friendship

A Valentine from Me to You: You’re Not Alone

Think about it, there must be higher love
Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above
Without it, life is wasted time
Look inside your heart, I’ll look inside mine…

—Steve Winwood and Will Jennings

When I was a child, then a teenager… even into the decades of my twenties and thirties…I never questioned that my life would be like most everyone else’s. I would meet someone, fall in love, get married, have a family. As I got older and it wasn’t happening, I told everyone that was a-okay with me. I didn’t want it. So what if it was a lie? I shrugged it off and didn’t dwell on it.

By my early forties, I’d told the lie enough times that I was comfortable with it. Besides, at that point I’d gained enough weight that mostly people didn’t ask me about it anymore – whether I was seeing anyone, or wished I was, became a moot point. We all knew no one wanted someone like me. We didn’t talk about it. Ever.

Later in that decade, when I decided to change my life, to come out of my lie-induced trance, amid all of the incredibly beautiful, powerful and positive experiences came this realization: my supposed “okay-ness” with being alone was the biggest crock I’d ever sold myself.

Around that time, at a wedding, one of the bible readings opened up a pit of anger so vast I almost couldn’t contain my ire and join in the celebration. The reading didn’t beat around the bush – I thought they were the most cruel verses I’d ever heard. From Ecclesiastes 4:9:

Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?

I stayed in that pit of anger for a long time, unable to claw my way out. At or to whom could I direct my wrath? I was just learning not to despise myself and that felt good enough that I didn’t want to turn my rage inward. So I directed it at the only other entity I could think of: God. And let me tell you, I am certain it was no coincidence that, during this time period, everywhere I turned people in my life were vociferously thanking God for the amazing partners He gifted them with. How that pissed me off, and fueled the fire I was burning up in!

At some indefinable moment, my angry defiance gave way to angry tears. I cried until the pit I was in filled with my own salty water. Suddenly, instead of being trapped in a pit I found myself swimming in an ocean of grief. After literal decades of choosing not to feel anything deeply, I felt every second of my mourning over what had never come to be. It wasn’t merely that I had no significant other at that moment, lots of people share that predicament. It was the fact that I have never had that. Never been cherished, wanted in a mature romantic relationship. Its a bit harder to find people who share that life experience – in part because who wants to admit that out loud? It feels defective. Deficient. I astonished myself with the number of tears I was capable of crying. I surprised (and frightened) my friends; seriously, we would look at one another in astonishment when yet another crying jag would take me in the middle of a seemingly innocuous moment. I was SAD. SAD. SAD.

One day, my feet touched bottom. On an emotional level, I was still doing that sniffly, hiccupy thing you do after a long hard cry, but I had come to the shore of that particular ocean. I wasn’t laughing it off, by any means, but I wasn’t in danger of flooding the midwest any longer.

Here’s the thing: even in the middle of my deepest anger and my soggiest grief, I was happy in a way I had never been before as an adult. Some days were downright joyful. Let me say that again so we all can feel the magnitude of what I’m saying here: some days, when I was angry beyond my ability to articulate it, or when I was so sorrowful I sat through dull work meetings trying not to cry, I was AT THE SAME MOMENT happy and sure of my own well-being.

How was that possible?

How is the reason I am rehashing all of this in a post on Valentine’s Day. In the three+ years I’ve been posting to this blog, I’ve discovered that the more honestly I share my true experiences, the more likely it is that someone – reading what I’ve written – will recognize him- or her- self in my story. So I feel confident that you’re out there. You know who you are – the person feeling so desperately alone. Unworthy. Defective. I want you, whoever you are, to know you don’t have to feel that way. Or at least, that isn’t the whole picture of who you are, or what your life can be.

First, it was possible to be both enraged and joyful because the more I opened myself to others, sharing my triumphs, failures, angers, and even my grief…the more others were willing to offer me love, friendship, and support. Incredible, amazing people in my life were able to understand that I was experiencing something profound. They couldn’t experience it themselves, not being me, but they could walk through it with me – and they did.

