Relationships

"Celibate Sex" is Now Available!

Abbie Smith — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 06:35:44 -0800

Check-out www.unsteadysaint.com for the scoop!

NEW BOOK

Abbie Smith — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 05:55:52 -0800

Pardon the blogging delay people.

I've been working hard to get a new website and book project released to you by February 13th. Yes, the day before February 14th. Yes, the day before the day better (or worse) known as Valentine's Day.

The book is about many things, some of which include sexuality, beauty, loneliness, hope, singleness, lust and Love.

Keep your eye-out - we're close!

Really. Well. Thank You. Really.

Derek Webster — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 12:50:39 -0800

I love sarcasm. I'm practically a "Daily Show"-o-phile. That's the show where nearly every word that drips from John Stewarts mouth is laden with subtext. I used to watch SNL when David Spade was on there. The Hollywood Minute killed.

But a few years back, my friend was deeply convicted that his sarcasm was getting in the way. He asked me (as a show of solidarity) to kindly consider not using sarcasm when I was around him - it would be too tempting to join in. Over the last several years, I've come to see what my friends sees: sarcasm does more damage than you think. Here are 5 reasons why:

1. Sarcasm makes you look snarky.

I used to think it made others seem smart. Witty, even. A well-placed sarcastic comment can bring the house down, leaving someone else looking idiotic.

Which is why you actually look snarky and not smart.

Sarcasm is all about making you appear smart and someone else appear dumb. You wind up becoming a smart ass...which invariably leads you to a place where others drop the "smart" but keep the "ass" as they think of you.

2. Sarcasm ultimately undermines your credibility.

Peter and the Wolf was all about attention getting while undermining credibility. Sarcasm leaves the listener wondering if what they are telling you is actually sarcastic, but they aren't seeing it. Try being sarcastic and then offering someone (anyone really) a genuine complement. They'll look at you as if they aren't quite sure what you mean. Is that a sarcastic compliment (which is the opposite of complimentary) or a genuine compliment? If you're not consistently genuine, then people won't be able to tell.

3. Sarcasm saps naiivitee.

Sarcasm is the post-modern's answer to modernities optimism. We're cynical. We've seen it all. We've got it on YouTube to prove it. So a naiive answer or perspective turns jaded. Everything has subtext. Nothing is as it appears. Everyone is suspicious.

But let's face it, naiivitee is under-rated. There are many things I know now I wish I didn't.

4. Sarcasm undermines community.

A community is built on trust. Teasing someone else works when there's a knowledge between the two that there's actually a lot of love underneath it all. But sarcasm does undermine it. Think of sarcasm as a chemical acid, able to burn into anything it touches. Use it often enough, and people will run away.

5. Sarcasm undermines criticism.

That may sound strange. After all, isn't sarcasm itself a form of criticism? Yes it is. But it actually takes away from the genuine article by setting you up as the jokster. If your critique comes back to bite you in the...ahem, I've already mentioned it...then you get to have deniable plausibility. You were just employing a form of humor, right? Wrong. Sarcasm is a way of making no stand. It's not satire nor wit. It weakens your position.

Happy Birthday, Josiah!

Derek Webster — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 05:30:19 -0800

Today my second son, Josiah, turns 17 years old. Let me tell you a little about him:

Josiah is a very smart, witty, and charismatic man. He spent a long time fighting the best in himself, but about two years ago turned a major corner. When he was young, I used to joke that given his personality he would either be President of the United States or the greatest criminal mastermind the world has ever known.

I was wrong.

I now think Josiah has the potential to launch a movement that can really change the status quo.

He has a deep love of music, and I think resonates with lyrics in a very deep way. On his wall in his bedroom is a painted tree, and for leaves, Josiah posts meaningful lyrics from songs he loves. He's not a "reader" like the rest of us. I think he's a lot more like his Oma than he realizes. He can be stubborn (like me) or playful (like his mom). And he's got two brothers who love him to pieces.

It's strange for me to think that the little chunk I held in my arms 17 years ago is a young man. At the time, I remember having this "a-ha!" moment as I realized that all the love I thought I had in me suddenly expanded with the addition of Josiah. Prior to that, the love I felt for my family was so intense, I just didn't think there would be room for more. Then Josiah was born and I realized my intense love had exponentially expanded - the flames grew brighter and hotter with his coming into our family.

