.)</em></div>
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"I would <em>never</em> do anything to hurt you."<br />
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I've said it before. I think maybe I said it a couple weeks ago to Jelly Bean, our infant daughter, in one of the several outpourings of maternal emotion I've been experiencing since she turned our lives upside down two months ago. I didn't mean to lie. Really, I didn't. But today I realized that's exactly what I had done.<br />
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You see, she had her first round of vaccinations today. If she weren't still happily oblivious to much of what we call reality, she'd be one confused baby girl. As it is, she has spent 90% of the day since we got home in bed and the remaining 10% in my arms, looking into my eyes and - no other word describes it - whimpering. Thank God for baby Tylenol. Seriously. Or I'd be a basket case.<br />
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And while I was holding her, looking into her eyes as she looked into mine, I realized that I can't explain this to her in a way that she'll understand. I mean, I still tried.</div>
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"Honey, I know those shots hurt really bad when you got them, and you're probably still very sore. But they are good for you and they'll keep you from getting sick." She just stared; all she knows right now is the hurt. All she knows is that she was laid out on that hospital table, and that lady with the cold hands grabbed her leg, and did <em>something</em>...and after two breathless seconds (because her Mama felt it, too), she cried like she's never cried before. And immediately her mother, the one who had delivered her to this small room for this maltreatment, scooped her up and cried with her.<br />
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Some things have happened to me, and maybe to you too, that have hurt. It hurt so badly and happened so quickly and was so unlike anything I had ever experienced that I was shocked into this outraged sadness. I wanted answers. I wanted to under<em>stand</em>. And I wanted to understand so that I could see it coming next time, damn it. </div>
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But that's a lie, the belief that it'll hurt less if I worry or strategize. Ask someone. Even when you see it coming, it still hurts like hell.<br />
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And when my Father scooped me up and held me close as I raged about the pain, He didn't say anything. Or at least, that's how it seemed. (I wonder...what if He did try to explain, and I couldn't understand?)<br />
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He is timeless; I am bound to time.</div>
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He is Creator; I am the created.</div>
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He holds the universe in his hands; sometimes I can't even make a decent marinara.<br />
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So. I tried to explain to my girl what had happened. She whimpered in response, and then nuzzled her face into the crook of my arm as she fell asleep.<br />
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"O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty;<br />
Nor do I involve myself in great matters,<br />
Or in things too difficult for me.<br />
Surely I have composed and quieted my soul;<br />
Like a weaned child rests against his mother,<br />
My soul is like a weaned child within me.<br />
O Israel, hope in the LORD from this time forth and forever."<br />
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Psalm 131<br />
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Oh for faith, to trust Him more.</div>
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Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-75779893643456112892013-12-27T11:27:00.000-08:002013-12-27T11:27:37.588-08:00Is Love Enough? :: Advent ThoughtsSo it's a couple days after Christmas, and I started this blog post about love a few weeks ago, but then got distracted by life. Please forgive the late posting, but these are still some thoughts that I want to share...<br />
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We are a culture of dichotomy, of either/or. We love a good, strategically placed "but." (Yeah, that made me giggle, too.) Often I will hear people say things like, "I want my kids to know that I love them, BUT they also need discipline." Or, "I believe that God loves everyone, BUT you reap what you sow."<br />
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Now, this is difficult, right? Because, the BIBLE. The Bible is so darn confusing about these things. Because it says both! And, in addition to the "you reap what you sow" stuff, it also says, "God allows rain to fall on the just and the unjust." So, which is it? Do we get what we deserve? Or is it all just random and willy nilly and out of our hands completely?<br />
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Father in heaven, our dichotomous, Western, scientifically-minded, masculinity-obsessed culture wants to know -- Is it this one OR that one?<br />