Second, it was possible to be both deeply sad and happy at the same time because the sadness was residual – left over from the past. Oprah (and therapists everywhere) always says that if you don’t let yourself feel it now, you’ll feel it later. With interest. So whatever you’re feeling, let it be felt. I ate to cover up my feelings, and while it seemed comforting at the time, it made things infinitely worse. I’ll take angry, crying, healthy and happy Jenion over my old dangerously overweight and sleepwalking self any day.

I came, eventually, to the shore of my ocean of grief with this realization: when you focus on what you don’t have, you will always feel deprived – even if you are surrounded by riches. And I am surrounded by blessings. When you focus on what you don’t have, you devalue not only the gifts you do have, but the givers of those gifts: the people who do care, who are there. And that includes my nemesis, God. This realization has recently allowed me to make my first, tentative, overtures of friendship toward God again. Don’t get me wrong. I still blame God. I am just learning to grudgingly accept that I don’t know everything God knows (including the big picture of my life).

In all of this I see the workings of a higher love, and it fills me with gratitude. That it would be possible to change my life never occurred to me until it started happening. That I could discover it possible to be happy with myself – even though I might wish some parts of my life were different – was a revelation to me. I know that since it was possible for me, it is possible for others, too. Possible for you.

There must be higher love, as the song says. Without it, life is wasted time. Look inside your heart and…stop wasting time. You may have to do work with yourself that is truly hard. And you may have to deal with feelings you buried in the past. But while romantic love, married love, is a beautiful thing – it isn’t the only thing. You are more than your relationship status, so much more! And you are not alone, no matter how utterly single you are this Valentine’s Day. In fact, you are loved.

The Year of Girlfriends

Late afternoon on New Year’s Day, my Twitter feed started to light up with mentions of my Twitter handle. While I haven’t signed on to the site much recently, I have notifications set to alert me when I am mentioned or receive a direct message. My friend, Molly, had tweeted: “Declaring #2013 as the year of the girlfriends. 🙂 I may not survive my 30s without them…True words.” When she didn’t get an immediate response to this tweet, Molly tweeted again, calling on several of us to join her for #theyearofthegirlfriend. Nothing would satisfy her until we had all responded that we were “in”. I may not always like being called out publicly, but I have to say I didn’t mind it for this pledge of friendship in the new year.

And what a group of women to be included among! Molly named only four or five of us, but there are more than that in our merry band of women friends. We range in age from mid-twenties to early 50s (that’s me, by far the oldest); we’re all over the map with regard to political leanings, social standing, marital status, and spiritual beliefs. What we have in common would be difficult for a stranger to parse, but seems to make sense to us. First and foremost, we were in the same place at the same time for a brief moment. This proximity cannot be underestimated as an initial catalyst, after all, even in a digital age we crave closeness on both the physical and emotional levels. But proximity alone doesn’t begin to explain what has kept us interested in developing and deepening our friendships with one another. That is about seeking out, from among those physically near, those whose inner selves call to our own best selves. My closest women friends, whether connected with this group or not, allow me to be who I am and love me in spite of my flaws. However, they also know I have a vision of a better me I’m striving to reach. So they nurture her, too, and help her bloom into being.

I don’t think Molly was exaggerating her claim that she might not survive her 30s without her girlfriends. In fact, I think she might have been understating things a bit. Recently, there has been a tendency to focus on women as “frenemies” and “mean girls”, to the detriment of real women and their meaningful relationships with one another. However, research apparently tells a different story. One study, a  comprehensive study of women’s health, resulted in surprising findings – we’ve all heard about the “fight or flight” response to stress; women, however, may have a stress response better characterized as “tend and befriend”. (Text of the original study can be read here. However, an easier to read article summarizing the findings can be found here.) The study suggests that this “tend and befriend” response is triggered by the release of oxytocin, which is further enhanced by the presence of estrogen. The result is a powerful calming effect on stress not experienced by men. According to the study’s authors, this response may even explain why women outlive men. Other studies consistently show that having close women friends helps women sleep better, improves their immune systems, staves off dementia and, ultimately, helps women live longer. One study (Flinders University, Australia) found that women with more friends lived 22 percent longer than women with fewer friends. Even if these reports were exaggerated or from flawed research (I just searched and found them on the internet, after all!), they still point to a powerful truth – women need their girlfriends. It may even be a matter of life or death!

