This is the 100th post on my blog!  Celebration time!!!!! 

Since it’s my hundredth post, and it’s coming up on the New Year, I thought it might be a nice opportunity for reflection.  So I went through some of the old posts I’d written.  WOW.  What a transformative few years it’s been since I started writing my blog in June 2008.

In some ways, it’s painful to read.  In other ways, it’s miraculous.  I read between the lines and remember what this journey has been.  In particular, it’s striking to revisit the agonizing confusion that came with my fight against OCD, especially before I knew I had OCD (I wasn’t diagnosed until December 2010, but I have been battling it my whole life).  I see it in every post, every question.  And yet, I would not change any of it. OCD has been my life’s greatest trial; but as is often the case with great trials, it has also provided many of my greatest gifts.

Today, I’d like to share some of the gifts OCD has given me — graces I would not have received were it not for my day-to-day struggle to live a rich, meaningful life despite my disorder.  I write this for the benefit of others struggling with difficult trials of every variety (including myself!), but with a special place in my heart for those facing mental illness.  I hope this will be a reminder that there is meaning in our battle, that God can create tremendous beauty from even the deepest despair, that there is hope for all of us.

1) Humility.  After a recent OCD incident (I have obsessive doubt about whether my close relationships are “real”), I expressed this in an email to my sisters: “I’ll tell you, girls.  If OCD is good for one thing, it’s keeping you humble. It’s hard to have much pride when every so often you have to get down on your hands and knees and ask the people you love for extra help or, in my case specifically, reassurance.”   This isn’t something I can do alone, which can be frustrating and embarrassing for an independent, otherwise pretty level-headed person like me.   I don’t want to have to ask for help.  I don’t want to have to rely on others, or even God.  But if I want to be healthy, I have no other choice.  What a gift!  What a blessing!  Given how prone I am to pride, this is a profoundly positive benefit in my life.

2) Compassion.  In one of my favorite books of all time, Chaim Potok’s The Chosen, Rev Saunders says:

 One learns of the pain of others by suffering one’s own pain. … And it is important to know of pain. It destroys our self-pride, our arrogance, our indifference toward others.

I have found this to be true.  The more I experience my own pain, the more open I am to the experiences of others.  In a post I wrote last year, I said this: “I wonder if pain isn’t like a chisel that carves a canyon within, and you can only be filled with love and joy as deep as that canyon goes.”  This was a pretty significant turning point for me, one that allowed me to find a new way of relating to my disorder.  I learned that compassion isn’t about taking the pain of others away, but being willing to accompany them in it — and you have to be familiar with your own pain if you want to be able to do that.

3) Self-Understanding.  A major aspect of my healing process has been coming to know myself — my strengths, weaknesses, triggers, and quirks.  I used to be a mystery to myself, which made it especially difficult to navigate OCD’s twisting corridors of confusion and fear.  Now I understand where I’ve been and why.  This enables me to forgive myself more easily.  I can now predict with some accuracy what will trigger a spike (and can generally react quickly enough to nip it in the bud).  More importantly, I know what helps me thrive, and am learning how to build a life that sets me up for the greatest possible success.  Many people, even those without mental illness, flounder because they have not taken the time to really get to know themselves.  This is a tremendous gift OCD has given me.

4) Self-Worth.  There was a time I derived all my self-worth from things I could do: getting lead roles, earning good grades, being funny, being “perfect.”  But the problem is that such self-worth is never satisfied.  You must constantly do, do, do, in order to feel as though you’re “earning” your right to breathe.  But when you face moments where you are so broken that it’s hard to function even marginally — let alone optimally, let alone PERFECTLY — you discover you must come up with deeper reasons you’re worth it.  Why am I valuable even when I struggle to get through a day?  Why am I valuable when I’m not the way I want to be, or contributing in the way I’d like to contribute? I discovered that I’m worth it because I am a daughter of God.  Because this life is precious in and of itself, and my existence is unique and worthwhile, not despite the trials I face, but in part because of them.  Without my trials, I could not be who I was made to be.  Thanks to OCD, I now have a sense of self-worth that is not contingent on my “doing,” but is satisfied with my “being.”  What a wonderful gift.

5) Closeness with Christ. The unsustainable perfectionism of scrupulosity (religious-based OCD) drove me to search out new ways of relating to God and Christ — something I probably never would have done without such a strong impetus.  I came to learn that God is not a stern accountant who keeps a running tally of my good and bad marks, but an unfailingly loyal and loving Friend.  He suffers not just for me, but with me, so that when I pass through my Refiner’s Fire, we become One.  Similarly, because sorrow increases my capacity for joy, as I rejoice more deeply, He rejoices with me…and again I know Him more intimately than I could have otherwise.