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Which is why there are approximately two bazillion Christian denominations -- and why I get almost PTSD level nervous when someone starts a sentence with, "Well, the Bible clearly says..." Uh oh.<br />
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But you know, others have written extensively about this topic (Biblical interpretation, namely) and so if you want to read more about it, let me know and I'll send you a short list of books/blogs that I like. Bottom line for me right now is this: The Bible contains all sorts of things, and if I'm gonna stake my life on it, then I'm gonna stick with the major stuff and let other (more conscientious and intelligent) people duke it out over the details.<br />
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My major thing right now? God is crazy about me, the way I'm crazy and misty-eyed and speechless when my three year old daughter walks over, puts her hand on my knee, and says, "Mama, I want to tell you a secret..." and then she leans in and says, "I love you so much."<br />
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He gets so much JOY from me, the way I get joy from her rendition of Silent Night. "Si-lent night, qui-et night / All is palm, all is quite / Round yon bir-gen, mudder and child / Holy infant, so pen-der and wild..." And so on. Apparently, if she doesn't know the word, she'll just sing whatever she hears. Virgin becomes bir-gen, and so forth.<br />
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He is present with me, the way I am present with her when she says, "I wasn't lying to you. I was just saying those words." I know the potential of her good <i>and bad</i> actions even better than she does right now. I feel the weight of that; I believe He does, too. Do I shame her when she messes up? Do I withdraw from her in cold disappointment? By God's grace, I do not and will not. Even though it's tough (excruciating at times), I stay connected to her eyes and to her heart, and we co-labor over these problems.<br />
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And as far as I can tell, that is the work of the Incarnation -- connection and interaction in the midst of stink and mess and, even, glory.<br />
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May 2014 be a year of Incarnational Joy for you and your loved ones.Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-11215715241653734962013-12-03T09:41:00.003-08:002013-12-03T09:41:51.651-08:00"Hope is not a plan" :: Advent, Week OneAt <a href="http://argentapres.org/" target="_blank">church</a> on Sunday, my pastor gave an excellent sermon on hope. She confessed her interest in crime TV shows (holla!), and gave an excellent quote from one of these shows, in which Hetty Lang of NCIS Los Angeles tells one of her subordinates, "Hope is not a plan, Mr. Callan."<br />
<br />
I started getting worried at this point in the sermon. I thought, <i>Oh no, she's going to start talking about how we need to plan to work harder at life / spirituality / relationships. I don't think I can take one more person telling me that my life isn't working because I'm not doing enough.</i><br />
<br />
But. I should not have doubted her so.<br />
<br />
She went the total opposite direction. She admitted that, yes, hope is not a plan. But she also stated the obvious truth that any person who has spent any time on the planet knows - which is, that even the best-laid plans often fail. The Scriptures are clear about this (Matt. 5:45, Job 2:10, and the <i>entire</i> book of Ecclesiastes), which is part of why I am so baffled by believers who present their sermons and their lives to us as a sort of how-to-live-and-be-awesome guidebook.<br />
<br />
Larry Crabb says it so well in his book <i>Soul Talk</i>, when he says that many people have unwittingly adopted a formulaic view of their spirituality. The formula is basically:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I live a good life + God honors my actions = My life goes reasonably well</div>
<br />
How many sermons have I heard that advocate this formula? How many have you heard? I've heard approximately one shitload. And I was nineteen years old (actually, six years old...but my powers of denial are pretty formidable) the first time I doubted this formula. Because you know what happened? The unexpected. The unexpected happened, and it knocked the air right out of me, and my prayers during this time were mostly along the lines of, "Ooouuuuccchhh...." Then again in my mid-20s, and again a couple years ago.<br />
<br />
But I gotta tell you, I <i>am</i> getting better at something. I'm getting better at opening my hands - or at least, if I can't do that, of loosening my grip. (Notice I did not say that I'm getting better at expecting the unexpected. This is another mutant form of planning that invokes anxiety, i.e. fear, and I don't want any part of it.) And what helps me let go, even if it's just an itty bitty bit? It's knowing who's got my back, and knowing that he is GOOD.<br />
<br />
