Faith

Chrissy, child of my heart

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I gave birth to three of our children, one we adopted at birth and one is the child of my heart. It was a spring day in 2002, when Christina came to Richard at school and asked if she could come live with us. We talked about it, prayed about it and decided that it was a perfect fit. Our youngest, Nathan, was about to finish high school and head off to college but I wasn’t ready for an empty nest. Ours was a home that needed a child and Christina was a child who needed a home.

Chrissy hadn’t seen or heard from her father since she was a preschooler. With her mother and younger brother, she’d spent her childhood moving from place to place as her mother moved in and out of one relationship after another. When it became obvious that that was about to happen again, Chrissy decided that this time she simply couldn’t go. She had recently become a Christian, had made a new circle of supportive friends that included our daughter, was involved in a youth group and wanted to finish high school in one place.

Though we reminded her that in spite of the fact that their relationship was in tatters at the time, she had only one mother who’s place we would never be able to fill, we welcomed her into our home and took on the role of surrogate parents. Like any parent/teen relationship, ours had its ups and downs, its good times and its bad but we bonded and became family.

There were funny moments, of course, but one stands out as being the most hilarious. Shortly after moving in with us, Christina accompanied Richard and I on a trip to Vancouver to meet my parents and our oldest son, Matt. My parents immediately accepted her as another grandchild. Rather than buying gifts at Christmastime, it was their habit to send each of their grandchildren a cheque. When December rolled around and it was time to write the cheques, my father realized that he didn’t know Chrissy’s last name. He asked Matt who couldn’t remember either. He, in turn, volunteered to phone our daugher, Melaina, at college to ask her. When Melaina got off the phone, her roommate (now her sister-in-law) asked who she’d been talking to. “That was my brother,” she replied. “He needed to know my sister’s last name.” It wasn’t until she realized that her roommate was looking at her quite oddly that she realized how strange that sounded! She had to go on to explain that our family really wasn’t as dysfunctional as that made us sound!

Eventually, Chrissy went off to college too and there she met a fine young man. We were delighted when she and Buck married and lived for a time in Sedgewick. They even moved into our house and took care of it for us for the year that we lived in Japan. Now they live in Winnipeg and have a darling 21-month-old daughter who calls us Gram and Grandpa.

Ten years have passed since Chrissy visited Richard’s classroom in search of a stable Christian home. How fitting that I should spend this Mother’s Day here in her home!

Chrissy, child of my heart

 

The great t-shirt debate

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photo credit

I’ve been debating all weekend about whether or not to enter the great t-shirt debate that’s been raging across Canada for the past week. After reading the latest update in this morning’s news, I can’t hold back any longer.

First of all, a little background for my many non-Canadian readers. (I love the fact that WordPress now shows us where our readers come from. I can’t help checking the little map on my Stats page several times a day and I’m delighted every time a new country lights up!) Last Monday, William Swinimer, a grade 12 student in Nova Scotia who had repeatedly worn a bright yellow t-shirt  with the slogan “Life is wasted without Jesus” on it, was suspended from school for 5 days.

Christians across the country have been decrying the fact that William was suspended for wearing a t-shirt with the name of Jesus on it. Not so, folks! If we, as Christians, want to be listened to and taken seriously we need to get our facts straight. Swinimer was suspended from school for defying authority. After being told by the school principal that other students found the t-shirt offensive and asked not to wear it to school anymore, this young man who was apparently in the habit of telling his fellow students that they were going to burn in hell, chose to wear it to class every day for several weeks. (I hope he washed it in between!) His defiance earned him a series of in-school suspensions and ultimately the 5 day at-home suspension.

While I admire William’s desire to share his faith and his willingness to stand up for his beliefs and in no way support the principal’s initial request that he not wear the shirt to school again, the Bible clearly tells us “Obey your leaders and submit to their authority.” Hebrews 13:17  Swinimer says that by continuing to wear the banned shirt to school, he was standing up for his rights as a Canadian citizen. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms guarantees the right to freedom of religion, conscience and expression to all Canadians. Religious freedom does include the right to speak about our beliefs and to share them with other people but I cannot applaud a student for harassing his classmates or defying authority. If we truly hurt for the people we believe are lost, we won’t win them over to our way of thinking by being obnoxious, rude or confrontational.