6) Rich, Genuine Relationships.  One of the loveliest gifts my OCD has bestowed me is rich, genuine relationships with my husband, family, and close friends.  For years, I kept back significant portions of myself from literally everyone I knew.  As I have focused on getting better, I have had to make myself vulnerable in surprising ways.  The result is that there are now people in this world who really know me.  They know what I struggle with.  They know what I’ve overcome.  Best of all, they are willing to help me through it.  It is perhaps the most beautiful thing in the world to be seen for who you really are, warts and all, and still loved.

7) Coping Skills.  My OCD journey has taught me lots about managing both OCD-related anxiety and day-to-day frustrations, problems, and disappointments.  Because much of my recovery has focused on the practice and cultivation of mindfulness skills (“a kind of nonelaborative, nonjudgmental, present-centered awareness in which each thought, feeling, or sensation that arises in the attentional field is acknowledged and accepted as it is” [source]), I have learned better how to be at peace with things as they really are.  Plus, as less energy is expended on worry, I have  more to spend on solving what problems can be solved and accepting those that can’t.

8) A Chance to Pay it Forward.  Perhaps most significantly, this journey gives me a chance to pay forward the help and support that others have shown me — both in my personal life, and from people who have been courageous enough to write about their own experiences (for example, Jeff Bell is one whose work and advocacy have really touched me).  When I began blogging about OCD, I was hesitant; but I have received emails and private messages from people who have found some measure of hope from what I have shared — and that makes it all worth it.  Likewise, I hope that in my daily life with family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, I am seen as someone who is willing to accept and love unconditionally.   There is nothing more satisfying than being able to use my experiences for the good of others.

What about you?  If you’re willing to share, what kinds of gifts have you received from difficult experiences?  Any words of wisdom to help others who might be facing hard times?

(If you are struggling with OCD, please see my books recommendations page for 5 books that helped transform my life and made a dramatic impact on my ability to successfully manage my OCD.  If you would like to reach out to me about OCD-related issues, you are welcome to email me at katie_in_logan [at] yahoo [dot] com.)

Today, my husband posted a “personalized” Santa Claus video on Facebook that we’d made and sent to our daughter.   One of his friends, a staunch atheist, made this comment on the thread: “I’m telling [my son] the truth about Santa, because I don’t want to tell him a lie, besides, if he starts believing cultural mythology, who knows what he might start believing.”

I felt his comment was kind of Grinchy so I fired off a less-than-patient reply — told him that he’d “missed the point.”  I immediately recognized that my comment was made in frustration — something I try to avoid, since the Internet is a mean enough place without me joining in — so I quickly deleted my response.   He must have seen it anyway, though, because when I logged in again tonight I noticed that he’d added another reply: “Katie, ‘you missed the point’ is an easy thing to say.  Please explain what the point is, then I’ll know.”

After some deliberation, I decided I’d answer his question (hopefully with a much gentler spirit than before).  This is what I wrote:

For me, the point is living in a world where not everything is explained or cut-and-dried — a world of mystery and awe. Where there are grand, sweeping stories (the mythology you speak of) that inform our lives and give us a cultural language that allow us to belong to each other in a special and specific way.

I’m a professional writer and I used to be an actress. I am intimately acquainted with the power of story, especially shared story. Even if you don’t believe in Santa Claus, we all use grand narratives to make sense of this world. I’m not just talking about the WHAT. Logos — science, logic, reason — provides the WHAT. But it can never answer WHY. That’s what mythos — narrative, story, symbolism — is for. I believe that a balanced, peaceful life embraces both.

To me, there is profound truth in the story of Santa Claus, even if it’s not LITERALLY true: it is a story of love, of giving, of the preciousness of children and the innocence of youth. I don’t need it to be literally true to believe in it deeply. It is valuable and real to me just as it is. It points at a deeper truth, one that can’t be measured or observed with microscopes and lab equipment, but that resides at the center of the human experience. That’s the sort of thing you only get at through traditions and mythology like Santa Claus.

So, there you have it. Why *I* believe in Santa Claus and why we send our daughter little emails about it. One day, she’ll ask if Santa is real, and we’ll tell her about what I just told you: “He doesn’t actually live at the North Pole or fly around the world with magic reindeer — but he’s still very, very real, if you want him to be.”

Your mileage may vary, of course. I wish you a very happy, healthy, and wonderful holiday season, however you choose to celebrate with your family.

