Sometimes It's Hard to Be a Woman

But is it so hard we need books like this?

I was standing in front of the women's interest section at the Family Christian store today and found that almost every book there was aimed at women who are unhappy, unfit, unsatisfied and un-relaxed. In contrast, the men's books were all about finding your secret inner-man, finding truth, and finding out about heroes of the faith.

Before I go bananas about Christian publishers taking advantage of women, I have to remember, publishers wouldn't print so many books for un-something women if women weren't buying them. But I wouldn't describe the women I know as an unhappy lot. I think we wrestle to find contentment, but overall, we understand that God's grace is sufficient in our weakness. We know that life is hard, but He is good. We know we don't need to have it all, or have it all together to be loved and accepted by the One who created us.

Perhaps I will write a book about it. And I guarantee you, the cover will not have any of the following on it: pink, a frazzled-looking woman, a mug or teacup, flowers, a shiny photo of yours truly.

My apologies to any of you who may have read and loved the strong life book. I promise not to judge.

She's Got a Ticket to Ride

I found grace in a Zumba class tonight. Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, my gym started giving out tickets for Zumba class as a means to limit the ridiculous number of people who were attending. It's a great class, but it was getting pretty dangerous as 90-some women shimmied their way around the room. Now there are 56 tickets for Zumba class, first-come, first-served.

The first week I was 10 minutes early and got ticket 44. Last week I was 20 minutes early and got ticket 43. This week I was 20 minutes early and got nothing. I went to the locker room to plan my next move (read: go to the bathroom) and bumped into a couple girls from class who had tickets 55 and 56. We were talking for a while and the instructor came through and encouraged me to wait outside the door and she would try to sneak me in.

As I waited outside the exercise room, I met a lady with whom I've become friendly. We were laughing about the ticket situation and she said, "Did you get one?" I told her my tale. She said, "I have two", and then produced ticket number 34. She didn't get the chance to tell me how she'd gotten it, but I was so thankful!

Throughout the class, I kept thinking about how fortunate I was to be there, and that made me work much harder. I didn't take my presence in class for granted, and I wasn't congratulating myself for being so early, so organized or so dedicated (which is what I've done for the past two weeks when I've gotten tickets). Instead, I was grateful. When I wanted to slack off, I thought, someone gave something for me to be here.

Imagine if I approached my life that way! The Gospel tells me that my life is worth Jesus dying, it cost Him so much for me to enjoy the freedom I know. Am I living in light of that? I don't mean that Jesus' sacrifice should make me work harder, because I believe His work is sufficient. What I mean is, I should stop giving myself credit, stop trying to fast-forward through the waiting seasons of my life, and remember that Someone gave something for me to be here.

Could I Have Been Anyone Other than Me?

I've officially spent too much time reading blogs. Here's how I know.

Today, I went to Target and bought 4 boxes of Kellogg's cereal. As I got into my car, I wanted to tell all of you about it. Why? I believe I was influenced by one of the blogs I follow, which is about living frugally. 4 boxes of cereal for about $11, minus $2.00 in coupouns + Target giving me a $5 gift card for buying mass quantities of cereal. Total cost to me: $4.00. When it comes to a deal, my eyes are often bigger than my pantry. Now I am one girl with tons of cereal.

Enter blog influence number two. One of my cereal purchases was Froot Loops. It's been forever since I've had a Froot Loop, and as I pondered what to do with all this cereal, I remembered how the Susquehanna (Sus-kweh-hanna) cafeteria folks used to make us Rice Krispies treats using all manner of cereals. They did this for us during exams, when the caf stayed open all night. When I got home, I whipped up some Froot Loops treats. Cooking blogs always have these mouth-watering, artsy photos of their creations, here is my lazy attempt at mouth-watering and artsy photography:



I was telling a friend yesterday that I started this blog not knowing much about blogging. I didn't know blogs had to have a theme or a purpose, I just thought they were journals you let other people read. So I'm wondering, if I had it to do again, if I got to reboot the blog--what would I do? My life as a vascular patient? I wish more people would read this so I could quit my day job? The superiority of girls from Philadelphia? I guess we'll never know...

That Was Then, This Is Now

I'm not sure if the warmer weather is really here to stay, but even if it's just for today, I am wearing shorts. After all the vein drama that has been documented here, I thought I'd show off Dr. Todd's surgical skills. Here's my left leg at the end of August.

And here is it today (the redness is from sitting criss-cross applesauce, don't be frightened).

Veins and tan are gone! Bring on the summer before someone mistakes me for a Cullen!

I'm Such a Baby, Yeah, the Dolphins Make Me Cry

OK, the Dolphins have never made me cry, but the Phillies have. On Wednesday, October 29, 2008, I sat in my living room with tears streaming from my eyes as Brad Lidge struck out Eric Hinske to give the Phillies their first championship in 28 years. A little more than a year later, I would sit on the same couch, crying more tears, as Phillies outfielder Shane Victorino grounded out to end the World Series, giving a team-that-must-not-be-named the victory.

Sometimes I’m not even a fan of the team or athlete, but I’ll still get a little choked up. Over the summer, I was on an elliptical, watching Sports Center highlights of a pitcher’s perfect game and I cried. Gold medal ceremonies? Bring on the Kleenex.

