Look at me, just blog blog blogging away. I wanted to give a little taste of our camping trip to Puerto Rico. It was wonderful. So very wonderful. It was all I could have asked for and more. The weather was warm, the water was warm, I got a sun tan, I spent time with my best little friend, we ran into friends from Philadelphia, we saw dolphins, and iguanas, beaches, and rain forests. We laughed, we talked, we slept, we hiked, and we drove all around the perimeter of Puerto Rico. We even took a 90 minute ferry ride out to a smaller island called Culebra. We stayed at three different camp sites, each for two nights. Two nights on the west coast, two nights on Culabra, and two nights on the east coast. I'm not going to lie, I accidentally shed a few tears coming home, as I was not ready to leave my little paradise. The people were lovely, the small bits of island mentality we experienced were refreshing. There was no rushing, nothing else to do, but just enjoy each other and the beauty of our surroundings. I often have trouble with the idea of a "vacation". Sometimes I feel tremendous guilt. Whether or not vacationing is "right" or "wrong", I am so incredibly thankful to have gotten the experience. It was so refreshing to get out of the city, and to take a week off from our crazy schedules. I am a big believer in beauty, nature, and quality time. We had them all. Hooray!

A question, and my answer from the exam that sparked the discussion--- Sort of silly, but interesting to think about.

Topic 5- If you could choose to talk to one deity that we studied, which would it be, what would you ask, and what do you think that god’s answer would be? If you want to set this up in the form of a conversation, feel free.
One day I was pondering the role of women in the world, and wondering why throughout history women have seemed to be held down, misunderstood, and silenced. I decided the only way I would find an answer to this question was to ask the stereotype herself, the most misunderstood, the “White-armed”-- Hera. So I went to her in Argos, and found her surrounded by beautiful peacocks and cows.
I asked her, “Hera, wife of Zeus, are you really as wild as they made you out to be, and if not, why did you allow such a misrepresentation to happen? You are powerful, beautiful, and the protector of mothers, and yet you portray us as hyper-emotional, jealous, and ruthless. You could have spent so much more time protecting, empowering and nurturing mothers. Perhaps maternal and infant mortality could have been alleviated if you had only stopped chasing after Zeus’s mistresses and paid attention to more important things. You could have overthrown Zeus if you had only focused on how powerful you could have been. While he was gallivanting about being unfaithful, you could have mustered up all of that beautiful woman-strength and defeated patriarchy. Being a midwife myself, I am offended by your distraction and seeming disregard for mothers and women.”
Hera looked at me for a long time and spoke with reservation and wisdom.
“Yes, I was portrayed as such. I was jealous, and ruthless. My stories were written by men scared of what women were, and what they could be. Within their stories, I tried to tell my own. For example, my jealousy only tells of how painful and destructive infidelity can be. My strength, showed in my revenge upon Zeus’s mistresses tells of what women are capable of, and that we are to be respected and revered. Though the strength is misguided, it is real, and portrayed mysteriously as men understand it. As far as overthrowing Zeus, you and I both know that men desire, more than women, to feel as though they are in control and powerful. Women can be leaders in more modest ways, without whistles and bells, while being equally powerful. I prove stereotypes, viewed by the world as negative, but if looked at from a different perspective, should be admired. Our emotional make up, the ability to feel, and feel deeply allows us to experience life in ways men cannot, for better or worse. These stories paint the darker, mysterious side of women that men fear, and this, if examined carefully is the overthrow of patriarchy. And as for my attention to mothers, most of my nurturing side goes unrecorded; which doesn’t bother me, as I need no affirmation.”
I left Argos with a greater understanding of how “They could honour her equally with Zeus who loves thunder and lightning.” (Hymn to Hera, pg 111)

Disclaimer- I know very little on the subject I am about to write on, but find it incredibly fascinating, so will write none the less.

In my Cultural Traditions class today we discussed the idea of balance in terms of men and women. We have been talking, for the last couple of months about Mesopotamia, and ancient Greek culture, focusing mainly on religion. After the exam we took before break, he realized that many in the class had a misunderstanding of the view of women in these cultures. To better our understanding, he contrasted their view with that of our own modern world.