I recently realized that I want to start eating well.  I don’t mean eating fewer calories per se — though that’s certainly part of it — but I mean eating whole, fresh foods that are rich and nourishing in more ways than one.

It began when it occurred to me that I need a hobby.  In my close circle of friends, I am surrounded by artisans and crafters: people who knit, refinish furniture, and make windchimes out of antique teacups and silver.  They tell me that their hobbies relax them — give them something to do with their hands that is satisfying and creative.  I, however, have zero crafting skills.  I can scarcely hot glue sequins on paper. (What’s that you say?  No one hot glues sequins on paper?  I rest my case.)

My hobbies tend to be cerebral – reading, writing, thinking.  Even when I’m running, one of my favorite physical pastimes, I usually pop in a podcast or audiobook to occupy my mind (and to keep myself focused on something other than how badly my legs hurt).  Which is great, but since reading, writing, and thinking are pretty much what I do for a living as a professional copywriter and content development director for an internet marketing company, sometimes I (and my brain!) need a break.

So I went in search of a hobby.  Something I could do with my hands.  Something creative.  Something I would enjoy.  And because I run a business and am always looking for ways to spend quality time with my family, preferably something I could do with my daughter.

That’s when it hit me: FOOD.

I LOVE to eat.  And, remarkably enough for someone with as few domestic skills as I have, I love to cook.  I love how satisfying it is to put together a really delicious meal and share it with other people, who also appreciate how delicious it is.  But lately I’ve been “too busy” for cooking.  At the end of a long day, I’ve decided it’s just easier to grab a sandwich at Subway or microwave some frozen food.  And sometimes, sure, that’s how it’s got to be.  But what if I could make cooking my hobby — that creative thing I do with my hands to relax and unwind?  What’s more, what if I could use it as a step toward something else I’ve been thinking about lately: sustainable eating – a movement that focuses on environmentally-friendly, fresh, healthful foods that express love and gratitude for life and the world God has given us?

The more I considered the idea, the more I loved it — both for the hobbiness of it, but also for the spiritual implications (if you haven’t noticed, spirituality is very high on my list of values…which means any hobby I undertake would need to feed this aspect of my life if it has any hope of “sticking”).

Now, I’m not ready to dive all the way into sustainable eating.  I don’t have the money, time, space, or inclination at this point to raise my own chickens, build a greenhouse, or shop exclusively at the local food co-op.  But I can begin to focus on what I’m calling eating well.  

Here are a few of my goals for the new hobby I’m undertaking…

1) Eat less meat.  I enjoy meat, but there are a couple of problems with it.  First, while in moderation it’s excellent, in excess it’s harmful.  (That whole “eat meat sparingly” thing, you know?)  Second, I’m concerned with the ethics of the way meat is mass produced in America.  I don’t believe there is necessarily anything ethically wrong with eating meat itself, but eating meat from animals that are bred and raised under inhumane conditions, fed chemicals and hormones that impede their quality of life (and their healthful qualities for humans), and tortured at slaughter is probably dubious.

The solution?  Eat vegetarian 3-4 times a week to start with (a HUGE change from basically 7 days a week), with one of those days being totally vegan.  And then, because we’re eating significantly less meat, we should be able to afford at least some meat from local sources, making a positive overall impact on the amount of factory-produced meat our family consumes.

(Oh, and in case your wondering?  My husband is totally on-board with this whole vegetarian/vegan thing — I’m  blessed!)

2) Eat way more fresh fruits and vegetables.  Ideally, we’d grow our own fruits and vegetables…or at least buy local, organic produce.  Practically, however, that’s not something we’re in a position to commit to right now.  Still, making fresh fruits and vegetables a staple of our meals will have a huge impact on both flavor and nutrition.  Of course, we’ll continue to shop at the local farmers’ market when it’s around and try to buy produce in season as much as possible.

3) Make treats REALLY treaty.  Confession: I’m the kind of person who buys a bag of Frooties from the bulk section of Winco and eats them half-consciously over a period of a few days.  While I love me some empty sugar, the truth is, I don’t need it and it doesn’t nourish my body or soul.  But some of these babies — which I’ve made twice now over the holidays, shattering my self-perception that I can’t bake and opening up a whole new world of sweet goodness — well, that’s a different story…

Salted Chocolate Caramel Bars

Tell me you didn’t have a spiritual experience just thinking about that.

4) Involve my kid.  I want this to be something that my child and I do together.  She’s only 5, so that means it’s mostly me measuring stuff out and asking her to dump it in bowls, but we’ve already had some wonderful talks and bonding experiences cooking meals together.  I hope it becomes “our” time several days a week to be with each other.