I am a sports fan, there’s no way around it.

Now I live in North Carolina, the land of milk and college basketball, but for seven years I have refrained from getting involved in college basketball rivalries. Frankly, I find them distracting. The pastor mentions Carolina in his sermon and someone in the congregation yells “Go Duke!” I wore my blue coat to church one morning and the greeter refused to give me a bulletin because she thought I was supporting Carolina. Seriously?

Last night, however, I went to a college basketball game. Across town, the big guns were playing: Duke, Virginia Tech, Wake Forest, et al, but I was jammed onto some bleachers between my dad and my sister-in-law watching the sectionals of the men’s Division 3 NCAA tournament. Though the sound of squeaky sneakers drives me up the wall, I really enjoyed watching the players fighting for rebounds and sinking three-pointers.

There’s something about watching a person use his or her body to do something 95% of us can’t do. Bobby Abreu hitting 43 homeruns during the Home Run Derby, or Evan Lysacek landing a triple lutz, or college freshmen fearlessly shooting basketballs over the heads of the defenders—it’s beautiful.

Now that I am more athletic, I find myself appreciating the feats of others even more. During time-outs last night, as the players huddled around, I was thinking, “Look at the definition in their arms! How much time do they spend in the weight room? Oh, what I’d give to have my 20-year-old metabolism back!”

I’m reading a book about ultra-marathoners and I’m amazed by their abilities, especially as I struggle to eke out a mile on the treadmill. Knowing my body’s limitations has given me a greater respect for what athletes can do.

So I will let March Madness lure me in, even as spring training is in bloom, and the weather outside is finally perfect for a jog or a bike ride. It’s a wonderful time of year to be a sports fan.

I Am [Thelma's] Granddaughter

My sweet, sweet grandmother passed away last night, although she left us a long time ago. The last time I had a somewhat lucid conversation with her was about four years ago. It went something like this.

Gig (that's what we call her): How old are you?
JW: I'm 29.
Gig: And you never married?
JW [laughing]: No, Gig. I'm not married.
Gig [with spunk]: Well, you do OK, don't you?

My grandmother lived her life for other people. Long before she was anyone's grandmother she worked very hard keeping house for her uncles and caring for her siblings. She taught my mom that if you cleaned a faucet with cold water, it wouldn't leave spots. You should try it. Her husband battled cancer for many years, during which time she was completely invested in him. After he died, my grandmother got her teeth fixed and her hearing aids. Finally, reluctantly, she allowed someone to care for her.

Cooking was not her forte--she used to make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with margarine on them. But she could eat anyone under the table. As a petite woman in her 80's, we would take her to Sunday dinner and watch, jaws-to-the-floor, as she put down her meal. During the summer, while my parents were on vacation, I used to take Gig for Sunday dinner by myself. It was such a grown-up thing for me to do and I am so thankful I got to care, in a tiny way, for one who had always treasured me.

When we were kids and would go visit her and my grandfather on Sundays, she would always make sure we took our "pay" from the top of the console TV in the living room. I don't know many kids whose allowances were supplemented by their grandparents, but mine was. She used to take us walking on Kensington Avenue. We would buy soft pretzels from the man at K&A, and she was with me when I bought a Cabbage Patch Kid at the Woolworth's using the Christmas money she and my grandfather had probably given me. When our family would go on vacation, we left our cat Bizzy with her and she would follow him around with a flashlight. She read the Sunday Inquirer from cover to cover and watched the proceedings on her street like a hawk. Gig always hated the weather, be it cold, hot, or a sunny 72 degrees.

There are many little memories of her; but the biggest memory, the one I must not lose, is the memory of how selfless she was. I've seen her selfless love carried on by my dad and by my aunt, who has cared for Gig for many years. I hope it doesn't skip my generation.

My Funny Valentine

This morning I told the girls in the high school small group I lead that we would be doing something crafty and Valentine-y, so they should bring paper, markers, stickers, etc. Most of them were instantly excited, but I did meet a bit of resistance. Apparently, 17 is not too young to be bitter.

Despite the minor groaning, I’m pleased to say tonight’s craft activity was a total success. We had a wonderful time writing encouragements to each other on lavishly decorated pieces of construction paper. I provided quotes from Harry Potter, Twilight and Pride and Prejudice, so the girls were able to spur each other on with words like, “Even savages can dance” (Mr. Darcy) and “You smell so good in the rain” (Edward Cullen).

What I would have these high school girls see in me is that singleness is not a dead end. It is not the end of the world. It is not a sentence to a life of boredom and misery. It is possible to live alone, and yet live gloriously.

Had I not been planning something for the girls this evening, I probably wouldn’t have even considered that today was a special day. That did not stop the people in my life from going out of their way to make me feel special.

Valentine’s Day does not suck when:
*You have a brother and sister-in-law who give you a bouquet of roses.
*Your mom bakes you chocolate chip cookies.
*Your girlfriends (married and single) gather for indulgent snacks, wine and Nora Ephron.
*You get to see Avatar in 3-D (for free!) with a friend who works at the movie theater.
*Your high school small group girls tell you things like, “’You must allow me to express how ardently I admire and love you.’ I enjoy you guys’ presence more than most, actually, all adults I know…”
*The aforementioned high school girls bring cupcakes.