Your Body--Q of the W

I had considered taking this whole week off from blogging.  Goodness knows I have enough other things to be doing over spring break.  I am getting them done, but an early morning facebook conversation with my accountability partner spurred me to write this post.

Funny how talking things over with someone important matters so much.

We were discussing women and how hard we are on ourselves.  Stacy said she thought there isn't a woman around who doesn't want to change something about herself.

I know that's true for the woman sitting at this keyboard.

So I've decided to ask you the hardest question I've asked.

Will you name three things you like about your body?

A "no" answer is not acceptable.

I don't mean three internal things or behaviors, I'm talking the physical.  The parts we beat ourselves up over.  I have to admit, it's going to be hard for me to come up with three.  Three without qualification.  Three without hesitating to hit the word "publish."  Three without comparing myself to others.  

My three:

1) my waist

Now, you can't see this but I'm sitting here looking down at myself and I can't think of anything else.  This is not me fishing for compliments, this is me struggling.  I'm thinking, and canceling thoughts, and hurting a bit.  Minutes are passing.

2)  my back

3)  my skin--I think I have a nice complexion

And you?

Name Change

     When I started this blog my hope was to write often about my relationship with God.  I remember wanting to start a blog, not knowing what to name it, standing in church one Sunday and hearing a Hillsong United lyric that captured my relationship with Him.  "The art of losing myself in giving You praise."
     That was it!  My, then, new blog became, The Art of Losing Myself.
     Only I don't know that I'm very deep because this blog, while I have written about God, is about a lot of stuff.  I fight from making it a diary, but it's been that too.  Then a while back, a missionary I know commented, "Can you really lose yourself when you have "my" in the title?  In essence, right there, it's all about you."
      He made me think.  Months later, maybe even years later, not until last month, I was sitting here blocked and decided to change the title.  Let's face it, this blog is all about me.  I'm not ashamed, just being honest.
     So, Daughter--to Him, Wife--to Brad, Mom--to a grown son, and Teacher--truly what consume most of my energy but what I may write least about.  It's who I am, it's my life.  A boring, non-lyrical title for the things I love and the things that consume me.
     Thanks for reading.

No So Long Ago

Not so long ago, I would have told you I hated February.  All of winter can be ugly around here, but February was the never ending, dreariest of months.  But, recently I've recognized all my Februrarys have come to an end.  And what I see now is life rushing past me.  Or am I rushing through life?

I don't have big dreams, I don't keep a bucket list, I don't fret over my age, but time? Time goes too fast.

Beyond the typical marveling at my son being 25, my newlywed feeling marriage being nearly five, and the realization that I've been teaching in the same room (one I love) longer than my current students have been alive, I can't get over how swiftly each day goes by.

Each day is full, but I want to add more.

More.  More snuggling, more knitting, more cooking, more reading, more walking, more learning, more laughing,  more love, more God.  I realize how much goodness there is in life, and I only want more time with it.  Or the time to savor all there is. 

I value life and all that fills it, fills it to abundance.

"I just want..."

Last year I turned 50, and Brad had a party here for me. If you have never been to our home, you need to know our downstairs is pretty much all one room--fairly good sized--with a living room area, kitchen and two dining areas.

The room was full and loud, and so when my friend Vicki came, I sat down with her at the dining room table.  There was noise all around us, people laughing, talking over each other, and cheering for the Bears, but Vicki was quiet.  I caught her staring at me, and I said, "Is there something you want to say to me?"

She said, very quietly, earnestly, and with effort, "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."  I replied with a thank you, but I wanted to cry because I knew, by this birthday, today, she wouldn't be here.  I decided to wrap those words so tight to my heart, to concentrate on her voice sharing them, that I would never forget our brief but so important friendship.

It was the last time I saw her, she died two weeks later.  And as I type this, I cry like I couldn't that moment, but I smile thinking of her gift to me that day...