5) Plan ahead.  The hardest part of all this is fitting it into a busy schedule.  So I’ve set aside Sunday evenings to plan the menu and Monday evenings to shop as a family as part of FHE.  (UPDATE 12/18/11: I’ve decided to add a weekly menu page to my blog that I’ll update on Sunday nights; the hope is that it will help me stay accountable, since planning is hands-down the hardest part of all this!)  I’ve made a goal to turn off work earlier in the afternoon so that my daughter and I have time to prep meals together.  And, because the fastest way to hate a hobby is to put too much pressure on yourself, I’m planning in allowances for nice meals out or quick trips to Subway.

So that’s my new hobby!  Here on my blog, I’ve added a new category: cooking. I’ll be posting periodic updates about recipes I’ve tried or experiences I’ve had!  What about you?  What hobbies do you enjoy?  Any advice for me as I undertake something like this?

I gave a talk at our ward Christmas party this evening, which I called “Behold, the Condescension of God.”  Thought I’d share it here…

When I was growing up, Christmas meant joy, magic, music, and laughter.  I imagine it means that to lots of children, but my father is particularly good at it.  He embodies the Christmas spirit.  The way he recites The Grinch in his convincing British accent.  How he tells us every year about the Christmas Eve in his boyhood, when he awoke to discover one of Santa’s elves snooping around his bedroom.  How he cries every time Scrooge pledges to really change, or Clarence the angel gets his wings.

I’ll never forget the year the ward went around doing video interviews with families about their Christmas traditions, which were made into a video montage and played at the annual Christmas party.  Everyone else had perfectly respectable traditions: Christmas lights, recipes, favorite songs.  But when it came time for the Ackerman’s portion of the movie, Dad had made everyone get all dressed up in bedsheets with towels on our heads, acting out the scene when the angels came to announce the birth of Christ to the shepherds.  He’d made us sing “Angels We Have Heard on High” in 4-part harmony.  My little sister was standing on the piano bench with her arm outstretched, shouting, “Fear not!  For behold I bring you good tidings of great joy!”  Everyone else’s clips were 30-second DESCRIPTIONS of their holiday traditions.  Ours was a 5-minute-plus DEMONSTRATION.  As a teenager, I can tell you that it was THE most embarrassing moment of my life.

Still, I carried with me a sense of the joyous and spectacular about Christmas.  I couldn’t remember a single unhappy Christmas in all my life.

Until last year, when the Lord gave me a new glimpse into this holiday of holidays.

2010 was something of a rough year for me.  I dove headfirst into a grueling battle with my own version of what Paul called a thorn in the flesh.  We all have our thorns – nagging, sometimes agonizing, reminders of our fallen state.  They could be depression, anxiety, or mental illness.  Sins and temptations we can’t seem to shake.  Addictions.  Difficult childhoods.  Physical impairments or ailments.

Coming to accept and work within our limitations is an important, healing process – but the truth is that when you engage in this sort of work, you often feel worse before you feel better.  2010 was the worst I’d ever felt.

Christmas was hard.  I’d had hard times before, of course, but I’d always been able to keep them to myself with a determined smile and a deliberate upward inflection in my voice.  Christmas had always been a welcome distraction from my worries.  But last year I couldn’t muster it.  I was struggling so deeply that I could no longer hide it from my family and friends.

Then the Lord gave me an insight that brought me some peace.

He reminded me of Nephi’s vision of the Tree of Life.

In 1 Nephi 11, an angel appears to Nephi, and Nephi asks the angel what the beautiful tree means.

In response, Nephi is shown a vision of a Virgin bearing a Son in a stable.   After Nephi sees this, the angel asks: “Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?”

And Nephi answers, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men.”

I asked myself, “Why? Why did Nephi understand that the tree was love of God after he saw Jesus being born?”

The answer was quickly revealed in the scripture, for just a few verses later, the angel exclaims, “Behold, the condescension of God!”  Now, condescension means to come down from a high place to a much lower place. I realized that the love of God isn’t best manifest in His might and glory and creation and dominion – though it is expressed there, too, of course – but in His humility, His empathy, His willingness to get down into the dirt with us.

After discovering this, I recorded some of my thoughts and feelings.  This is a portion of what I wrote…

 For all the lights and tinsel, for all the sparkling packages and clanking bells, for all the Hallelujah choruses, the decadent food, the elaborate parties, the ugly sweaters with sequins and snowmen and swirls — we are honoring the birth of a God who, ultimately, came to suffer; and in His sufferings, triumph.