While I find it interesting that there are biological factors which affect and/or are impacted by women’s friendships, it is much more important to me that my friends impact my emotional and psychological well-being in positive ways – and that my friendship, love and concern have that same positive impact on them. I can only speak for myself when I say that my friends are sometimes the only motivating factor for getting me through the day. It isn’t that I spend every day baring my soul, my deepest thoughts and feelings to them. Or that they always have excellent advice. Rather, it is the acceptance and lack of judgment, the sensitivity to nuance of mood, the willingness to hold me up with their strength or to sometimes give me a kick in the pants that makes my girlfriends so important to me. My girlfriends can be fierce when necessary, but they’re never mean. And while we may occasionally hurt one another’s feelings, it is always unintentionally done – never purposeful “frenemy fire”.

So here’s to making 2013 “The Year of the Girlfriends”. To all my girls out there, near and far, old and young – be well, be happy, and be proud of your tending and befriending ways. The life you save may be your own, but you’ll likely lengthen – and enrich – a few other lives along the way!

Flashback Friday: Incipience

This old polaroid is a photo of two of my favorite women in the world. The dark haired one is my cousin Stephanie, while the blondie is my sister, Gwen. I have no idea when or why this photo was taken back in the late 1960s – but I do know why I am posting it today! I am heading up to Dubuque tonight to attend the opening of one of Steph’s shows, this one at the Carnegie-Stout Library (in the old rotunda). Steph is an accomplished artist, and her work is truly stunning, whether it is drawing, painting, or her trademark bead mosaics. (You can view here work here.) The piece, La Luna, is one of my favorites. (The entire surface of the piece is crafted from beads, each individual bead placed painstakingly, one at a time, into the piece.)

When we are children, we love the people in our lives regardless of their skills or talents, regardless of who they might become in the future. Steph has always been a part of my family, and I don’t remember spending any time in childhood thinking about the person she might become as an adult. As so often happens, our grown-up lives took us in different directions. I saw her occasionally, though I was always happy to spend time with her when those moments arose. Then one day I turned around and really looked – and discovered this amazing person. Loving Mom, great friend, gifted artist, beautiful human being. My cousin – and, I am happy to say, my dear friend.

Flashback Friday: Fall at Miniwanca

One of my favorite fall excursions took place in the late 1980s (88, 89 or even 1990) when my friend, Sue and I drove from Iowa to Michigan. There we met Chris (our friend from grad school) and Shawn (their friend from summers working at camp) at the American Youth Foundation’s Camp Miniwanca in Michigan. The camp, situated on sand dunes right on Lake Michigan, was breathtaking in its fall colors.

We spent the days sightseeing and tooling around the area in Shawn’s red jeep. It was perfect sweatshirt weather.

We spent the night on the beach – literally. Blankets, not sleeping bags, directly on the sand. It would be safe to say that not a lot of actual sleep happened. But there was just no way we could bring ourselves to leave the camp fire and the moon, lighting a path across the lake, to head indoors to spend the night on musty camp cots. Needless to say, the morning was a little rough.

The weekend was one of those moments in life that stands out as unlike anything else you’ve done. This particular group of four people was only ever together that one time. We were only ever at a deserted summer camp in fall that one time. As a trip, it wasn’t meaningful or important in the way some events are – your first trip overseas, or a family reunion to celebrate a 50th anniversary, for example. It was an idea that we all acted upon, unlike so many impulses in life. The times when you think, “Wouldn’t it be fun to…” then you just stay home. For whatever reason, this time we didn’t just stay home. And that decision to act rather than not act, was completely rewarded.

In Praise of Weakness (Just kidding! I hate weakness!)