Because when the proverbial shit hits the metaphorical fan of life, what is there to do? You roll with the punches. Well, first off, you duck. Because, ew. And then you roll with the punches. You find moments of stillness, and pockets of joy, and you pray one of the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Help-Thanks-Wow-Essential-Prayers/dp/1469252171" target="_blank">three essential prayers</a>, "Help."<br />
<br />
And you know that it's not over. Things are still happening, and there is still breath in your lungs, and you are going to be okay.<br />
<br />
Yes, hope is not a plan. Thank goodness.<br />
<br />Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-34145818150780815732013-06-12T15:04:00.002-07:002013-06-12T15:07:04.143-07:00Sit Still<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It was a perfect day. Sunny and warm, and I will always remember that specific shade of buttery, cheerful yellow on the daffodils in the banquet room. There were about a hundred people there for dinner; I will always remember the mirth and joy I felt having everyone together in that one room. I felt beautiful, and I thought he was so, so handsome. After dinner, we told everyone why they were really there by executing probably the best practical joke I’ve ever formulated. They thought it was the rehearsal dinner, and even though none of them were really “in the wedding,” we still got them to show up. As a good friend said afterwards, “I was at a rehearsal dinner, and a wedding broke out!” Yes, we had a surprise wedding. It really was great fun.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I changed into my dress and walked the aisle. I felt beautiful, and I thought he was so handsome. (I will always remember that.) I cried during my vows. “You may kiss the bride.” And then he turned to the audience and pumped his fist in the air. They laughed. And I laughed. I threw my head back and laughed. </span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One month shy of six years later, and it is a dramatically different scene. <em>“Oh my God. Oh, Jesus. Oh my God, what am I going to do?”</em> Screaming and sobbing into my pillow so I wouldn’t wake the baby, and he is on his knees beside the bed with his head in his hands. My sobs pour out of me in a constant stream of waves and convulsions; his sound like choking, stops and starts and stops and starts. It feels like time is frozen, but simultaneously somehow, unraveling all around us.</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He eventually stands up. I look at his face and instead of a person, I see a pile of rubble. I study my hands, which are shaking and numb and ghostly white. I look back to him, blink, and say calmly, “I’m in shock.”</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It is terrifying and wondrous how one moment can so dramatically change reality. How fragile reality is.</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">By some absolute miracle, the sun rose the next day. Every moment was tenuous that day and for days afterwards. Weeks, really. I had no idea what to do next, and so I waited. There were two things I knew to guard: my daughter, and my self-respect. Because anyone who has been through this will tell you that you cling to your self-respect like a lifeline, when so many people seem to have a different opinion about what you should do and they bring their own fears and junk into the middle of your situation as if you don’t already have a shitload of your own, thank-you-so-very-much. So you push these things aside and you just look into your own eyes. And when my self-respect (or conscience, or holy spirit, or what-have-you) said, “It’s time,” I knew it was time. And so I went through the big D and I don’t mean Dallas. And let me tell you that it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> something you travel through. Not to. Not around. You go <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">through</i> a divorce.</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And then it was time to survey the damage. Except, here’s the thing. I am a woman of action. I’m not super interested in details; I’m not good at puzzles. If it takes too long, it simply loses my interest and I set it aside for something new. My shattered heart – this was the jagged puzzle to end all puzzles, and so probably the best way to describe what I did with it…I kind of swept it up into one big, moderately tidy pile. Sometimes I would sit and look at it, and sigh, overwhelmed and at a total loss as to what to do with it. Then, as is my way, I found something else to do. This new thing had been a long time in coming, and as such, it will always remain and yield good dividends. This is grace; this is God working good in the midst of my (our) imperfect world. But when I do something, I do it. And man, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> this new thing. I jumped in with both feet. I went all in. And running full blast, I stumbled over that rubble. Smack! I fell down hard, right in the middle of that shattered mess that I had swept up just months before.