That is not to say the triumph doesn’t deserve the joy and gaiety we lavish upon it; merely that this year I need to focus on the humility of His beginning and the depth of His condescension — so lowly, so meek, that He came to meet me where I am.

So to the God born in a barn, not in a palace, not in a hospital, not even a clean bed, and laid to sleep in a feeding trough: Thank You.  You have no beauty that I should desire You, You who are smitten and afflicted, bruised and forsaken — and yet I do.  From the depths of my soul, I do!

Now this story, as all stories do when we give ourselves over to the God who descended below all things – regardless of the mortal outcome – has a happy ending.   I am through the worst of that particular battle (though as is the case with our thorns in the flesh, I may never be rid of it fully).  Christmas this year is as much about trumpets and tinsel and joy as it ever was.  But there is a tenderness about it, and I hope about me, that was not there before.  A clearer understanding.  A deeper well of compassion and empathy and the pure of love of Christ.

The theme tonight is “O Come All Ye Faithful,” but I wonder if we might not be able to expand it.

O Come, all ye faithful.  O Come, all ye doubtful. Come, all ye sorrowful and shameful and prideful and sinful.

Come lay your burdens at His feet.  Come take part of the condescension of Christ.  You are never so low, but that He has gone lower.  You are never so lost but that He will seek you out.

May we all have a very merry Christmas.

One thought.  The narrator here argues that there is no empathy in heaven, for in heaven there is no suffering.  I’m not so sure. See Moses 7, the Beatitudes, or think of Christ’s agony in Gethsemane and on the cross.  I believe that if the scriptures teach anything, it is that our God is a God who suffers.

God is love, the scriptures teach.  And as anyone who has loved can attest, that does not come without sorrow.

I just finished reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin.  I enjoyed the engaging, practical account of her year dedicated to improving her happiness, complete with resolutions as far ranging as “go to sleep earlier,” “take time to be silly,” and “write a novel.” It got me thinking about my own level of happiness — and I realized with some satisfaction that despite my challenges, I am, at my core, a happy person.  I don’t know that I could have always said that, but the past 12 months or so have been transformative for me.  This book got me thinking about why that is.

Before I get into what has been the most impactful in terms of improving my happiness, a bit more about the book: each month, Rubin chooses one major area of growth — marriage, work, parenthood, leisure, finances, friendship, etc. — and picks three or four resolutions to help her make progress within each category.  The resolutions build on each other, so that as she adds resolutions, she continues practicing her previous efforts.   By the end of the book, she is managing 47 resolutions simultaneously.

Given my nature, I’m sure it’s not wise for me to try to tackle 47 resolutions at once.  But as I reflected on my own Happiness Project over the past year or so, I could point to three that have revolutionized my life.  I’d like to share them here, in case they can be of value to someone else.

1)–Be Yourself.*  There is nothing more painful than resisting your nature.  Getting to know yourself and accepting who you are is half the battle — maybe more than half the battle.  I believe in a God who made each of us individually, who gave us special gifts, talents, interests, and inclinations.  I believe He rejoices in our diversity, delights in His handiwork.  When we suppress or deny who we are, because we’d rather be cooler, funnier, smarter, or better at this or that, not only do we set ourselves up for disappointment, in a sense it is as though we are telling God that we don’t think He did His job very well.

“The body of Christ has many parts,” Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians.  ”Now if the foot should say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ it would not for that reason stop being part of the body.  And if the ear should say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,’ it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. For if the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be?  And if the whole body were an ear, where would the smelling be?  But in fact God has placed the parts, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be.“

Of course, every trait has a flipside — an underbelly.  Strength can be dominion; passion can be lust; meekness can be passivity; charisma can be manipulation; composure can be apathy.  Our weaknesses are just as important to understand as our strengths.  Accepting them, instead of denying their existence, keeps us humble and drinking from the fountain of grace.  As the scripture says, “I give unto men weakness that they may be humble, and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me.”  When we pretend that our weaknesses don’t exist, we live in shame and frustration — just as when we deny our true strengths and seek to be other than who we were made to be.

But we can be ourselves, because God made us who we are…and it is enough.  For some reason I have yet to understand, this can be an extremely challenging belief to adopt, but there is nothing more happiness-inducing than really embracing it and living true to ourselves.

*I found it interesting that in The Happiness Project, Rubin lists this as her First Commandment (“Be Gretchen”), though she never dedicates a month to exploring who she is more fully.  I thought she might have benefited from it!