I've only got 18 months left with him under my supervision. After that, it's all guidance and friendship. But I'm blessed to say that I really enjoy hanging around my sons. I like them as people - not just because they are my sons. And not everyone can say that. I genuinely enjoy hanging around Josiah. He enriches my worldview and pushes me to be a better man.

I can't wait to see what the next 17 years will bring. I'm incredibly proud and am excited to watch his character development trajectory continue to soar.

Happy Birthday, son! Your dad loves you.

To the Single and Childless Among Us

Abbie Smith — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 13:39:53 -0800

He slipped his way into my morning coffee, and accidentally, he said, proceeded to spill onto pages of my morning reading. Walk. And now work.

The non-mom-voice keeps taunting me. He did this when I was single, too. Idiot.

Why don't you have babies yet? You've been married over a year.
Your clock is ticking. Your womb is wasting away.

At first I tried to ignore it, but somehow that only created deeper and more persistent taunts.

What's wrong with you? What's wrong with your body?
Everyone else is. And is wondering why you're not.

Feeling David-sized in my voice, up against a Goliath-sized pack of lies, I decided to attempt a response.

You are wrong. Your taunts and arguments are wrong. You clearly do not know my God.

Teary and uncomposed, I continued.

You don't understand my God.
His daughters are given a different womb.
A womb about a Kingdom.

If God should ever give me a child who calls me mommy, I shall be terrifically grateful.
But if He doesn't, there are multiple other means by which He's positioned my practice of motherhood.
Multiple others ways my God reconciles children to His own perfect mothering.

Like letting me tell children how treasured they are, fostering life and a story worth living.
Letting me share with the younger what is pure and what is true.

My womb is far bigger than you are fathoming.
My womanhood is part of a far bigger story.

As a woman, I've been asked to dream with the broken, and disciple hope and a future into the flock behind.
As a womb-bearer, I've been given space to invite the hurting, and marriage to the bearer of life, freedom and healing.

And these are but the fringes.
These are but a taste of the astonishing roles for which my mothering heart has been created.
And for which l am terrifically grateful.

I haven't heard the non-mom-voice again today. But when I do, please remind me of these words.

Post-Labor

Abbie Smith — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 13:59:00 -0800

Why did the last ornament cause that? Why did fitting a final shape into the box labeled "xmas decos" cause such upheaval? Typically such precision stimulates my pride and sense of control and accomplishment.

This time it didn't. This time the perfectly organized and ready for the attic box elicited fear and emptiness.

Christmas is done. She had the baby. Now what?

The pregnancy of advent gave me a reason to wait. A tangible conclusion for which I was waiting. The story of Christmas lent reason to decorate and prepare and feast.

And then it happened. And then he was born; Immanuel, God with us.

We feasted more, savoring the gift. Presents and presence, nestled in knowing.

But then the time came. To leave the manger. To sweep-up remaining evergreen aromas. To box-up decorations of the Story.

The womb felt without again. This year ahead unknown.

Maybe Jesus is easier to trust in a pregnant story. Maybe he's easier to fathom with all the songs and light and magic of the season.

But as a real, born person, he can be harder to grab hold of. As the reality of the incarnation, his following can seem more complex.

So maybe my consolation today, in carrying "xmas decos" to the attic, is being allowed to leave some things out. Like advent and hopeful waiting. Like watching toward what's to come.

Waiting for his return. Watching for him in my midst.

Twelfth (& final) Consideration: The Extraordinary

Kristin Ritzau — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 16:11:34 -0800

Last night I heard an extraordinary story of a single hummingbird. You see there was a huge fire in the forest where the little bird lived. As the trees burned, the animals whose homes were on fire ran towards the river. There were elephants, raccoons, beavers, foxes, bears, and many others who gathered to watching it all burn. As the fire’s destruction raged on, they stood on the banks immobilized by fear and awe.

But the little bird thought to herself, I can do something. So she beat her wings as fast as they would go and, as rapidly as a bird can, she fluttered back and forth between the fire and the river carrying a few drops at a time to help put the inferno out.