While I was mildly annoyed with those who failed to look below the surface and immediately jumped to Swinimer’s defence hailing this as another example of a Christian being persecuted for his faith, it wasn’t until I read this morning’s news that my blood began to boil. Swinimer was due to return to school this morning. Rather than attempting to sweep the situation under the carpet and pretend that nothing untoward had happened, the school scheduled a series of forums to begin today that would encourage open dialogue on how students can express their beliefs in respectful and non-discriminatory ways in a multicultural public school environment. They tried to turn the fierce nationwide debate into a learning experience. Swinimer was invited to participate and was even told that that he could wear the bright yellow t-shirt. The pastor of his church agreed to take part in the discussions.

Then came this morning’s news. William Swinimer arrived at school with his father, John. Waving a New Testament at reporters, John Swinimer announced that he was pulling his son out of the school!

“The taxpayer is paying for him to learn his academics as well as the other students and I am not standing for any of this stuff,” he told reporters. “He will not attend this school unless they are having reading, writing and arithmetic, good old-fashioned academics. When they’re having forums, when they’re having other extra curricular activities, he will not attend that school.” When asked by reporters whether Swinimer will come back to the school when the talks are over, John responded, “I’m making a statement here, I’m not answering questions.”

Whoa!! What kind of parenting is that? Instead of supporting his defiant behaviour, William’s parents ought to be teaching him to show proper respect for authority and how to share his faith in appropriate and respectful ways. Unfortunately intolerance and rudeness breed intolerance and rudeness.

Today, having heard the rest of the story, I have sympathy for young William. Sadly, it’s easy to predict what the future holds for him. He lives in a town of little more than 2000 people. You can’t be anonymous in a place like that and a bad reputation is hard to shake. He’s still going to be “that boy” years down the road. Who wants to hire a young man who’s been taught that he doesn’t have to do what he’s told; that his rights are more important than anyone else’s?

I do hope his life isn’t wasted!

Awakening memories

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Ever since we began our journey through Alzheimer’s disease with my mom, memory and how it works has been of greater interest to me than ever before. There are certain triggers that I know will awaken some of my earliest memories. The smell of Ivory soap always takes me back to my grandmother’s bathroom. Though almost 50 years have passed, I remember it in amazing detail… the old clawfoot tub, the washboard, the bare wooden walls, the violets growing in pots on the windowsill, the old-fashioned curling irons hanging on the back of the door.

Other times I’m completely amazed by something that suddenly comes to the surface of my memory. That’s what happened yesterday in the middle of a funeral! Knowing that she was dying, the lady who’s funeral I was attending had written down some of her own memories and they were shared during the service. She mentioned attending CGIT as a teenager. I, too, was a Canadian Girl in Training but I hadn’t thought about that in years. Instantly the entire CGIT purpose, recited at every weekly meeting for the five years that I participated in the non-denominational program for 12 to 17 year old girls, came back to me. Obviously it was firmly cemented in the deepest recesses of my memory.

As a Canadian Girl in Training
Under the leadership of Jesus
It is my purpose to
Cherish Health
Seek Truth
Know God
Serve Others
And thus, with His help,
Become the girl God would have me be.

I could hardly believe that it was still there in it’s entirety. Though my CGIT pin is still in the bottom of my jewelry box, I attended my last meeting in 1969! This really makes me wonder what else is still hidden deep within my mind and what it would take to access all of it.

Remembering the CGIT purpose has also caused me to do a bit of self evaluation today. Looking back at what I recited so faithfully all those years ago, how have I done? Did I go on to cherish health, seek truth, know God and serve others? I think I can answer with a resounding yes! Those four goals could still be my mission statement today. Does that mean that I’ve become the girl God would have me be? I’d like to think so but I know that I’m still a work in progress!

One word

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In the latest issue of Chatelaine, one of Canada’s favourite women’s magazines, editor Jane Francisco challenged her readers to choose one word that sums up who they are and submit it to the magazine’s website to qualify for a prize. It could be an adjective, a verb or a noun. She chose evolving as her word.

I am a lover of words but that’s a tough assignment! How can I possibly sum up who I am in just one word? As I’ve pondered this question over the past couple of days, many possibilities have come to mind.

In my younger days, shy or introverted might have described me best but I’ve worked hard to overcome that. People are often surprised when I tell them what a timid child I was.

I readily admit to being stubborn though I much prefer to think of myself as  determined . On a similar vein, as I worked away on the physiotherapy exercises that have recently brought renewed strength to my left knee, my husband often commented on my tenacity so perhaps tenacious is the word I’m looking for.

There are many words that I hope describe me. As a Christian striving to live a life of integrity, honest and  faithful definitely come to mind. This afternoon we attended a funeral celebrating the life of a man who lived for almost 91 years. As his children, grandchildren and pastor paid tribute to him, one word came up over and over again. Fred was a godly man. How I would love to be described that way!

