Archives for category: spirituality

I am short, chunky, very middle-aged with a buzz cut and old lady glasses.

Not your average bikini contestant.

When I say that I believe that God wanted me to join a bikini contest…well, you will add “crazy!”

And it was a little crazy.  I kinda obsessed over the whole thing.  I am not a fan of body image contests in general and was really not enthusiastic about displaying my own.

Once I secured entry into the contest, I thought–best diet ever?!?

But God pointed out that desperately altering my body image for a contest I was not sold on was defeating the purpose.

So, no diet.  He was aiming for a display of my inner beauty. Typical of Him.

I worried about my motif–my theme, if you will.  If you join a bikini contest to display inner beauty, what does that look like?

I started by realizing that the people I would have invited to a bikini contest would all be memorable for their personality–Harriet Tubman, Einstein, Father Brown, some ladies from my water aerobics class..skinny dude sporting a speedo on his SUP with his retriever…Leslie Jones…

Oldies, fatties, and oddballs would all be welcomed–because I am all three.

I had several themes I adopted to anchor me in all of this.  “My bikini contest” was a theme, and that was the chrysalis for a second theme–

Be memorable.

We spend so much of our lives worrying about the size of our asses.  What does the world look like when we worry instead about the shape of our immortal selves?

We don’t talk about our immortality that much. What if we did?  What if we obsessed about who we will be?

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i tell them it is a Lenten fast

(Not a broken heart)

Then eat furtive bits of things

Stale cookie crumbs, scavenged pecans, half-eaten

Fruit

I miss peanut butter sandwiches

Toast 

The feeling of sitting down to a

Proper meal

Love this feast

Set a proper table 

Glimpse the King

Returned whole 

To find his furtive 

bride

combat boots hidden beneath

A garage sale dress

All things made new 

These are just words
I use to paint my grief
The regret of being
The source of loss
My children endure
And in their DNA I see
All that is good in you and me
Our proud and ridiculous progenitors
Alcoholics, madmen, and Pocohontas
Cannot save me
From the flaws and wrinkles
Of plot
A God who will not be put in a box
Takes the only picture
That matters

behold

We should all know where we are headed.

John and Hank Green have vlogged rather hilariously about google searches related to sexual identity.

Apparently we all wanna know who and sometimes what is gay.

And this curiosity extends to historical figures.

We know Alan Turing was gay and Oscar Wilde was gay. We know Socrates was gay, and Leonardo and Michelangelo get tossed in the mix.

Recently I found out that Handel guarded his love life pretty fiercely, which has led to speculation…

I will be honest, I don’t care.

What many of these men have proven is that our sexual preference is not really the paramount concern.

The paramount concern is–how well do you know Jesus?

Don’t let people keep you away. Run to him. He loves us all.

Dearly.

I read a heartbreaking story tonight about a 3 year old girl who died from injuries sustained by a fallen dresser.

I cried.

But because I was insomnia reading I also got to thinking…

Yes. Securing furniture is a good idea. Heavy objects are dangerous for toddlers.

And it would be a screaming nightmare to lose a baby like that.

Before I found out my children had been abused by their adopted brother my public quest was to educate against back-overs and other preventable deaths.

And for the first month after I found out about the abuse I grieved in shock and thanked God constantly that they were alive.

I know too many sexual abuse victims who were not so “lucky.” They were murdered by their abusers or committed suicide after years of isolation and loss.

I used to pray for all those victims, now I know them:

The rape victims who never shared their stories.

I know why now.

I bet you do too.

No one shares my blogs. And I am ok with that now.

Unfortunately so are all the predators.

Because it takes more than a 5 dollar kit from the store to stop a child molester. It takes our voices. It takes our fearless voices.