 

If I had a dime for every time someone has told me, “You’re one of the strongest people I know,” or, “You’re so strong, I could never (fill in the blank) like you” I would have enough dimes to buy something really big. Right this minute, though, I just want to munch on something crunchy and salty, so I would use some of my imaginary dimes to buy a couple of boxes of Cheese Nips and call it a day. In my weaker moments, I have been known to down a whole box by myself.

Weaker moments. We all have them, even the strong ones among us. It is in vogue to wax eloquent about how failure and weakness are our great teachers in life – that without them we wouldn’t even understand, much less achieve, success or strength. And this may, in fact, be true.

But here is how weakness feels: Weak.

Powerless. Fearful. Humiliated. Vulnerable. Stupid. I can’t speak for you, but  I don’t like feeling this way. If I can avoid these feelings altogether, I will. Failing that, I will suppress them, push them deep inside to a place they won’t inadvertently be seen or heard. I know they’re there, but when they speak, I am the only one who hears. I can be so heavily invested in the image of myself as strong that the idea anyone else might see my weaknesses and vulnerabilities is untenable.

Problematically, suppression has limits. I can suppress my emotions really well, sometimes for a very long time. Then some event, often insignificant in itself, triggers their escape. That escape is usually unexpected and sometimes directs itself toward another person who is blindsided by my emotional outburst. In thinking of these moments, it turns out, I have been learning some valuable lessons from my weaknesses. But these lessons are not about success or strength in the traditional sense. They are about courage. And they are about love, friendship and forgiveness.

What can these awful, painful moments teach me about courage? They can teach me, first and foremost, that there is a price to be paid for hiding behind silence. Not that everything we feel needs to be blabbed to the world or played on constant repeat. Rather, that our weaknesses – insecurities, fears, vulnerabilities – are part of who we authentically are. We are all generally happy to share our light with others. But when we enter into relationship with another person, the quality and depth of that relationship is determined, to a degree, by how willing we are to share our darkness. No one falls in love with the models in the J.C. Penney catalog – they are good looking but one dimensional. We also don’t develop deep bonds with people who only show us their shiny bits. Just to be clear, this lesson about courage is one I haven’t fully grasped at the emotional level yet, and my practice of it is uneven at best (pitiful at worst).

I am on firmer, and more proven ground, when discussing the lessons my own weaknesses can teach me about love, friendship and forgiveness. After all, these lessons have been demonstrated time and again to be true. Demonstrated when someone on the receiving end of one of my emotional eruptions stays with me in an effort to understand what just happened (as opposed to sensibly, understandably, running away). Demonstrated when evidence of my darkest self results in compassion and the offer of support. Demonstrated in the gift of forgiveness when my inability to hold onto strength results in hurtful actions or words directed at myself or others.

I haven’t learned to celebrate my weaknesses because they are my teachers. I doubt I will ever get to that point. I am just on the upside of accepting that my weaknesses don’t make me an unlovable pariah. They do make me human. They give me the opportunity to practice courage by sharing my authentic self with others – without knowing in advance what the outcome of that will be, but trusting that it is the right path anyway. As I work to change the pattern of suppression followed by emotional outbursts, my weaknesses offer the chance to develop kinder, gentler coping skills (kinder, gentler to self and others). Coping skills that actually help me cope.

And while I can’t manage to actually celebrate my weaker self or weakest moments yet, I can truly celebrate those who offer their love, compassion, and forgiveness to a flawed me. I hope that I am able to return these gifts, with true joy and gratitude, when those I know and love are having their weaker moments. Who knows, I may even be willing to share my Cheese Nips with them!

Flashback Friday: 70s Collage

This image is a collage of photographs created for the front of a handmade card friends sent to my brother and I after we moved from Loveland, Ohio to Dubuque, Iowa. I was a senior in high school (my brother Jeff, a junior) and we had a wonderful group of friends cultivated through an ecumenical youth group called Inter-Church Youth – or I.C.Y. I came across this card while searching through boxes of “important” documents looking for a needle in a haystack. This made me smile, and allowed the task to feel more like a treasure hunt than coal mining.

Get Your Bloom On!