2)–Be Present.  For years, I struggled to stay engaged in the present moment.  My mind wandered often — usually to worry, and the fear of potential future outcomes that, in all reality, had very little chance of actually coming to fruition.  I regret to think of all the countless hours I wasted on problems that never existed.

When I wasn’t worrying, I’d spend my time dreaming of a pleasant future — the Magic When.  ”When I get a car, I’ll be happy; when I graduate from college, get a husband, have a baby, buy a house, change careers,” and so on.  It wasn’t until much later that I finally understood: if I’m not happy now, I won’t be happy then — because happiness can only exist in the present experiencing of it.

C.S. Lewis put it this way in The Screwtape Letters…

Humans live in time but [God] destines them to eternity. He therefore, I believe, wants them to attend chiefly to two things, to eternity itself, and to that point of time which they call the Present. For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity. Of the present moment, and of it only, humans have an experience analogous to the experience which [God] has of reality as a whole; in it alone freedom and actuality are offered them. He would therefore have them continually concerned either with eternity (which means being concerned with Him) or with the Present—either meditating on their eternal union with, or separation from, Himself, or else obeying the present voice of conscience, bearing the present cross, receiving the present grace, giving thanks for the present pleasure.

The most useful thing I have ever encountered for learning to embrace the present moment is mindfulness meditation.  I don’t do it as often anymore, but for a period of about 30 days last summer, I engaged in 15-30 minutes of daily meditative practice — and that short program changed my life.  I still return to it when things get particularly challenging or I feel myself slipping into worry or the Magic When for several days in a row.   There are some free guided mindfulness meditations available for download from the UCLA Mindful Awareness Research Center; click here to find them.

3)–Be Loving.  The core of all happiness is love.  If we didn’t love something — even a favorite possession, piece of music, or sport — it wouldn’t have the power to make us happy.  Of course, the most rewarding love is what we feel for people.

How can I love my family and friends?  How can I love the people I work with?   How can I love the strangers I encounter?  How can I love myself?  I find that when I focus on questions like these, things naturally fall into place.  Tension and conflict diminish.  Guilt goes away.  Somehow, an extra layer of wisdom emerges: when I am focused on love, instead of being popular or having control (my two biggest barriers to love), I know better how to handle challenging situations…when to say yes and when to say no…how to respond when I spot suffering or need — in others or myself.  

What’s more, love is the glue that holds my other two “happiness resolutions” together…

First, love makes it possible for me to be myself more fully.  I notice that when I am trying to deny who I really am, it’s because there is something about myself that I don’t accept, don’t love.  But even my trials and weaknesses are worth loving, because they make me, well, me — and I am worth loving!

Second, love makes it possible to embrace the present moment.  If I hate what’s happening right now, I want to escape; if I love it, even when it’s hard, I can stick with it, let the experience play itself out — and let myself feel what there is to be felt.  (That doesn’t mean I’ll necessarily enjoy it, but love always carries an element of pain.  It is the nature of love.)  And there is nothing more loving than really being present with people — listening to them, laughing with them, crying with them, sharing the moment where time touches eternity.  After all, it’s all we’ve got.

Do I live each of these resolutions perfectly?  Of course not.  But I have discovered that the more experience I get with each of them, the happier I am.  I don’t know that I’ll have the capacity to add any more resolutions to my life, but I figure that for me anyway, these three just might be enough to do the trick.  :-)

What about you?  Have you read The Happiness Project?  What did you think?  Any resolutions you’ve tried or want to try?  How did it go?  I’d love to hear all about it…

Today I spent some time learning more about the Occupy Wall Street movement.

I thought I knew what they were about because of a handful of radical statements I’d heard from them: “down with corporations,” “share the wealth,” “capitalism doesn’t work.”   I’m ashamed to say that even before I knew that much about it, I judged the entire movement as a bunch of greedy whiners who were blind to their own privilege and ignorant of how the real world functions.  However, when I read a couple of blog posts from people whose perspectives I respect speaking favorably of the movement, I knew it was time to dig deeper.

Here’s what I discovered…

Occupy Wall Street is a disparate movement composed of people across the political spectrum, from libertarians to hard-core socialists (though admittedly, it leans left).  Although there are folks on the fringes who carry around copies of The Communist Manifesto, the core complaint for most protesters is simply that Washington and Wall Street are in bed together, and it has to stop.  The system is broken, they say. Anyone with enough money to buy a politician or ten (the 1%) gets bail-outs, subsidies, and immunity, while the rest of us (the 99%) are left to duke it out in the trenches — and that’s wrong.

