"Over the years, the growing consciousness of radical grace has wrought profound changes in my self-awareness. Justification by grace means that I know myself accepted by God as I am. When my heat is enlightened and my heart is pierced by this truth, I can accept myself as I am. Genuine self-acceptance is not derived form the power of positive thinking, mind games, or pop psychology. It is an act of faith in the God of Grace." (Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel, 48-9)

I love Brennan Manning. Other than certain stories in the Bible and of course Jesus Christ, Brennan is the poster boy for grace. He writes paragraphs like this that leave me in awe and wanting that so bad -- to accept myself as I am, right here, right now -- no matter the circumstance.

The problem of perfection is that the right here, right now is not "okay." We can always do more or do it better. Even if we achieve the desired outcome, there is no time wasted before we're on to what is next or cleaning up the next mess or faced with yet another disaster that grips our ever-ready attention.

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As I sat in Ash Wednesday service this evening, it was brought to my attention that there were millions who did the same today.  It moved me to think of the human race all with ashes on their foreheads representing individual and communal lamentation.

I love traditions, especially ones that have been passed down over thousands of years. There is a rich legacy in this day around the world that should not be taken lightly. In the past few years, I have removed myself from the common lenten practices of giving something up, fasting, or taking something on.  For me it became a crutch to my addiction: I must do lent perfectly; if I miss a day or don't do something right, I will fail and disappoint. 

Don't get me wrong, lent is about the discipline of showing up to a practice that is chosen with discernment and contemplation in the Spirit.  But the process that seeped through for me became more about my performance for God than opening myself up to God.

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It is that time again when everyone starts humming NBC's Olympic anthem in their heads (daaa daaa, da da da da da -- that's how the composer writes it, I'm sure).  As I am still shaking the remnants of this cold, I was reminded of a recent blog entry I wrote about competition and the Olympics.  So I wanted to post a link to that blog entry for this week: (click title to be directed there) Why I am not a US Soccer Fan.  Happy Reading and I will be back with a new series on Self-Care very soon!

I have a confession.  I have been in a dysfunctional relationship for the past three and a half years.  It started one afternoon with my heart beating out of control and it has been a love/hate relationship ever since.  When things are in sync life seems bright and possibilities endless.  However, when there are long wrestling matches, I wind up jaded and broken, tired and hurt.  While tackling this relationship the past couple of years, I thought I could make it work. This relationship hasn’t made sense for a long time and it is one I must reconcile because I am not speaking of my marriage or my parents or my best friend, I’m speaking of my health.

2006 was definitely a stressful year: Graduating from grad school, the terrible job search, turning down a job I could see myself loving, but knowing it wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I also started therapy to face my torturous inner voices. And on top of all of that, I came face to face with many family members awful perceptions of me as a former fundamentalist that was once upon a time more interested in the “right” way rather than the loving way.  It was a long year, and in August of that year, my thyroid, which unbeknownst to me had been pissed off for months prior, really let me know how mad it had become one day by speeding my heart rate up to 120 beats per minute (resting).

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It has been a long, wet week in Southern California.  Rain is to L.A. what snow is to Seattle:  Life stops, people stay home, others forget how to drive, and even more of us gather at the windows to watch it fall.  It's pretty funny when I stop to think about it.  In addition to the weather, my husband was traveling for work on the other side of the world (literally), the supreme court made a decision that my PMS decided to take all of my vengeance out on, and Focus on the Family is running a superbowl ad.  Jesus, please come soon...

After I read about Focus on the Family, I put a link on my facebook.  I wrote, "Seriously Focus on the Family? You couldn't find another use for 3 million dollars?????" Which spurred on 30-something long comment chain on my wall.  Unbeknownst to me, a college friend of mine's dad works in the marketing department at Focus on the Family and she had him write to me to set the record straight.  Fine. It's not their money. Donors gave them the money to put an ad in the superbowl.  I still don't think that's a good reason, but I'm waving my flag.  I retreat.  In other news, the supreme courtgave permission for companies to back political candidates.  How quickly we forget how LONG the election of 2008 was, and with this little juncture, it will make elections the most annoying, biased campaigns EVER.   But I'm waiving my white flag here too.

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Well, El Nino has finally come to Southern California.  After months of projections and predictions, the showers started yesterday and promise not to let up for a week. As I sit here and look out my window at my backyard soaking up this downpour, all I see are unfinished projects: a deck not stained, a staircase that needs to be built, a half built chicken coop, and a struggling vegetable garden. It's days like these that I can lay in bed with a cup of tea and say to myself, "Well none of that is getting fixed today."

It's easy for me, a former Pacific Northwesterner, to sit back and enjoy the rain.  It soothes my soul as only few things can. I realize many right now do not feel soothed. My friends who are closely connected to orphanages in Haiti have had sleepless nights and a week of torture waiting by the phone or computer. Not to mention, the people of Haiti and the reality they are living in the images and videos I see on my computer.  I can turn off my computer -- they can't turn off their lives.

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We all have people in the public eye who annoy us.  Close to the top of my list are Heidi Montag, reality TV star, and Pat Robertson, who needs no introduction.  Yesterday both came out with shocking announcements. Montag had 10 plastic surgery procedures in one day at the age of 23. Robertson blamed the earthquake in Haiti on it's people making a deal with the devil. Both appauling stories that made me shake my head in shock, saddness, horror, and grief.

These two have a lot in common: They love the spotlight. People either love them or hate them. They have platforms which to speak to entire cultures of people. They both have been molded by cultural expectations that are unhealthy and lack accountability. Maybe most importantly, they both provide a distraction in a deeply troubling time.

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I grew up before women in ministry were a popular trend. I'm not sure it's taken off quite yet, but it is more "in" now than it was 15 years ago. Sure the pastors' wives were around a bit. I even had coffee with them on occasion, but in terms of teaching, I was not formally taught by women in the church. When I left for college, other than my mother, I did not have a strong feminine mentoring presence in my life.

Halfway through college I discovered Anne Lamott. For maybe the first time in my life I learned what honesty was in the form of her short anecdotal stories. She was humorous, crass, vulnerable, and real. I gobbled up every book of hers on the market and over the past five years have been to every venue she has spoken at in Los Angeles County. 

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I am a sucker for bookstores and libraries. The thought of the amount of ink that has been spilled over the course of centuries excites me.  The thought of a Kindle petrifies me.  I love books.  Each bound page is someone's opus, thesis, or work of art. I sometimes wonder what my life would look like if I just read book after book, only stopping to eat and sleep.  How many could I get through?

My family knows this about me, so every Christmas I come home with another armful of books: Cookbooks, literature, non-fiction.  It's marvelous. Then a funny thing happens. I just let them sit there for weeks on end, scared to bend their crisp covers. They are pretty and untouched. Their mysteries yet to be unfolded. I don't want them to be over with so quickly or to disappoint. Someone's life work gobbled up in a matter of a  month. I want to appreciate it longer. 

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