A few years ago, as I said good bye to someone I’d known for only a short while who lives a long distance away we hugged and he said, “You’re phenomenal! ” Wow! Though time has passed, that moment etched itself in my memory. The idea that someone could think that highly of me was quite overwhelming. It touched me so deeply that I still remember the roughness of his stubble against my cheek as we embraced.

Though I’ve retired from the profession, teacher is a word that still describes me. I also consider myself a learner, ever changing and growing but none of these words captures the entire essence of who I am.

Perhaps authentic or genuine come close. That’s one of the advantages that come with age. The older I get, the less I worry about what other people think of me. I’m free to be a little bit eccentric or even audacious.

The Bible tells me that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14); that before I was born God knew me and set me apart (Jeremiah 1:5). After thinking and pondering over many different words, there’s my answer! It was staring me in the face all along. Like an individual snowflake, I am UNIQUE!

What would your one word be?

A question to wrestle with

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In thousands of homes across Canada, tiny Gideon Bibles gather dust on shelves or are hidden away in boxes and drawers. Gideons International is an evangelical Christian organization dedicated to distributing free copies of the Bible in over 94 languages and 194 countries of the world. Gideon Bibles can be found in hotel rooms, hospitals, nursing homes and prisons around the world. In addition, they are given to members of the military of various countries and in some places they are distributed to college and university students, health care workers, fire fighters, and police officers.

In 1946, Canadian Gideons began presenting New Testaments to all grade 5 students in Canada whose parents consented. The little Bibles that the children receive also include the Old Testament Hebrew books of Psalms and Proverbs. Why have so many people kept these little testaments? What is it about them that has caused people who never read the Bible or attend church to keep theirs and to still have it decades after they’ve grown up? Is it because it was received as a free gift, is it simply because it’s a souvenir of childhood or do they somehow sense that there is power in the Word of God? Like so many others, I still have mine. I received it on April 10, 1963. Even during my most rebellious years when I turned my back on God and the church, I kept my little maroon Bible.

In recent years, the practice of distributing Gideon Bibles in schools has stirred up quite a tempest with critics saying that it isn’t appropriate for public schools in a multicultural society to distribute religious material. At this point, the decision whether or not to allow the practice to continue has been left up to individual school boards. Yesterday, two representatives of the nearest Gideons chapter visited our church to share about their ministry and to update us on what’s happening in our jurisdiction. For the first time since 1946, the Gideons have not been allowed to hand out Bibles in our schools this year and a final decision regarding the future is in the hands of the superintendent of schools. We were urged to pray that they be allowed to resume distribution and to write letters to the superintendent urging him to decide in their favour. Many, including my husband, are praying to that end but I’m not ready to jump on that bandwagon without considering all the implications. I believe that the Bible is the inspired Word of God and that it is useful for teaching, correcting and equipping us for every good work (2 Timothy 3:16-17) but I’ve been wrestling with whether or not it should be distributed in our schools.

When I posed the question on Facebook yesterday, one acquaintance responded that the practice should be allowed to continue because it’s been a long-standing tradition in our schools. For me, that’s not good enough. Just because we’ve always done something isn’t enough reason to continue doing it. As a teacher, I welcomed the Gideons into my classroom and witnessed first hand the excitement of the children as they received their Bibles but I also know that the door that allowed the Gideons in was also open to every other religious organization. Just because they haven’t taken advantage of that opportunity yet doesn’t mean that they won’t. It may not be politically correct to say so, but I don’t want the Koran or the Hindu, Bahai or Wiccan sacred texts being distributed in our schools.

Canada was built on Christian principles but the cultural and religious fabric of our nation has changed. We’ve opened our hearts and our borders to the world but in our haste to embrace tolerance, we’ve allowed changes that we might not have anticipated. We have polygamous marriages and honour killings now. I know they’re not endorsed by law but we ought not to close our eyes and pretend that they aren’t here. Muslim girls can wear the hijab in Canadian schools and the right of a young Sikh student to wear his kirpan, the ceremonial dagger of his faith, at school went to the Supreme Court of Canada. After years of wrangling, in March of 2006 the court ruled 8-0 that a total ban of the kirpan in schools violated the Charter of Rights because it would infringe on the Charter’s guarantee of religious freedom. So, is it really a stretch to think that other religions might want to introduce their writings to our students? I don’t think so.