Springville, Iowa, July 27, 2012.
 
 I am standing in the middle of the main street of town, with my good friend Tricia Borelli and thousands of others, and I am suddenly overcome with emotion. I tell Tricia, “This is what I want for everyone!”

Let me explain what I meant – and it wasn’t for everyone to stand in the streets of Springville, Iowa-though I believe there could be worse fates. We had just finished what proved to be the hardest 10 miles of a 208-mile bicycling adventure (three consecutive days of RAGBRAI). With a sore body operating on little sleep, the 10 mile leg just completed, consisting of lots of climb against a strong headwind, called upon every reserve I had. This middle day of the ride was “supposed” to be the easy one, too. What a betrayal of my expectations!

As Tricia and I pulled into town, the members of our team who had arrived ahead of us flagged us down. We explored the town, grateful for the food and beverage options and for the hospitality of the local Methodist church which allowed us to used their indoor bathrooms. Take it from me: porta-potties used by thousands of bicyclists are not the preferred option. We had some time to kill before our last two teammates arrived, which meant real leisure to soak up the ambience.

People of all shapes, sizes, abilities, ages, ethnicities and backgrounds swelled the small town’s usual population of around one thousand to nearly ten times that. Banners flapped in the stiff breeze, music came at us from every direction, colorful costumes and jerseys caught our attention. The sun beat down on us and sweat caused our spandex-laden clothing to stick to our bodies. I downed a bottle of blue Gatorade with relish – something I would normally avoid as exuberantly as I avoid eating liver.

As I watched the spectacle and felt myself just one more colorful piece of it, I experienced one of those rare moments of clarity in life. This exact moment that I was living in with such joy, I would once have shunned. The July heat. The crowds. The physical exertion. The athletic, ebullient, friendly, happy individuals surrounding me.

Until the recent past, I eschewed entering fully into my own life. I stayed away from situations that called upon either my inner resources or the direct experience of strangers. In that way, I kept my world small and my life manageable. I felt safe but I rarely felt joy. I felt “in control” but never expansive.

All of that has changed, and my life is so much richer for it. Suddenly, standing in the middle of the street in Springville, my heart paradoxically wholly open and completely full, I realized:  it isn’t enough to want these things for myself. It isn’t enough to continue to work on my own growth and development. To know and experience my own “before and after” is to want that for anyone else holding back from fully living their own lives.

You know who you are – those of you waiting for something to change in your life in order for you to feel happier, better understood, more passionate. Those of you who feel stuck in a place you never really intended to be. Those of you who feel called to…something else, even if you don’t quite know what that is. For each of you, I want the more you’re longing for. The future you don’t quite know how to reach. And I promise you two things. First, I promise that I will continue to hold your heart’s desire  in my thoughts and in my prayers. Second, I promise that whenever the opportunity arises to offer something tangible – and within my power or ability to give – by way of support or encouragement to another late-bloomer (like me, like you) I will.

You may feel like a bedraggled weed, but you’re really a beautiful flower. You may not, just yet, believe in yourself or in your ability to change your life. But I already believe in you. After all, I’m just another slow-blossoming flower on the midwestern prairie – if I found a way to fully open my petals and bask in the sun, so can you.

What Shapes Us

Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument

On our recent road trip to New Mexico, my family took Mike and I to Kasha-Katuwe, better known as Tent Rocks. The unique landscape was originally formed by massive eruptions in the Jemez volcanic field, which “spewed pyroclasts (rock fragments), while searing hot gases blasted down slopes in an incandescent avalanche called a ‘pyroclastic flow’.”  The resulting formations are spectacular.

We climbed a little over 1100 feet (from an altitude of 5570 to one of 6760), taking in the most amazing views of both the tent rock formations and the surrounding New Mexican landscape.

Tent Rock formations
Tent rocks in foreground, mountainous New Mexico in background

One of my favorite parts of the hike, both on the way in/up and on the way back/down, was the trail leading through the slot canyons. Over time, wind and rain have carved canyons and arroyos into the rock, creating passages (like the one pictured at the top of this post) of surpassing beauty. For most of the morning, we hiked through 100 degree temperatures, thin air and a burning sun. These canyons of layered rock were hushed and cool by comparison.