We addressed the widely known and touchy fact that men dwell in a more "physical world" and women in a more "sensory world". I am not one for gender roles, as I have experienced time and time again, beautiful exceptions to the rules. But for the sake of this blog, I will conclude that, for the most part, the above fact is true. In the ancient world, men often times (although not all the time) were the hunters, the gatherers and warriors. The women were the feelers, the ones surrounding the supernatural, and belief. Many of the original deities worshiped by ancient cultures were female figures. Throughout history, there has been mystery and magic surrounding women. From our menstrual cycles being rhythmically timed with the moon, to our deep inclination towards emotion and depth, women have mystified the opposite sex. This mystery, for many, many generations was feared and respected. Somewhere along the line patriarchy entered and the fear surrounding this mystery turned from reverence, into trepidation and it was decided that these mysteries should be blotted out.

We then talked about the Age of Enlightenment, and the impact that it has had on women, or individuals who naturally dwell more in the "sensory world". The Age of Enlightenment put incredible emphasis on exploring the "physical world". Which we, for the sake of this blog, have chosen to say is a male dominated world. With reason taking the place of the supernatural, and facts, numbers, and science explaining away so many aspects of mystery, the "sensory world" was proven to be almost as silly as a child's bedtime story. Women have therefore had to conform, on many levels to this "physical world" in order to obtain power, respect, and legitimacy. And many many women have done this very very well. But something has been lost.

The point my professor was trying to make is that throughout history you see the necessity of balance, or tension between the "physical" and "sensory" worlds. As mystery and magic have been explained away, so have so many of the things that make women powerful and wonderful. I have felt a great change in myself throughout the past two years, as I have seemingly entered my very own Age of Enlightenment. I often feel ashamed to experience emotion as strongly as my body naturally would like experience it. I feel this constant battle between the beauty of mystery and the appeal of science. I am more critical of the world around me, and the people I interact with daily. Things are often darker, colder, and more empty. I feel ashamed to feel. This often comes out in my relationship with my very own, very lovely, and very "physical world", Matt. He is wonderful in that he openly admires my dwelling in a more "sensory world". I often find this hard to believe, as my own Age of Reason tells me that, that world is a weaker world. What a horrible loss.

Whether male, or female, the loss of this "sensory world" is chilling. Just as it would be if the "physical world" were lost and the "sensory world" prevailed. As I said before, I know very little of these things, but find myself feeling as though I am lacking. I feel as though I so often strive to quench my feelings, put away with childish things, blot out that longing for the mysterious, that longing for a loving God--- as these things are unreasonable. But how amazing, how powerful would it be to embrace these things, and appreciate the beauty of who we are. We living in the "sensory world" are vital. To conform to anything less is to submit to a lesser life. I so deeply love that these roles can be reversed. My point in this blog is not to say that men should be men and women should be women and that it should look a certain way. But to come alive in the worlds we were born into, where we dwell naturally. To be comfortable with mystery, emotion, and a power that looks different than ANSWERS.

I think that I have been awkwardly looking for this balance in myself. The yin and the yang. Both sides so important, one so often quenched or forgotten. Perhaps this is why I love midwifery so much. Science, and spirit all in one act. Its beautiful. To feel, and feel deeply truly is a beautiful thing.

For better or for worse, I believe that this image sums up the entirety of my blog. I make no apologies. I only point out the beauty of humanity and depth of emotion. To feel is a wonderful thing, tiresome, but wonderful. I hope that those who still read this can appreciate the waves of joy and sorrow that litter these pages. I hope they touch, stir, and enlighten. Alhumdillah.