</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And guess what? I was already pretty banged up before this whole thing started, and as we all know, when you fall and you’re already injured – it hurts worse. It hurts like a mo’ fo’. It can make your head spin. So I think it’s best to just sit still for a minute. I’m going to be kind to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>, and absorb the calmness that I myself can create. If you want to sit down with me; or if you have stumbled as well and you find yourself on the ground, and you want to resist the urge to stand in your mess and prance around flapping your arms and wringing your hands and pretending that it’s not a mess; if you want to be still and authentic and courageously, if haltingly, vulnerable…then we will have something in common. We can survey the mess, and we can sort through it for the valuables. Maybe I will cry, or you will. We will definitely laugh. And I will practice letting go – letting me be me, and letting you be you. I will practice taking this world as it is, and not as I want it to be…or that’s how it goes anyway, I think.</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So, here are some questions…</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In your life, what part of the healing process is passive? And what part is active? How do you participate in your healing, and how do you find yourself just receiving?</span></strong></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I sincerely value your insights.</span></div>
<div class="yiv182035405msonormal" style="margin: auto 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">----------------</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Wild Geese</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">by Mary Oliver</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You do not have to be good.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You do not have to walk on your knees</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">for a hundred miles through the desert,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">repenting.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You only have to let the soft animal of your body</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">love what it loves.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Meanwhile the world goes on.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">are moving across the landscapes,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">over the prairies and the deep trees,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the mountains and the rivers.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">are heading home again.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the world offers itself to your imagination,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">over and over announcing your place</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">in the family of things.</span></div>
Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-25224513036759856312012-11-26T10:58:00.000-08:002012-11-26T10:58:21.485-08:00One Year Ago TodayDo you ever ask yourself this question?<br />
<br />
"Where was I one year ago today?" What was my life like? What has changed since then?<br />
<br />
Well, today -- my answer to that question is, "Pretty much everything." A dear friend told me last week that she sees that this season of my life is one of the most freeing seasons, while simultaneously being somewhat restricting. And she is right. I'm wincing at the truth of that statement.<br />
<br />
But the hope and joy is that the freedom is Permanent, and the restriction is Temporary. I'm smiling at that truth.<br />
<br />
In related news, I will walk across a stage on December 15th to receive my Master of Science degree in Marriage and Family Therapy. I may dance, actually, or do a cartwheel. Much energy and emotion has gone into the earning of this degree for me. I found out I was pregnant with my daughter just two weeks into starting my first term. I remember traveling to Ft. Smith, AR, for a Tuesday-Thursday class on pathology, and how it's hot as Hell (yes, the literal Hell) in Ft. Smith in the summer, and how I had morning sickness except it was all day sickness, and how I usually stayed in a hotel room for those two intervening nights so I didn't have to drive round trip on Tuesday and Thursday...I spent a lot of time alone that summer. I was pretty lonely. But I was hopeful about the two things I was birthing -- a baby human, and a graduate degree.<br />
<br />
The baby human is now a two year old human (three in February) who looked at me this weekend and said, "No! <i>YOU </i>do what <i>I</i> say!" But earlier that day, when she was sitting next to me on the couch, she put her hand on my cheek and said, "I love my Mommy." So she's still figuring some things out, and I can be patient with that.<br />
<br />
