I know a woman who will not leave her husband of 50 years, despite his mental and verbal abuse, because God has asked her to love her husband, and many husbands are not half so good as hers.
I know a guy who wants to be a girl, and feels that he's in the wrong body: hormone injections start next month.
I know a book that wants to put me in a box: girls play with dolls, and girls play in the kitchen, and girls teach Sunday school; and boys play with trucks, open the door, and pay for meals.
This tells me that gender is something. But no one knows what. I don't understand what makes gender. It is more than differing sex organs. There's something fundamentally different about how we think. Yet, I don't know of one stereotype that withstands every culture. I began to ask people what it is to be a woman. I'm still puzzling over it.
What is it to be a woman?
Showing posts with label sorrow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sorrow. Show all posts
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Fish, Cats, and Family Vacation
Sometimes, on vacation, a meal out is just another meal. You find nourishment. Maybe you pay too much. And you leave full, but empty. Then there are those special meals out. There's a spark to conversation. The food is better. Commensality.
On our family vacation to Baltimore last weekend, we had a few of those successful, special dinners together. The best was Saturday night. Meg had made the reservations, and she and I had chosen dresses to wear, and Meg and dressed my not-yet-seven-year-old niece Aida in a twirly pink skirt. When Dad saw that Stephen was wearing a collared shirt, he felt under-dressed and returned to the room to change. As we all piled into the shuttle, I wondered why "dressing for dinner" had ever gone out of fashion. It separates the work from the play. I can appreciate people better after I feel I have taken care of myself.
We walked along the piers of Inner Harbor, arriving at the restaurant just before sunset. The inside was inlaid with rich woodwork that reminded one of lavish captain's quarters. Final rays of sunlight peeked through the westward windows, illuminating specks in the air. We all attempted to sit up straight and act as though we always ate in places with multiple forks. I ordered the flounder
We chatted while Aida colored a picture of a shrimp wearing a hat and a hook. (She must have colored ten of these pictures by the end of the weekend.) When we slowed our eating, Dad remarked that we should save the fish that we don't eat so that he could feed it to the starving cat at the hotel. If you don't know my Dad, you'll appreciate that he gave me a little book called 101 Uses for a Dead Cat when I was eight years old. But you should also know that I am an avid cat-lover, and he was less than 50% joking about the book.
So when he issued a proclamation regarding the saving of scraps for a cat, one wondered how much he had had to drink. And one wondered a lot more when the honest answer was that he was not drunk; he was serious. Stephen corroborated the story: a skin-and-bones cat had been wandering about the hotel gates, meowing pathetically, clearly the victim of some tragic human.
When the waiter came by, my father asked for a small box, "So we can give the rest to a starving cat."
No. Joke. I was mortified. So was my Dad.
"The food was excellent, though," I tried to clarify, "It's just... we're all full..."
"--and this cat, it really is starving," Dad helped. The waiter seemed to understand.
Megan laughed, "This is something Princess would love to eat, right Aida?" Princess lives across the street from Meg and Stephen. She often wanders into their yard, and is more a community cat than the property of any one household. Everyone loves her as if she were their own, and my niece and nephew especially so. My brother would often come outside in the morning to find Princess on the top of his car, waiting to say good morning to him. "By the way, where is Princess? It's been a long time since she's been around. Have you seen her, Steve?"
"Yeah, she died a month ago. She got run over," Stephen said matter-of-factly. He immediately realized his mistake.
Aida looked up at him, then put her head down on the table, covering her little face in her little hands. When she looked up again, she was close to sobbing, her face streaked with tears, her nose reddening, "P-Princess," was all she could manage. Megan held her as Stephen tried to mend it.
"I'm sorry, Pickle. I meant to tell you better." Dad and I looked at each other, nearly crying ourselves. I mean, we'll all miss Princess, but my young niece experiencing the first death of a pet (suddenly, over dinner) was almost more than we could bear. She pulled it together after being promised candy from some overpriced, sassy shop in the Harbor.
The night was warm and breezy, and filled with a jazz band. The perfect night for dancing under a crescent moon hanging above the skyscrapers.
Interesting fact: The starving cat rejected everyone else's fish except for the flounder.
On our family vacation to Baltimore last weekend, we had a few of those successful, special dinners together. The best was Saturday night. Meg had made the reservations, and she and I had chosen dresses to wear, and Meg and dressed my not-yet-seven-year-old niece Aida in a twirly pink skirt. When Dad saw that Stephen was wearing a collared shirt, he felt under-dressed and returned to the room to change. As we all piled into the shuttle, I wondered why "dressing for dinner" had ever gone out of fashion. It separates the work from the play. I can appreciate people better after I feel I have taken care of myself.
We walked along the piers of Inner Harbor, arriving at the restaurant just before sunset. The inside was inlaid with rich woodwork that reminded one of lavish captain's quarters. Final rays of sunlight peeked through the westward windows, illuminating specks in the air. We all attempted to sit up straight and act as though we always ate in places with multiple forks. I ordered the flounder
We chatted while Aida colored a picture of a shrimp wearing a hat and a hook. (She must have colored ten of these pictures by the end of the weekend.) When we slowed our eating, Dad remarked that we should save the fish that we don't eat so that he could feed it to the starving cat at the hotel. If you don't know my Dad, you'll appreciate that he gave me a little book called 101 Uses for a Dead Cat when I was eight years old. But you should also know that I am an avid cat-lover, and he was less than 50% joking about the book.