On the other hand, the latest figures from Statistics Canada show that 77% of the population still claims to be Christian. These numbers are down significantly from 1951 when 96% of Canadians identified themselves as either Catholic or Protestant but 77% is still a clear majority and ours is still a democratic country. Perhaps we shouldn’t be allowing the other 23% to silence us.

What do you think? 

It would take more than a broken toe to stop me!

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Our time by the ocean was over way too soon! I took the second photo just before my final plunge into the surf. Unfortunately, my left foot hasn’t looked the same since. Instead, it’s been an ever-changing kaleidoscope of black, blue and purple!

The tide was out further than it had been during our previous swims and unbeknownst to us, there were rocky outcroppings lurking beneath the water’s surface. While battling the waves on my way into the water, I jammed the toes of my left foot on one of them injuring again the same toe that I’d broken many years earlier. Thankfully, I’d packed some extra strength Ibuprofen gel caps in case I ended up with a migraine while we were away. I took one of those, prayed over my foot and determined that it wasn’t going to stop me from enjoying the more strenuous activities of hiking and zip lining that we had planned for the next few days. After all, I’d hiked to Delicate Arch in Utah’s Arches National Park on the same toe the last time I’d broken it!

Sometimes God must look down on my foolishness and decide to bless me anyway! In spite of the nasty colours that my foot was turning, I did indeed have three active days with nothing more than minor discomfort and I accomplished all that we had planned. It wasn’t until the trip home that the foot started to swell and became much more painful. I’m sure that the many hours we spent standing in line ups at airports and sitting on airplanes didn’t help. As I’ve mentioned before, the trip home was a long and grueling one including a 24 hour delay at Houston. By the time we returned to the enormous airport the second day, I’d had all the walking I could handle. We borrowed a wheelchair and Richard wheeled me around. When it was time to board the plane, an agent wheeled me down the ramp and we were the first onboard!

I spent our first morning home at the hospital waiting to see my doctor and having x-rays taken. He’s pretty sure that there’s a hairline crack in one of the tiny bones but we’re waiting for the radiologist’s report to confirm that. In any case, there’s not a lot to be done except to wait for healing to take place. In the meantime, I’m supposed to wear hard soled shoes all the time (I hate wearing shoes in the house!) and I’ll have to adapt my exercise program to accommodate. I guess there won’t be any long walks or time spent on the treadmill for awhile!

Alzheimer’s is robbing me of my mother

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I originally started this blog to chronicle our travels when we moved to Japan to teach English for a year. For the past several years, our family has also been on a journey of a very different kind as we’ve watched my mother gradually spiral downward and disappear into the depths of Alzheimer’s disease but I haven’t felt at liberty to blog about it until now. Until recently, my father, who is a very private person and also Mom’s primary caregiver, has been one of my most faithful readers. Out of respect for him, I didn’t share our journey publicly but now that his very old computer has died and he’s discontinued his internet service, I feel free to write about it.

I still remember the summer visit several years ago when I first had an inkling that something was wrong. I mentioned one of Mom’s grandchildren and she had no idea who I was talking about. Her question, “Who’s Jessica?” was for me one of those life changing moments when my entire world seemed to shift on its axis. I lay awake at night wondering what the future would hold and experiencing for the first time a deep sense of anxiety that has become more and more familiar to me.

Over the ensuing years, the mother that I grew up with has disappeared and parent has gradually become child. It has been a fairly slow decline. Many times, Mom would seem to slip very noticeably and then plateau for a time giving us a chance to get used to the changes before more drastic ones surfaced. Unfortunately, Dad seemed to be in denial for the longest time making it impossible for us to discuss the situation with him or to be of much help. It’s only in the last year that Mom’s condition has been clearly identified as Alzheimer’s disease and that we’ve been able to talk about it openly. The situation is made worse by the fact that my sister, my younger brother and I live in Alberta while Mom and Dad are here in Vancouver. Only our older brother, mentally handicapped and himself living in care, and our oldest son Matthew are here at the coast. We really can’t saddle Matthew, in his second year of a law career, renovating a house and parenting two very young children with the responsibility of watching out for his elderly grandparents. He and Robin visit as often as they can and do their best to keep us informed of any changes or problems that they notice.

The blessing in all of this, if there is such a thing, is the fact that Mom’s decline didn’t begin until she was over 80. Dad retired at 59 and they spent the next two decades following their dreams and travelling the world. They visited over 60 countries spending more than a year in Europe and 9 months in Australia. (I come by my gypsy blood honestly!) They took their last big trip 8 years ago when they flew to the Dominican Republic to celebrate their 55th wedding anniversary.