I couldn’t agree more.

I also discovered that the Occupy Wall Street Movement is actually not so far from the Tea Party at least in terms of what originally drove their anger: government bail-outs. You could argue that the Tea Party has since been taken over by social conservatives and is now just the Religious Right in disguise, but at least in their origins, the two movements have more in common than you might think.  This illustration that a friend shared on Facebook expresses it pretty clearly:

(As a sidenote, it appears to me as though the Occupy Wall Street movement is in as much danger of being co-opted by their extremists as the Tea Party was — and I would expect the movement to be thoroughly discredited, just like the Tea Party, if that happens.)

I think a lot of good can emerge from this if we recognize what we have in common and build from there.  As someone who has refused to identify with either movement because of the fringe elements, let’s come together and tackle corporatism!  We all agree that’s the core problem, right?

In my mind, there are two places to effect change: in the private sector and in the public sector.  It’s time for us to engage both.

Privately: Take responsibility for your spending.  Are you uncomfortable with the power large corporations have?  STOP doing business with them!  Remember, not all corporations are the same — so do your research.  Has a company you do business with received government hand-outs or subsidies?  Are they actively engaged in lobbying?   Is the CEO taking huge bonuses while everyone else struggles?  Do their corporate values conflict with your personal values?  If you don’t like what you find, take your dollars elsewhere — and tell your friends.  Make it a point to shop local.  Support small, entrepreneurial businesses.  Bank at credit unions.  Cut up your credit cards.  The freedom to choose where and how you’ll spend your money is what capitalism is all about.  Businesses exist to make money, so when you start voting with your wallet, they’ll notice.  This power is already in your hands.  Use it.

Publicly: Agitate for change.  Protests are great because they get people talking, but if you’re not comfortable protesting, there’s more to be done.  Find a candidate you like and contribute or volunteer.  Blog your perspective on a position and persuade your friends.  Write, call, and fax your representatives.  VOTE.  Change happens when we demand it.

For the record, I support Ron Paul for president in 2012.  I think he’s right on nearly all of the important issues facing us, including foreign policy, taxation, spending, and marriage equality.  Check out his website for more information on his positions!  :-)

I don’t usually talk politics here, but I’m pretty concerned about this whole “I am the 99%/Occupy Wall Street” movement.  I wanted to share some thoughts about it…

First, I want to make it clear that I do believe Wall Street screwed up.  Of course, they had plenty of help from Washington AND, quite frankly, from us.  When the bubble was riding high, no one was asking questions.  We should have.  We needed to.  The bankers and big corporate executives behaved unethically, yes, and there’s no excuse for it — but it’s not like we didn’t enable it.

Second, I am frustrated with the unwillingness of the protesters and their supporters to see that they are also contributors to the oppression and victimization of vulnerable populations.  By virtue of the fact that we live in America, we are privileged — more privileged than the vast majority of people the world over.  Are we giving our own excess to the poor?  Have we downgraded our lifestyles, moved into smaller homes, cut back on restaurants, sold our cars and plasma TVs and Xboxes, in order to voluntarily redistribute the wealth and abundance that we have?  Then who are we to demand that others do the same?

Third, I see a disturbing entitlement-driven, victim mentality underscoring the entire movement.  While Wall Street execs did do wrong, and some of that was beyond our corporate control, much of it was well within our individual control.  I am a “victim” of the recession: before the bubble burst, my husband and I bought a fourplex, only to see its value diminish almost immediately afterward.  Looking back, we probably shouldn’t have qualified for the loan that our mortgage broker pitched us hard.  We were fortunate enough to sell the fourplex this year and avoid foreclosure, but we sold it at a loss, and not before we were out about $20,000 on it.  We don’t have $20,000.  It was a huge financial hit.

And yet…I recognize that the signs were there.  We could have, should have, seen that it wasn’t the time to buy real estate…that the loan was more expensive than we could legitimately afford…that we should have passed on the opportunity.  But we were driven by greed and want.  I am frustrated that we didn’t get better advice from our mortgage broker, sorry that the underwriters approved us when perhaps they shouldn’t have, but we take 100% of the responsibility for the mistake — because it was ultimately our mistake.

To the “99%”: I’m sorry that you’re working extra to make ends meet.  Maybe it’s time to radically restructure your budget?  I’m sorry you can’t find employment that fulfills you.  Maybe it’s time to take a less agreeable job until something more suitable comes around?  I’m sorry you have too much student loan debt.  Maybe you should have worked full-time and gone to school part-time, instead of the other way around, to reduce your debt burden?  I’m sorry your house was foreclosed on.  Maybe you shouldn’t have bought something you couldn’t afford?  I say this without malice because I have been impacted negatively in almost all of the areas I mention above — but I recognize that most of the harm would have been avoided if I hadn’t wanted what I wanted when I wanted it.  It’s not “their” fault.  It’s mine.