The graduate degree, and the energy I put into earning it, has pretty much caused the most accelerated season of evolution I have experienced in my life since college. But there's one glaring difference. When I was in college, I still - for the most part - saw God as someone who loved me because He had to. He's infinite, and He's perfect, and so out of his infinite patience and perfection He can somehow muster up enough will to endure my endless screw ups. He was The God of The Perpetual Eye Rolls. If you asked me if I believed God loved me, my gut-level honest answer would have been, "Well, yeah. He's God and He loves everyone. But really, this is just a silly, simplistic grade school platitude, and I get it, and so now I am more concerned with how to be a Really Serious Christian."<br />
<br />
Zoom forward three years, and my Really Serious Christianity had turned out not to be the bargain that I had expected. I was supposed to keep my nose clean, and God was supposed to keep my life in order. When my parents divorced and my life became a tornado of pain and shame, I realized that somewhere along the way I had been sold a bill of goods. This is not an uncommon experience. Churches often employ formulas to inspire allegiance in their followers. "If you do right by God, then He'll do right by you!" As if any, ANY of my blessings originate with me in any way...! (They don't.) I started reading Brennan Manning, and Anne Lamott, and Annie Dillard, and Henri Nouwen...and I relaxed a little bit.<br />
<br />
Now zoom forward ten more years, and I realize that I let God off the hook back then - but I didn't let myself off the hook. My self-reliance, my determination to Make It Happen...my impulse to grab you by the wrist and say, "Hey! Come on! We're gonna do this," was still firmly intact. And while this instinct is not entirely bad, it has often led me to some very lonely places. And, UGH. I'm sick to death of being lonely. I can't completely control whether I'm alone; I know this. But I do have some say into whether I'm lonely or not. And so, I'm releasing your wrist and I'm opening both hands and I'm just waiting to see what - or whom - will fall into them. And, conversely, who will fall out. That part is not easy for this lady who has spent much of her life defined by her relationships. That one's a bitch, isn't it? I was defined by my relationships, but I was still lonely much of the time. And that's the price I paid for trying to<i> </i>Make It Happen -- which is to say, it was never completely up to me.<br />
<br />
But as I let go in this way, and as I give others the right to choose me, or not...I am joyfully aware of a community of grace-filled and wisdom-saturated individuals with whom I can laugh and cry and marvel at the vast, vast goodness of our God.<br />
<br />
And it is good.Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-41218451480341591872012-10-16T14:05:00.003-07:002012-10-16T14:05:55.316-07:00RestWe labor at the beginning, to enter. And we labor to leave. And, yes, we really, really labor in between.<br />
<br />
She labored. No one would question that. As me, sometimes her labor was noble, sometimes ignoble. The noble does not perfect her anymore than the ignoble dooms her. This...this essential reality of our brokenness...is what I was struck by today.<br />
<br />
I told her some things. Things that will remain between the two of us. And I remembered a picture of heaven that was recently painted so beautifully for me -- heaven as a grand and continuously redemptive round of storytelling. Stories woven as tapestries as we, God's children, labor at long last for something entirely and purely good. We will labor there to understand God's heart sometimes whispered and sometimes shouted between the lines of pain and joy and heartbreak and victory. We will do this for ourselves, and for each other, and with our Father always listening. He will weep with us, and rage with us, and rejoice with us. And it will be good.<br />
<br />
We will labor, and we will finally reach the end of our labors, and we will rest. And that's the last thing I said to the frail and striking beauty today.<br />
<br />
"Please get some rest."Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-59951083618071888762012-09-20T14:25:00.003-07:002012-09-21T11:30:19.435-07:00A Table Before Me"Evil cannot create anything."<br />
<br />
This was one of approximately three hundred billion mind-blowing statements Dr. Dan Allender made at <a href="http://theallendercenter.org/" target="_blank">The Story Workshop</a>, which I attended in Seattle last month. If you know anything about Dr. Allender (or Dan, as I call him now because we are totally BFFs...sort of), you know that this is just how the guy talks. I struggled to keep up with the sheer volume and speed of beautiful truth that poured, not only from Dan, but from every part of my experience that week. <br />
<br />
I am sure that I will, at least over the next several weeks, reference this conference quite a bit. It was and continues to be pretty life altering. But I'm going to heed some wise counsel and take it in small bites (<i>not</i> my usual M.O.) and slow down and really ruminate. (I'm being so zen right now...)<br />
<br />
So, anyway. About this statement -- evil cannot create anything.<br />
<br />
God is the Original Creator. Whatever you believe about creation (and believe me, we'll come back to this one someday *big sigh*), if you are a Christian, then you believe that God started...whatever it was He started. So, He's the Creator, and evil does not share this power.<br />
