{Waiting — An Advent Reflection} Melody Harrison Hanson

I’m pleased to be a part of an Advent Series a friend is running.

Most of my life, I have been waiting for God. It’s a spiritual waiting

for miracles. Waiting

for answers. Waiting

for healing in me and in others that I love or have loved. Waiting

to feel mercy. Waiting

for peace.

You can link to the rest of the post here.

{A [Love] letter to the little girl still inside me}

This post was written as a part of the SheLoves synchroblog: A Love Letter to my Body.

(A “synchroblog” simply means people writing simultaneously on the same topic.)

Dearest Child, I wish you knew when you were still young and free that the world isn’t out to get you — in fact, the world doesn’t care much about you at all. This knowledge would have been your sweet, honeyed redemption.

What you needed saving from child is my hate. For as long as I can remember, yes that’s how long, I have detested you.

A daily incantation.

Eyes that don’t work, pale freckled, dimpled skin that burns all too quickly in the sun, unruly hair. And soon enough came along your body plump and frumpy, then shapely hips, eventually budding breasts. But the worst was …

your lips shriveled, withered from disuse because fear gripped you, self-loathing frothed up, a bitter gaseous belief that you are hideous and unlovely. You believed that you don’t deserve love. You were told not to speak without first finding perfection. And you feared, if you spoke you would voice out loud your own dread and the hatred that boiled within.

No, I couldn’t tame you, no matter how much I tried. I couldn’t stop

the thoughts that sprouted in your head, pouring out of your mouth, only to be told to shut up often, with a languid intensity SHUT YOUR MOUTH you sassy, impetuous, cheeky little girl.

Darling, it’s not your fault that no one taught you tenderness or the sweetness of grace. So, every day since then, I have looked in the mirror and thought you are hideous and enormous, you take up too much space, because Mamma, she lived that lie too and so we always knew it was true.

YOU TAKE UP TOO MUCH SPACE IN THE ROOM.

So I tried to make you small; have small thoughts, be the smallest in the room.

JUST LIKE MAMMA.

For she always hated

most of all,

herself,

so how could you ever hope to be all right? She was always trying to be small too.

She tried diets, fasts and near starvation; then binging, secrets and humiliation. Constant shame and mortification, your body became repulsive and massive, wrong.

Shrink it. Starve it. Loathe it.

JUST LIKE MAMMA.

And what of love? Or grace?

Do you believe they are real? Believe that this body of ours is fearfully and wonderfully made by a perfect creator God. Perhaps we are exactly what he intended?

And if you find absolution or even tolerance, what then?

At forty-five, bone weary and sick, tired of hating you, I woke up. And understood finally, my persecutor, my father,

long

dead.

And if he is dead, why don’t you live?

Open your heart? Open your mouth?

So I took a long hard look at you and knew, if I hated you, dear girl, I hate myself.

But I can do something about this.

I am strong and getting stronger. I am in control of these pudgy arms and legs, all inherited. Did you hear me dearest, we are strong! Do I love you? I don’t know. Not just yet, but I can wake up knowingly.

I’m beginning to believe that we are worth saving.

I open my mouth, my brain; my heart is quaking in unsteady disbelief that these thoughts of mine are worth hearing. I wake up more each day, dreaming

word upon word, I scribble them down.

And I run. Just months ago I woke up and knew I can run. And so that is what I do! And as my body shrinks down, my mouth opens wide, with a shout. I want you to know, I know you! I see you!

You are powerful my sweet young self – you are worthwhile. You are understood and acceptable, yes, you are loved.

Your mind, your heart, this

mouth deserves to be opened wide. So scream, howl and roar, take up some space! Because even if the world doesn’t care about you, I do. And that is what matters

for now.

Your eyes were made to see a hurting, broken world. Your heart feels pain because it is alive. Your mind and mouth were made for voicing something. And you will do it, in time and well. Your body was made for loving and being loved, so let some love in. You are fearfully and wonderfully, even perfectly made.

You are loved, by me.

This post was written as a part of the first ever SheLoves synchroblog: A Love Letter to my Body. (A “synchroblog” simply means we are writing simultaneously on the same topic.) You can read others by going here.

{I don’t do Joy, very well}

Pu-leeeese, don’t tell me to lighten up – I take great pride in my seriousness.

It’s a part of my M.O. It’s not that I don’t laugh at all, I do. And I love to laugh till I cry, tears streaming uncontrollably at something my little sister said or the guy next to me at Bible study, who absolutely cannot let anything go without a wise ass remark. Oh that’s me making the sarcastic reply under my breath. It’s both of us giggling disobediently and with such pleasure, ducking a scowl from our leader. Do not make eye contact. Or at my husband Tom’s witticisms — he is frequently cracking me up.

But in all earnestness, the world is so damn sad. Don’t you agree? Or it is just me? I am a bleeding heart “liberal” yawl. How can you not wake up with the weight of the world on your shoulders, especially if you are the parent of teenagers? Or have bills. Or just turn on the news?

I find myself exclaiming about or at least ranting, and aching and hurting over many things.

Poverty and injustice. Unnecessary wars. Third world starvation and first world waste of the planet’s resources – does that not make anyone else want to scream?
And the fact that kids come to school without breakfast and live in neighborhoods without a grocery store? Am I the only one who thinks about these things?
I find myself aching for the thousands of undocumented kids here in America that were simply born in America to undocumented parents. For high school girls getting pregnant, forever changing the trajectory of their young lives. Young black boys who get shot for being nothing more than young and black and a boy. That one really makes me mad. Or the fact that women still don’t earn the same wage as men?!?