Today is Thursday. My day off, and my day allotted to doing homework. However, hours seem to pass in thought, or distraction and I find myself at 5:30 pm only having done two hours of work. Thursday is also the day I go to counseling. That's right, I've started counseling. In fact I began a few months ago now. I see a wonderful young woman, who's age was actually a terrifying deterrent for the first few weeks. I decided that she could learn how to counsel while I learned how to be counseled and in the process I would be healed and mended completely. Healing and mending, in fullness, have yet to happen, however as time goes on I feel more and more inclined to do so. I have realized that perhaps it really is my choice. Day by day I realize I am more open, and more receptive to hope. In fact there are many things that have stirred hope in me recently. It is nearing the end of February; March is surly on her way. And with it the faint whisper of spring. I am still freezing, but the sun seems to hint at her warming so sweetly I can almost feel it in the tips of my toes--- my steps seem to grow lighter--- I imagine twirling.

I have this anticipation in my belly, the sort that comes with exciting change. For better or for worse my heart swells with the coming of change. I am moving out of my house. Yes, I am moving out of my wonderful, beautiful house. This house, filled with her 12 residents-turned-family; nestled in a beautiful, yet pained world; this house that has held me within her walls longer than any house in 7 years. It will be hard to leave. It will be hard for a number of reasons. Some for the people, some for the kitchen, some for the roof, some for the dog, and some for the final surrender of a world I have seemingly grown out of, but feel so hopelessly attached to. From the beginning, the moment I moved into that house, I was unable to offer it what it was made for. Intentional, personal, community. My heart, my body, my mind, have been so tired. I have expressed in the past a terrible feeling of loss, realizing that I have been unable to invest in the world like I once was able. My neighborhood felt distant, my roommates closer, much closer, but still distant. I didn't know how to change it. Then with the onset of school, work, and extra-curricular activities, I found myself home less and less. For a number of reasons, this wore on my old house, with all of its good intentions, and expectations. I fear I have treated it more as a house, and less as a family. To be honest, I don't know how I could have done it any differently. It was a wonderful year. I wouldn't have traded it for the world. These people, these friends, have helped me in ways they may not even recognize, given my absence. But the peacefulness of that house, the conflict, unease, and beauty of the neighborhood... it all in one way or another shook me, held me, and perhaps has made me stronger. I feel so good about leaving. I am sad to leave, which helps me realize how thankful I am to have lived there, and how much I will be giving up leaving. But a new world awaits me, one that I think I will fit quite well in. Smaller scale community with dear and wonderful friends--- The Parsons. I look forward to warm weather cook outs, late night popcorn and movies, chit chats, laughs, laughs and lots of laughs. I will be living in the same neighborhood as my work, which I feel very invested in. I know these people, I know their corks, and their stories. The blocks are beautifully littered with trees, and houses sheltering friends. Instead of living with lots of familiar faces under the same roof, I'll be living in a whole neighborhood of familiar faces. It will be good for me. I look forward to it. It does feel, however, as though I am finally shutting a door in my own heart that should have perhaps been shut a while ago. And this, this scares me. But hope is on the horizon.

Matt and I are leaving in one week for Puerto Rico. We will be going camping. I look forward to being warmed by that wonderful sun, and feeling the peace that comes with the green of nature, and the vastness of the ocean. I have no idea what it will be like, I laugh nervously--- thinking about what we may be getting ourselves into. But I am excited about the adventure. Matt has truly become one of my favorite beings on the face of the earth. I look forward to spending time enjoying that fact. I anticipate lots of laughter, lots of reading, lots of falling asleep in the sun, and lots and lots of swimming.

Change is coming. And I am well. For better or for worse its what warms my soul. Especially when that change means spring. It makes me miss Jesus. That anticipatory longing. Not anxiousness, but hopeful longing. I used to feel that often. As if spring was always just around the corner. Excitement, yet contentment. As if my feet were always about ready to dance. As days pass, I am more and more willing to surrender to that desire to dance. Skepticism, cynicism, weight, they seem to be fading. Whether or not its an illusion, coming with the changing of the seasons, I do not know, but I am thankful for the break none the less. So, surrender, peace, harmony, invade me. And spring, come quickly...