The other animals discouraged her efforts. It’s so little water. You’re not really making an impact. And on and on their words flew at her while she went back and forth, back and forth. The elephant with its trunk, the beaver with its resources, the other animals, none of them did anything except watch the unfolding disaster. The hummingbird didn’t point her wing at anyone though, she simply turned to them between one of her many trips and said frankly, “I am doing the best I can with what I’ve got.”

So did the bird put out the fire? I don’t think so, but she put out her little part. I heard this story last night while watching a documentary called Dirt. It was enlightening to learn that it is no laughing matter that we are made from dirt. It’s extraordinary really how many microorganisms are in it. That it has a DNA, and how we are poisoning it by covering it up and using so many chemicals. Our future relies on dirt, yet so many want to cleanse the dirt away.

I watched on the edge of my seat as people’s stories of their own extraordinary journeys were told. Why roots are important, why ecosystems are vital to our wellbeing, why communities matter, why children and adults connect with nature in radical ways. It all caused me to consider that the extraordinary really is in the ordinary — in dirt no less.

It’s in dirt, and it is also in a freshly picked carrot, in eating a weed. It’s not the 10 most fascinating people of 2011 or who got married and divorced this year. It’s the parent that chooses to end the cycle of abuse; it’s the friendship that has survived decades even through moves and life changes; it’s building a relationship with your neighbor; it’s in cooking a meal actually from scratch with your bare hands.

It’s what satisfies at the deepest level instead of distracting us from our truth.

The hummingbird was not distracted by the tragedy; she was inspired and empowered. She mobilized herself while others were content to let their jadedness and fear rapture them. If I’m considering anything this last day of 2011 it’s that I want 2012 to be extraordinary. I want that for our homestead, my family, this little community, our marriage, and myself.

But the shift I have to then take is not to do something extraordinary, but address the things that hold me back; to talk to the voices of fear and comfortability; to confront the pain that surfaces in the weirdest places. In that, I move towards an invitation – one that allows me to be extraordinarily me. And become more of who I am created to be.

After all, the problems are not outside of me. The problem emerges when I am paralyzed by what I see and content to blame everything around me and myself. I want to do the best I can with what I’ve got. Most importantly that doesn’t mean change the world, rather recognizing that I change the world as I continue to change myself.

So thank you 2011. Thank you for your rupture at the beginning. Thank you to my companions on this journey who stretched me and pushed me. Thank you to those who said to go for it. Thank you all for reading these blogs and visiting the site, going to workshops, and buying the book. Thank you to my students who inspire me and allow me to do what I love. Thank you to my husband, my equal partner in this life, for this wild adventure where we truly have found ourselves as equals. Thank you Spirit for never leaving me and the vocational integrity you have called me to.

And here’s to 2012. A year which holds extraordinary opportunities once again; chances to seek and find, to unfold, to be invited into a journey I can only imagine. In that, I will use my imagination not to dream outside of myself, but to realize that I am allowed to imagine what I actually desire.

Happy New Year Everyone – Happy New Year indeed.

Story of the Hummingbird from the documentary DIRT the Movie; directed and produced by Bill Benenson and Gene Rosow; Common Ground Media 2009

Photo of Hummingbird taken by Christian Meyn/FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Eleventh Consideration: Silent Reflection

Kristin Ritzau — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 11:56:48 -0800

I grabbed Sabrina Ward Harrison's The True and the Questions this morning for permission to delve into a time of reflection. This week makes room for that as people take the rest of their vacation time and relax - or in our case, work on our homestead.

(Yes. More planter boxes are going in... stay tuned.)

As I paused from the morning routine, I ran across this prompt: "In the silence I understand..." So I went with it while embracing my own silence. In the silence I understand that mystery is incomprehensible. I know that there is more I don't know than I do. I realize I shouldn't workout directly after eating. I understand that this year is coming to an end... and then I found my writing stride.

A year I reclaimed as my golden year is almost over. My birthday is June 11th, but my 11th year on this planet was a year of awful inbetweens. Caught in the middle of girlhood and becoming a woman; stuck in the divide between the carefree elementary school years and the freedom of high school and between my divorcing parents. It was not a year I reflect on with a smile.