The stillness of the canyons gave rise to contemplation. Like the rock, which was shaped by the forces of nature, we too, are shaped by the vissicitudes of life. Our choices, our experiences, who we love and how we learn – all have a role in shaping us. Therefore, it seemed especially poignant to share this experience, and these thoughts, in companionable silence with Mike.

We met when I was 18, Mike 19. We were still fresh, unmarked clay. Our faces shone with, as J.D. Salinger put it when speaking of college students, “the misinformation of the ages”. Over the next few years, we shared some powerful experiences as each of us attempted to discover the direction of our lives. Eventually, though, we found that we were bound in different directions, and we parted ways.

The weathers of life – births, disappointments, marriages, jobs, successes – had their way with us over the next thirty years. Molding and shaping us into mature adults, careworn and wiser (we hope). And then, surprisingly, bringing us back onto each others’ paths. Under the extra pounds, the gray hair, the wrinkles, the familiar past could be glimpsed. Only now, the layers and textures add depth and surprise. They offer possibilities that didn’t exist in our earlier friendship: wisdom and generosity of spirit, compassion and forgiveness. Human capacities with which youth is often barely acquainted.

So tonight, back home in my little house in Iowa, I am thinking of Kasha-Katuwe and the lessons it taught me. Time makes shape-shifters of us all. I am grateful for this learning. I am grateful for this earth which teaches me. And yes, Mike, lest you think I left out the most important part (again), I am grateful for your company on this path.

Mike and I, at the top!

The Sunday Roast: A Conversation Between Friends

Note: Today is the inaugural edition of “The Sunday Roast: A Conversation Between Friends”, a semi-regular feature of guest posts. I am always happy to take submissions for “The Sunday Roast”. The only criteria is that the author write honestly about something that is important to them, or about which they are passionate. (Today’s post was inspired by an interaction between me and a friend – your guest post, however, need not have anything to do with me or with something I’ve written about on Jenion!)
 

Today’s Guest: Molly Altorfer

Molly’s self-description on Twitter says it all:  “Aspiring SuperMom. Communications & marketing freelance strategist. Wannabe professional golfer. News junkie. Mid-life grad student.”  You can find Molly on Twitter @m_altorfer or on her blog Molly Altorfer::Freelance
  

“I wouldn’t have been friends with you in college. You would have scared me.”

Jenifer uttered these two statements mere moments after I told her a less than flattering story about me from college. How less than flattering? Well, I rate it an 11 out of 10. The story involved me being furious with one of my college roommates because she refused to (ever) do the dishes – including her mountains of used, gelatinous-encrusted pots and pans. In a temper tantrum worthy of John McEnroe, I demolished a wall with a tennis racket in the rental house I shared with six other women. The look of pure disgust and fear on the face of my one roommate who witnessed this episode was enough of a gut check for me. Did my temper go away? No, not entirely, but I think I do a relatively good job of controlling it now. I consider it a process.

Over the past few weeks I’ve thought of Jen’s response to my story, which I had never shared with anyone else. Ever.

Jen was completely non-judgmental. And it wasn’t my behavior that she questioned – but her own. As I understood Jen’s evaluation of me at that time in my life, I would have been too competitive, too intimidating and too forceful for her to even consider having a friendship with. She’s chronicled in this blog about how she was often gripped with fear about her own insecurities, and I interpreted her comments to mean that I would have been “too much” of anything, and everything for her tender, fragile self.

What I didn’t say to Jen at the time – but have thought several times since is, “I wouldn’t have been friends with you, either.”

In case you’re just reading this blog for the first time, here’s a news flash for you: Jen was fat. At her highest weight, she clocked in at more than 350 pounds. The “college Molly” wouldn’t even have registered Jenifer as a person, let alone someone worthy of befriending.

That’s a pretty shocking statement: I would not have registered her as a person. Embarrassing, but true.