Finally, even if you are in a situation where you have truly been oppressed — where hardship has fallen as a direct result of the evil actions of others and through no fault of your own — Jesus has some hard but powerful things to say about what to do about it.  If an oppressor asks you for your coat, give him your cloak also.  If an oppressor asks you to walk a mile, walk with him two.  If an oppressor smites you on the cheek, turn to him the other cheek also.  This isn’t about taking it lying down; it’s about showing your oppressor your humanity and dignity.  Right now, I see little dignity in this movement.  Instead, I see anger, class warfare, envy, and pride.  Sure, it’s a natural response to affliction, but I believe there is a better way.

I’ve always loved the passage in Jacob 4:13, which explains the primary role of the Spirit: “…The Spirit speaketh the truth and lieth not. Wherefore, it speaketh of things as they really are…” (emphasis mine).

The idea of Things As They Really Are is one of the most profound spiritual concepts I’ve ever encountered.  It’s about much more than adhering to the “correct” interpretation of abstract theological principles; it’s about embracing all the truth we can, even difficult truth, on our way to a fully actualized life in Christ.  As important as good theology is, I believe that on the path of real discipleship, often the most difficult truths we encounter are personal — things we’d rather not face about our communities and families, and especially ourselves.  And yet the Spirit exists to show us these truths, to help us strip away layers of deceit and shame, so that we can stand face to face with God, knowing Him even as we are known (see 1 Cor 13:12).

I often think of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  After they partook of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, they discovered their nakedness.  Suddenly ashamed, they rushed to make coverings of fig leaves — as if, somehow, the fig leaves would restore their former innocence, or at least hide that they had sinned.  But God wasn’t fooled.  He called out to them, made them stand before Him, demanded an accounting of what they’d done (as if He didn’t know).  Then He cast them away with a curse…and a covering of skins He crafted for them.

There was a time this story made me shudder.  I imagined myself standing before God, naked, exposed; and God sending me away, angry with my performance.  How is this love? I wondered.  I had missed two critical points in the story:

First, that God made us naked;

Second, that He covers us.

Of course, I’m not speaking of literal nudity, but of the vulnerability that nakedness symbolizes.  God sends us into the world naked, as babes in arms, helpless and at the mercy of others.   Then as we grow and get hurt, we learn to protect ourselves.  Often, the protection we choose is unhealthy: shame, secrecy, self-destructive choices, relational instability. We make our own coverings of fig leaves, some so skillfully crafted through years of careful deceit that they almost blend into our flesh; others hasty and shoddy, falling apart at the seams.

But God’s command isn’t to make better, more sophisticated fig leaves, so that no one notices our blemishes.  Instead, He wants to shred them, just as He did with Adam and Eve.  He peels our fig leaves back layer by layer, shining His light onto all that we’ve hidden — just as He required Adam and Eve to stand before Him and name what they’d done.  He wants us back the way He made us, naked and raw, except different this time: “born again” (John 3:3), “as little children” (Matt. 18:3).  On face value this seems like retrogression, back to vulnerability and weakness, but the truth is that this second childhood is the hallmark of spiritual maturity and strength.

Of course, the only way there is through Things As They Really Are.  Until we face what is real, we will be unable to live as the Master desires, for we will be forever protecting ourselves and our secrets.  We will be adding more and more fig leaves or rearranging and repairing what we’ve already stitched together, as opposed to living the life He’s prepared for us.   Stripping down is the only answer, as painful as it may be.  It’s a hard thing to realize, but it’s true.

Fortunately, He doesn’t leave us exposed to the elements.  The second part of this story, the next Thing As It Really Is, is that He loves us and covers us with His grace.  Our nakedness is not a punishment, but a necessary precursor to stepping into the warm coats of skins He’s made for us — else how will they fit over the bulges of bulky leaves?  Only when we’re covered the way He would cover us can we face the Lone and Dreary World protected and whole.

The truth is that I’ve created more than my share of fig leaf outfits.  Some of them are easy to strip away — others require much more time and tenderness.  But every time a layer falls, I breathe easier and feel freer.  To embrace Things As They Really Are, to listen to the Spirit and allow Him to work within me, is difficult.  But the alternative?

Impossible.