These things are heavy. These things matter.

I expressly get upset about mean kids. Where do kids learn to hate? Why can we not represent Jesus better? And love any child no matter their sexual orientation? What would Jesus do, indeed?

I could go on, but this is about joy right? I do need to lighten up. I cannot even talk JOY for five minutes? Sheesh.

I found myself saying in a group recently I don’t “do joy.” Awkward silence there and I can feel it here now. (It’s not that I’m against it in theory. I just don’t know how to get some.)

I know that it is good to laugh!. I just don’t know how in and of myself , I have always been slightly melancholy — the only time I am an incoherently laughing kind of person is when others are having fun around me — they bring the fun out of me. I am the sort that has to work for joy.

The next best thing is Tim Hawkins (I know how’d I get here?) who has “the magical blend between two comedic ideals: A genuinely funny comedy show that caters to the entire family. ” This guy makes me pee in my pants, he’s so funny. It’s good clean fun and it feels so good to enjoy his shows.

Check him out won’t you?

It’s all I could think of,

now back to my regular programming.

Melody

———————————————-

This was written as a part of the May 2012 Synchroblog centered on the idea of what it might mean to lighten up a little–personally, spiritually, professionally, or in any area of our lives. You can write about why that’s easy or hard for you, share something funny or humorous, or any other angle that feels easy and right (remember, part of this is about lightening up!)

These are the wonderful people that participated. (I don’t know them personally.)

Jeremy Myers at Till He Comes – Lighten Up!
Maria Kettleson Anderson at My Real Journey – The Art of Passionately Lightening Up
Melody Harrison at Logic and Imagination – {I Don’t Do Joy}
Wendy McCaig – Lighten Up: Learning to Let Go From A Man Who Lost It All
Carol Kuniholm at Words Half Heart – Resurrection Laughter
R. Lee Bayes at Southern Humanist – Loving Light
Alan Knox – Be Sarcastic With One Another
Patrick Oden at Dueling Ravens – Truth, Beauty, and Yodeling Pickles
Tammy Carter at Blessing the Beloved – A Tricky Little Journey
Christine Sine at Godspace – Lighten Up: It Really is the Best Medicine
Glenn Hager – Margaritas, Metallica, and A Serious Case of the Giggles.
Liz Dyer at Grace Rules – A Spoonful of Sugar
K.W. Leslie at More Christ – When Jesus Made A Funny
Maurice Broaddus – Why So Serious?
Ellen Haroutunian – A Laughing God
Kathy Escobar at the Carnival in my Head – A Little Laughter Every Day

Call Me Crazy, But I Talk to Jesus too (Thoughts on being a Christian Woman in the 21st Century)

Call me crazy, but I talk to Jesus too.
And so, I can say that I don’t need you to liberate me.
Jesus already did that.
No, I don’t need a church to say what I can and cannot do,
I’m already free.

Call me crazy but I don’t believe in a Jesus that oppresses you or me.
You see, I’ll repeat it in case you didn’t understand, we are already free.

Yes, I’m going there.
Call me crazy but I don’t worship a male God. Sexuality just cannot matter
to Yahweh — who is the creator of the universe – who formed the stars and galaxies, and all kinds of life.
I believe in a God who isn’t male or female, he is everything.
God is spirit.
God is breath.
God is here.
God is everywhere.
God is everything good.
God came before us and will be here after us.

That I am a woman is nothing to him.
And here’s something else I believe.

God doesn’t love you because you’re a man.
He sure doesn’t love you more than me.
For a long time I thought he might.
But then, crazy me I talked to Jesus too, and then. I read the Bible for myself. I learned
yes, God loves me
for I am made in his image and by that he doesn’t mean male.

Because Yahweh, our creator God, isn’t male or female.
Don’t you get it?
We are already liberated and free.
I even think, if Jesus returned today he might not come as a male, no not today. I’m just saying,
he might not. Why does that scare you?

But as the Son of God it’s true. Jesus came in human form, two thousand years ago
and

way

back

then,

even though Jesus came to liberate us all,
even though God allowed a woman the great honor of being the first witness to the Resurrection,
still, way back then …

Women had nothing.
Women were chattel.
Women were owned.
Women were property.

Call me crazy, but I am not that two-thousand-year-old-oppressed-and-dependent-kind-of-woman,
I’m free.
I just need to learn live like it.

If you look. If you really care to open the eyes of your soul and read the Bible, then you will see.

No, I don’t believe in a God who oppresses anyone, least of all me.
I talk to Jesus and he told me

I’m already free.

MHH

Inspired by and written as a part of the Synchroblog March theme, All About Eve. As a part of Women’s History month,

Women’s rights have been all over the news recently, from bills in Congress and state representative bodies to crass “jokes” by national broadcasters. The idea that women are or should be equal to men has become a polarizing topic of discussion on the national stage. So we thought Synchroblog might jump right in. Anything concerning women in general, women and the church, balancing women’s rights with religious freedoms, the differences between men and women … these are all good topics for blog posts. There is one caveat, we are asking that the Synchroblog be a voice of moderation and temperance. You may have strong beliefs on this subject and that is good. Giving voice those beliefs in a spirit of cooperation and bridge-building is also good. We would like these posts to step in that direction. Here are a couple of great examples of moderate writing on women’s issues to prime your writing … An Apology From Limbaugh, But The Damage Is Done by Denny Burke. And now…on the other side (critique of extreme complementarianism) by Roger E. Olsen