So when he issued a proclamation regarding the saving of scraps for a cat, one wondered how much he had had to drink. And one wondered a lot more when the honest answer was that he was not drunk; he was serious. Stephen corroborated the story: a skin-and-bones cat had been wandering about the hotel gates, meowing pathetically, clearly the victim of some tragic human.
When the waiter came by, my father asked for a small box, "So we can give the rest to a starving cat."
No. Joke. I was mortified. So was my Dad.
"The food was excellent, though," I tried to clarify, "It's just... we're all full..."
"--and this cat, it really is starving," Dad helped. The waiter seemed to understand.
Megan laughed, "This is something Princess would love to eat, right Aida?" Princess lives across the street from Meg and Stephen. She often wanders into their yard, and is more a community cat than the property of any one household. Everyone loves her as if she were their own, and my niece and nephew especially so. My brother would often come outside in the morning to find Princess on the top of his car, waiting to say good morning to him. "By the way, where is Princess? It's been a long time since she's been around. Have you seen her, Steve?"
"Yeah, she died a month ago. She got run over," Stephen said matter-of-factly. He immediately realized his mistake.
Aida looked up at him, then put her head down on the table, covering her little face in her little hands. When she looked up again, she was close to sobbing, her face streaked with tears, her nose reddening, "P-Princess," was all she could manage. Megan held her as Stephen tried to mend it.
"I'm sorry, Pickle. I meant to tell you better." Dad and I looked at each other, nearly crying ourselves. I mean, we'll all miss Princess, but my young niece experiencing the first death of a pet (suddenly, over dinner) was almost more than we could bear. She pulled it together after being promised candy from some overpriced, sassy shop in the Harbor.
The night was warm and breezy, and filled with a jazz band. The perfect night for dancing under a crescent moon hanging above the skyscrapers.
Interesting fact: The starving cat rejected everyone else's fish except for the flounder.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
George MacDonald Narrates Life
A poem out of Diary of an Old Soul, a meditation for September.
13.
'Things do go wrong. I know grief, pain, and fear.
I see them lord it sore and wide around.'
From her fair twilight answers Truth, star-crowned,
'Things wrong are needful where wrong things abound.
Things go not wrong; but Pain, with dog and spear,
False faith from human hearts will hunt and hound.
The earth shall quake 'neath them that trust the solid ground.'
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Some Friends
My friend, Rogelio was taken into custody last week and is being held indefinitely for a court hearing. Yazmin and I tried unsuccessfully last week to visit him in prison. Today I saw him through that ridiculous glass as we spoke on the phones. The woman next to me was shouting so loudly at her boyfriend for stealing from her and doing crack, that I could hardly understand his dispossessed sorrowful words, "Es muy feo aqui. Muy feo. Se pelean por todo, por javon, por espacio, por nada. Pero yo he conocido a un dominicano que tiene una biblia. Leyemos juntos y oramos. Y regresamos a las camas. No tenemos mucho de comer." I taught him an English phrase, "this sucks." But he's had more time with the Lord this week than I have in perhaps the entire year...
I'm blessed by my neighbors. I had the most incredible conversation with Yazmin at Waffle House. For some reason, I couldn't communicate much of anything in Spanish today. But she didn't mind. We talked about her history. She told me how she left home at the age of 15 and married her husband-- no one from home knew for several months. He is eight years older than she, and they had some really rocky times in their relationship. She has always been honest with him, though. And she said often between 17 and 20 years old that she wanted to leave, that she didn't love him. But she had nowhere to go, and he did not force her to stay. But he lovingly talked her down when he could. When he couldn't talk her down, he waited.
It's been two years since she's spoken that way to him, especially not in front of her children. She became a Christian two weeks ago, and things have changed in her heart. She's been increasingly aware of how her negative talk about her situation has affected their children. I asked her if she loved Rudolfo. She said she thinks so. But she's not sure, even though she feels grateful to the Lord that he's a good man, and that they are good friends. She is confident that she will love him increasingly as she prays to love him.
My heart exalts in victory. A victory for my God. Praise the Lord.
I'm blessed by my neighbors. I had the most incredible conversation with Yazmin at Waffle House. For some reason, I couldn't communicate much of anything in Spanish today. But she didn't mind. We talked about her history. She told me how she left home at the age of 15 and married her husband-- no one from home knew for several months. He is eight years older than she, and they had some really rocky times in their relationship. She has always been honest with him, though. And she said often between 17 and 20 years old that she wanted to leave, that she didn't love him. But she had nowhere to go, and he did not force her to stay. But he lovingly talked her down when he could. When he couldn't talk her down, he waited.
It's been two years since she's spoken that way to him, especially not in front of her children. She became a Christian two weeks ago, and things have changed in her heart. She's been increasingly aware of how her negative talk about her situation has affected their children. I asked her if she loved Rudolfo. She said she thinks so. But she's not sure, even though she feels grateful to the Lord that he's a good man, and that they are good friends. She is confident that she will love him increasingly as she prays to love him.
My heart exalts in victory. A victory for my God. Praise the Lord.
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