Gratefulness. Last night The Parsons and I watched "The Pursuit of Happyness" staring Will Smith. (Side note- If I wasn't to marry JTT, Will Smith was always my next choice.) Throughout the movie I was overwhelmed with how thankful I am to have the family and friends I have. Dreams can seemingly be accomplished by one's lonesome, but I am so thankful to have friends and family along side while I try. It seems to be so much more delightful that way. I was thinking about how homelessness, brokeness, and isolation are things that I could only accomplish if I completely alienated myself from those who love me. Even then, I'm still not sure they'd let me go. I am so overwhelmed by the knowledge that I am, and probably always will be, surrounded by people who love and support me. Its incredible how a bit of perspective can bring about such wonderful revelations. So, to all of you who have supported me through out my "pursuit of happiness"- Thank you. And for those who will continue to support me- Thank you. I have been dealt a wonderful little hand in this life. A wonderful family, wonderful friends, a nice city, fun housemates, an amazing partner with a wonderful family, a great job, a nice school adventure, attainable dreams and goals... etc etc... the list could go on... Its really nice to realize how lucky I really am. I've accomplished so much already with the love and guidance of community, and look forward to being supported through the next adventure. I love you all very much. Here's to a truly Happy New Year.

"If you cannot express yourself on any subject, struggle until you can. If you do not, someone will be the poorer all the days of his life. Struggle to re-express some truth of God to yourself, and God will use that expression to someone else. Go through the winepress of God where the grapes are crushed. You must struggle to get expression experimentally, then there will come a time when that expression will become the very wine of strengthening to someone else; but if you say lazily - "I am not going to struggle to express this thing for myself, I will borrow what I say," the expression will not only be of no use to you, but of no use to anyone. Try to state to yourself what you feel implicitly to be God's truth, and you give God a chance to pass it on to someone else through you.

Always make a practice of provoking your own mind to think out what it accepts easily. Our position is not ours until we make it ours by suffering. The author who benefits you most is not the one who tells you something you did not know before, but the one who gives expression to the truth that has been dumbly struggling in you for utterance."
-Oswald Chambers

I have had some really interesting conversations over the last few months, about growth, struggle, questions, etc. etc. I was recently flipping through "My Utmost for His Highest", read this, and was instantly reminded of this facinating little blog I have here and how I am able to express myself, for better or for worse, to this bizzare abyss. After my last post I had someone share their concerns with me about where I am at spiritually. Which made me a bit sad. On one hand I want so badly to be able to say- yes I am the same Bess I was then and the same Bess you expect and want me to be, fear not. Some days I feel as though my "spiritual crisis" of sorts is actually just a repersentation of my failing as a follower of Christ, and as a part of "the Body". But then on the other hand I feel as though the above devotion "gives expression to the truth that has been dumbly struggling in [me] for utterance." I often feel as though this venue of expression has become difficult. The stories I once shared have turned from exciting, passionate tales to boring, uncomfortable, possibly contriversial, often redunant rantings about who, what, where, when, and why I believe what I believe. However, I also feel as though by not expressing whatever I am experiencing now, my experience as a whole would only be half represented. And then where would that leave us. To not talk about the struggles that come after such a life or such an experience seems almost a discredit to the life or experience. In the numerous conversations I've had with people lately, I've felt this sort of push to really delve into whatever it is that is happening in my mind and heart. I am slowly, but surely, learning to embrace such an idea instead of fearing it and discarding it immediatly. I am slowly begining to see the potential of such a "crisis". I imagine the depth that I could possibly gain, the peace, the contentment... I find so much freedom in realizing I am less concerned with "what I'll be" at the end of this, but more with, "who I'll be".

So, with that I say here is my struggle, I hope you find and accept your's too...
My new year brings with it a new beginning. And I hope to say this time next year that I am one step closer to wherever it is I am going. And that much more peaceful.

Happy Holidays.
Peace, joy, and safety to you.

On Friday as I was walking home from the El train I passed multiple drug offers, only to pass a few young adults sitting on a stoop. A young woman amoung them offered me drugs as well, only to be shut down immediatly by one of her cohorts who stated, "Nah man, she don't do that."
I paused my step for a minute, looked him in the face and thanked him. I walked the rest of the block home smiling.