For the past few years, it’s been a chore to get Mom to leave their apartment. Now, at 89 years old, she is incontinent, legally blind and confined to a wheelchair. Though these infirmities are fairly recent developments, in Mom’s mind she’s suffered from them for most of her life and she’s constantly coming up with fanciful explanations that are in no way grounded in reality. Last night she told us that people are trying to poison her with peanut butter which has always been a favourite of hers! Sometimes all we can do is laugh. It’s either that or cry. She’s clearly in the sixth of the seven clinical stages of Alzheimer’s and needs constant care and supervision.

After 63 years of marriage, Dad refuses to allow them to be separated and insists on caring for her himself. He’s clearly wearing out and we don’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this up but he’s of sound mind and has the right to live life the way he chooses. There are those who suggest that we, as a family, should try to force him to put Mom into care but we are firm believers in the fifth commandment and we know of no other way to honour our parents than to allow them to live out their final years the way they want to while being as supportive as we can given our own circumstances.

This, of course, means more frequent visits. This is our third trip to Vancouver this year and each of my siblings has also been here. When we’re here, we thoroughly clean the apartment, a job that Dad has a hard time keeping up with these days, and try to provide opportunities for him to get out and have a break. This week, he even went on a forest adventure with great grandson, Sam!

Having Matt, Robin, Sam and little Nate here in Vancouver is indeed a blessing at this time in our lives. Visits to Vancouver would be much more difficult if we didn’t have them to stay with some of the time and, of course, grandchildren provide such wonderful stress relief!

Mom with her youngest great grandchild, Nate, in March 2011

Focus, Confidence, Hi-Ya!

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Wikipedia defines writer’s block as a condition in which an author loses the ability to produce new work. The writer may be greatly distracted and feel he or she may have something that needs to be done beforehand, it goes on to explain.

That would be exactly why I haven’t blogged much lately! Not only have I been busy with all the usual Christmas preparations… shopping, wrapping, baking, and decorating… but I took on a bit too much at the church finding myself responsible for three events in a ten day period! Individually, none of them was too much to handle but three coming in such a short period of time at an already busy time of year created a lot of stress. When I flipped the calendar page over to December, I suddenly found myself waking up at odd hours and lying in bed worrying about details that still needed to be taken care of. More than once, I was at the kitchen table writing lists at 3:30 in the morning! As is so often the case, things looked much better in the light of day. Others stepped in to help and everything went without a hitch. Now I’m free to relax and enjoy the Christmas season.

One of the best things about Christmas is time with family. That started this week with a pre Christmas trip to Calgary to visit our daughter, Melaina, her husband, Aaron, and our grandchildren, Drew and Jami-Lee. On our way home today, we stopped in Red Deer for lunch with Richard’s sister, Sue, and some of her family. As her five-year-old grandson, Kale, told us about his tae kwon do lessons and pantomimed breaking a board, he repeated the mantra Focus, Confidence, Hi-Ya!

I couldn’t help thinking that that’s how I should approach life’s challenges! I’d add one crucial element, however. So, in the coming year, instead of lying awake and worrying when life gets stressful I plan to face my challenges with

Focus, Prayer, Confidence and a mighty Hi-Ya!

Thanks, Kale!

Bethlehem Walk

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We went to Bethlehem today without ever leaving Alberta! West Edmonton Christian Assembly, just off Anthony Henday Drive on the western outskirts of the city, is hosting its second annual Bethlehem Walk and it was well worth the four hours of driving to get there and back. 81 000 square feet of indoor space have been converted into the streets and shops of ancient Bethlehem. More than 450 volunteers dressed in period costumes add authenticity to the scene.

We started with the shepherds in the fields outside Bethlehem where angels high above our heads sang out the good news of the Messiah’s birth. Inside the gates, the streets of Bethlehem were crowded just as they were on that first Christmas some 2000 years ago. Wandering from shop to shop, we enjoyed the sights, sounds, tastes and smells of the busy town. We sampled dates, honey, buns and tea; smelled frankincense, soap and spices; watched the potter kneading clay and saw wheat being ground into flour and olives being pressed for oil.

   

I lingered longest in the stable behind the Bethlehem Inn. There, amidst the pens of goats, sheep, donkeys and oxen… yes, live goats, sheep, donkeys and oxen… we found Mary, Joseph and the wee baby Jesus. When we arrived, he was sound asleep in the manger. I was especially moved by the little golden haired girl who stood in wonder and repeatedly asked, “Is he real?” Yes, sweetheart, He is real! I thought as I remembered the line from my favourite Christmas song…

Mighty God and fragile baby, here a lowly manger holds.
And it’s still the greatest story ever told.