<br />
I love this because it com<em>plete</em>ly realigns what I believe to be some pretty unbalanced teaching in the evangelical church about Satan or the Devil or the Enemy or the Boogey Man. Here's what evil can do...<br />
<br />
Kill.<br />
<br />
Steal.<br />
<br />
Destroy.<br />
<br />
Confuse.<br />
<br />
Cloud.<br />
<br />
Devour.<br />
<br />
Certainly this is a power that is to be reckoned with and not minimized. But, really...in the face of God's ability to<br />
<br />
Create,<br />
<br />
Bring Life,<br />
<br />
Resurrect,<br />
<br />
Regenerate,<br />
<br />
and just generally<br />
<br />
Turn On the Lights...<br />
<br />
Who will win? Where evil seeks to bring chaos, it has to work with what is already there. And the kicker for us is that, at least for now, when evil wants to screw with my life it doesn't need my permission. The current state of matters is such that I can do everything I reasonably know to do to bring about goodness in my world, and evil can still mess with me. This happens because there are other people in my life who have choices of their own to make, and because there is this random and diffuse force of disease and decay that is impossible to resist. It affects the entire planet. (For a more extensive discussion of this topic, I recommend <i>Why Sin Matters</i> by Mark McMinn.)<br />
<br />
What do we say, then, in the face of such singular focus on destruction? Well, I don't know what you say. But I say these things, and others.<br />
<br />
"I have streams in the desert."<br />
<br />
"I am perplexed, but not in despair."<br />
<br />
"I am struck down, <i>but not destroyed.</i>"<br />
<br />
"He prepares A Table Before Me in the presence of my enemies."<br />
<br />
I am not destroyed. And I'll do ya one better...I have abundance. Evil came at me, and perplexed me, and knocked me down. But now? <br />
<br />
My material needs are met, and then some. My relational needs are met, with love to spare. My vocation is richly rewarding. I have moments of pure golden light in which all I can manage to say is, "Where did this <em>come</em> from?"<br />
<br />
And that, my friends, is because only God can make something from nothing. Only God can bring kindness and grace and beauty, where before there was only pain and...inevitability. I was sure the pain would cause me to perish. But it did not. And almost all of the time now, I know it will not.Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113669102503491017.post-34456333161211481212012-09-09T20:06:00.000-07:002012-09-09T20:06:36.047-07:00So, um, anyway...Life is kind of shit right now, in some ways.<br />
<br />
But in other ways, it completely absolutely amazingly is not shit. It is golden.<br />
<br />
And I think this is where we live most of the time -- some horrible stuff, some fabulous stuff, and a whole bunch of it-depends-on-when-you-ask-me stuff.<br />
<br />
So, here's the snapshot. I'm a 34 year old mother who is about to finish grad school and kick off what promises to be a grand and thrilling (or, possibly, unassuming and richly rewarding) career helping people. I believe a lot of things, and a lot of these change regularly, and that's kind of a kick for me so I'm gonna keep doing it. But. Big but. (I like big buts...sorry.) BUT...there are a few beliefs that absolutely do not change in my life. They are my moorings and my sails and my sunset. In no particular order, they are as follows:<br />
<br />
1. Jesus loves me.<br />
<br />
2. My daughter is the most magnificent person with whom I have ever, or will ever, have the honor to be associated.<br />
<br />
3. Knowing someone and being known by someone and knowing myself in a new way because of someone -- all together -- these experiences are perhaps the closest to heaven we'll get this side of...well, you know.<br />
<br />
4. Jesus loves everyone. <i>Ev</i>eryone.<br />
<br />
5. I often cheat myself and others out of the full experience of any of these truths.<br />
<br />
6. I'm working on that.<br />
<br />
Also, I'm kind of into ideas. That doesn't really make the list because it's kind of just this random thing, but I can't get over it, and I can't get over it when people like to talk about ideas with me. So here's another list, and this time, a short (and by no means comprehensive) list of ideas I'll be discussing:<br />
<br />
1. Sexuality, gender, gender roles, et al.<br />
<br />
2. Spirituality.<br />
<br />
3. Stories.<br />
<br />
4. Tragedy and comedy as life themes.<br />
<br />
5. Politics. Ugh. Maybe...it's just such an intriguing system. TBD on that one.<br />
<br />
6. Dichotomy and dissonance in general.<br />
<br />
Oh, and I'm not sure when I'll start. I graduate in December, after all, and so life is kind of nutso right now. But I thought it'd be nice to go ahead and set this place up while the juices are flowing (see also: toddler in bed and I've gotten a decent amount of rest the last couple days so I am not also sacked out), just in case I want to wander back and get the party started.Rachel Pinto, MS, LAChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05755026527380715361noreply@blogger.com3