2011 was my chance to reclaim -- for restitution instead of resolution. It was a genuinely good year. A year for me with nothing more than a common cold. A year with a last minute trip to Mexico. A year spent going deeper with new friends. A year of taking A Beautiful Mess to Colorado - of full workshops in Southern California, and selling 600 books.

It was also a year I got demoted and quit my job. See good years don't mean sans heartache, trouble, or even sickness. I can attest to that truth after having spent the better part of the last decade, (which was still good) sick.

However this year the rupture of comfortability caused me and my husband to move into the goodness of vocation -- of a calling instead of success in society's definition. These 11 considerations have been a chance to reflect on this advent season, but also the goodness of the past year and its own darkness, gifts, peace, and food.

In silent reflection, I hold John O'Donohue's words close, "We tend to perceive difficulty as disturbance. Ironically, difficulty can be a great friend of creativity.” And creativity has been the outcome of 2011 for me.

In my inductive thinking state, a year ago I could have never imagined this outcome. I plastered my walls with giant sticky-noted options. I laid out all of the plausible four alternatives I potentially had, the pros and cons. I cried. It sucked. There is no other word for it.

My perfectionist nature drove me to want the perfect route forward. I dove into lunch meetings, networking opportunities, and sessions with my spiritual director. They all called me, not forward, but deeper, and instead of suffocating while they pushed, I became a fish in water. It was a good year.

This year has held challenge and heartache, but of a different sort. The sort where I have never worked harder whether that be planning a class or giving out a failing grade; digging holes for seedlings or never seeing them come up. To see the growth and steps my marriage has taken to full equal partnership and working out patterns of the past that we do not want to see repeated; to spending time in the prayer of examen, with my consolations and desolations knowing that no matter what, the Spirit is there and will be there in 2012, just as in 2011. It has been a treasure to reflect on it all today. After all, why do we only get one golden year?

So as this week affords some space for reflection, I would invite you to list here what you're considering this week. What has this last year held? For better or worse? In sickness and health? Because every year holds a promise, like a vow, that is only fulfilled if we reflect back upon it.

Quote from John O'Donohue's Anam Cara

Margaritas Crowded With Tequila

Abbie Smith — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 09:40:51 -0800

Stenches of weed and cigarettes opened the door for us. As did carols of margaritas crowded with tequila.

Neighbors invited us for Christmas this year. An honor in theory, and unarguable answer to prayer. Uncomfortable in reality, posing a wider scope of prayers.

Interactions knew we were the minority. Chances for light shone pitch black. Hope felt vacant.

This culture is too far gone.

Love too far forsaken.

Let’s leave and go home.

Let’s let them come to us,

On our terms and with our ways.

And then I remembered the vacancy at the inn,
the stench of the stable and the baby savior,
the servant king and the loving daddy.

I remembered the story.
Of leaving perfection for the sake of the stench.
Living the life we were meant to live,
dying the death we were meant to die.

Coming to a culture eternally array,

With love eternally forsaken.

I must leave my home, Jesus said.

And come to them,

Showing them the freedom of my way.

And then I remembered the honor, and thoughtful answer to prayer, that neighbors had invited us for Christmas this year.

Tenth Consideration: Turning off the Computer

Kristin Ritzau — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 19:09:04 -0800

This tenth one is one I thought long and hard about the last couple of days. What should I post so I can put up something prolific on Christmas?.... (A time when I am sure you're all checking email and Facebook)

Then is dawned on me in such a simple way - I don't want to be on my computer on Christmas. I love connecting with people online, but today is a day to be with my community; to be with my husband and our family, to be with the Trinity -- all of them in unique ways.

So in considering what turning off my computer means right now, well, it means being present to what's around me and right now, it's not technology.

Have a blessed and happy Christmas and I will be posting 11 and 12 in the coming week!

A Gaelic Christmas Blessing

God’s grace descend upon you,
Christ’s love descend upon you,
Spirit’s peace descend upon you,
Every day of your days on earth.

Nollaig shona duit
Happy Christmas