This, I thought, is what Christmas is really all about and I stayed until the baby woke.

Moving on, we passed the blacksmith making nails and, finally, the cross maker chiselling and forming crosses to be used by the oppressive Roman authorities to execute criminals on; not by choice, he hastened to tell us, but because the Romans had conscripted him to do so. Locating the blacksmith and the cross maker immediately following the stable was clearly the result of careful planning and was very effective. After all, what is Christmas without Easter? the manger without the cross?

 

What influences your sense of self-worth?

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This post has been brewing for awhile. In fact, I started it once, discarded it and now I’m starting it again. Richard and I are doing a weekly Bible study with two other couples using Charles F. Stanley’s How to Reach Your Full Potential for God. One of last week’s questions resulted in some serious self examination.

What influences your sense of self-worth?

The study guide offered the following list of possible responses:

  • ___  entertainment
  • ___  relationships
  • ___  education
  • ___  hobbies
  • ___  goals
  • ___  possessions
  • ___  employment
  • ___  appearance
  • ___  service
  • ___  God
  • ___  other: ______________

I don’t have a problem with low self-esteem. In fact, I feel pretty darn good about myself. Many factors on this list contribute to that: healthy, affirming relationships; hobbies like writing and drama; and of course, my relationship with God, to name just a few.

At the bottom of the list, my “other” is my children. I am so proud of the fine young adults that they’ve become and it irks me when people say “You’re so lucky that your kids turned out so well”. I have news for you, folks! It isn’t luck! Parenting well is hard work. I know that there are no guarantees and even some of the best parents have troubled kids but I believe that I (we) did a great job and yes, knowing that definitely adds to my feelings of self-worth.

So why is it that something as superficial as appearance influences my sense of self-worth so strongly? The next question in the study guide asked “In what areas of life are you most likely to compare yourself to others?” and I had to admit to myself that for me it was appearance. I know that this is true of women in general but why? This question has led to a lot of soul searching on my part.

Donloree onstage

One of my favourite bloggers is figure competitor, Donloree Hoffman of Bikini or Bust. As I’ve followed her blog for the past year, I’ve come to the conclusion that I, too, am a figure competitor. Oh, I’ll never stand onstage in a spray tan and a bespangled bikini (too many stretch marks and scars from multiple abdominal surgeries make that an impossibility) but I compete with other women all the time. I’ve come to the realization that it’s not my hair, my make-up or my clothes that I look at when I’m comparing myself to others; it’s my body, my physique. I don’t look at a healthy, fit looking woman and think ‘I wish I looked like her’. In fact, I can truly appreciate and admire a well toned body. No, it’s the overweight, out of shape women that make me feel like a winner! How pathetic is that? I’m absolutely certain that this attitude doesn’t please my God, the one who created each one of us and who loves us just the way we are.

Twiggy

But why do I feel this way? I think there are many reasons. Our culture, of course, teaches young girls and women to value physical beauty above even good health. I grew up in the age of Twiggy, the emaciated looking fashion model of the 1960s. She became an instant sensation and suddenly, skinny was beautiful. In those days, my mom was overweight. She wasn’t obese but she definitely carried a few more pounds than she should have. “Just wait until you’ve had babies,” she’d tell me. “You’ll look like this too.” No, never, I vowed to myself! My father, who exercised regularly, often gave her a hard time about her weight. Is it any wonder that I grew up thinking that thin equalled beautiful? Then came marriage to a porn addict. Obviously I had to compete physically, or at least that’s what I told myself. Those are all things of the distant past now, but clearly they had a profound impact and helped shape who I am today.

So, what does all this soul searching and self-evaluation mean? Am I going to stop striving toward a better physical body? Absolutely not! There are many very good reasons to continue eating clean and exercising regularly. I believe that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). God has blessed me with a healthy body and I plan to do the best I can to keep it that way. I hope to live for another 30 years or more and I want them to be good years filled with action and adventure. Staying physically fit has so many benefits. No, that’s not something I’m about to change. I feel good and I like what I see in the mirror!  What I do hope to change is my attitude. From now on, I want to look at other women, even those who are obese and those who haven’t taken care of themselves, with compassion. I want to see the beauty that God sees in them and I don’t want my sense of self-worth to depend on them any longer.

So, now that I’ve bared my soul, let me ask what influences your sense of self-worth?