Here is the back story, but please note that this is not presented as an excuse for my behavior. I went to a private college in Minnesota. As I look back now, no one was overweight. Seriously. I cannot think of one person who I knew – either personally or in passing on campus – who was obese. Jen and I have had this conversation about the “skinniness” of my alma mater and she thinks (and I agree) that it likely has to do with the socio-economic makeup of that particular school, which includes a lot of middle- to upper-class students from the Twin Cities. Greater resources often provides greater or increased access to healthier foods and exercise, thus equaling a campus that is obsessed with health, fitness and size 2 J-Crew jeans and sundresses. (No one was fat, but I could talk a blue streak about classmates with serious eating disorders…but that’s another story).

So without coming into any sort of contact with an overweight person or anyone who was struggling with obesity issues, I had some alarmingly negative and entrenched stereotypes of people who were overweight. Lazy? Check. Lack of self-control? Check. Unclean? Check. Unintelligent? Check. You name them and I can almost guarantee I had them.

So how is it that I now count as one of my best friends a person who was formerly fat? I’m not sure how we connected when I was working at Mount Mercy, since Jen and I worked in markedly different areas. Of course, I am incredibly glad that we did find a common bond. Jen is the person to whom I know I can tell my secrets and that they will remain confidential and who is always ready for a good laugh or a snarky comment, and she is also the Godmother to my daughter. So it’s pretty apparent that I cherish her and our friendship.

What is astounding is that she alone has had the power to reverse all of my negative, hurtful and harmful stereotypes about people who are overweight or are dealing with significant weight issues. We were friends before she started this blog and her food challenge, but I would argue that our friendship has deepened during that time. What I’ve learned from Jenifer is that there is incredible power in disclosing and bringing to the light of day our fears, hopes, insecurities and desires. She proves that to me every week – and each Thursday I am more in awe of the cogently written and wryly described tidbits of “Jen-isms” that she offers to her readers.

I didn’t intend for this post to become a “Jenifer is the best” entry, and I know she wouldn’t want that anyway. But I do wish to convey that Jenifer has tapped into the power of the written word – and in a way that is eloquently yet simply conveyed to me and to others each week. Her struggle with weight issues is visible – but there are legions of us out there who struggle with issues that cannot be visibly critiqued by others.

Jen has taught me that there are restorative and healing powers in voicing what’s on your mind so that others may benefit from your experiences, mistakes and successes – and even the power in dredging up old college stories.

Tennis anyone?

Flashback Friday – Nice Ride, Brother!

It was 1970-something. Back row: Dave, Debbie Ross, Stephanie Beller, Marla St. Clair; Front Row: Jeff Hanson, Susannah Ross, me.

The car belonged to my friend and youth-group leader, Dave Finnegan. From the first night we met, at a Tuesday night Inter-Church Youth (ICY) meeting, I thought he was awesome. Gentle of spirit, kind, and incredibly smart. Not a bad volleyball player. Or too shabby with that guitar.

In the ensuing 35 or so years since we met, Dave has been an important influence on my life AND a member of my family – he and my sister Chris were married a couple of years after this photo. They raised two amazing sons, my nephews Ben and Tim, together. And they have weathered more than their share of serious illness – Dave faced several bouts of cancer, culminating in a Stage IV diagnosis and a grueling experimental treatment program at M.D. Anderson in Houston (he has been cancer free since then, approximately twenty years). My sister, Chris, will have surgery on Tuesday for her second round with breast cancer.

What I want to say about Dave in this Flashback is that I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for my sister’s life companion. You know how it is with in-laws: they marry into a family like ours (big, loud, opinionated) and can spend years figuring out how not to be chewed up and spit out. Dave maintains his calm, faithful and principled presence – occasionally making us groan at his terrible puns. In the coming weeks, he will be the gentle rock upon which my sister will lean – and by virtue of his presence where we can’t be, we will all lean on him to an extent (poor guy). After more than three decades, I can  say with complete trust that he’s up to the task. I thank God, and my brother Dave, for that!