I grew up in a home where, when my mother asked my father to help her with the dishes, he answered, "You have daughters to do that." What man would do a "woman's work"?
Later, when I began considering ordination, my grandmother's beliefs about women "not teaching men (which definitely meant women could NEVER be ordained)" held me web-like as I took about 7 years to finally, truly believe God called me to ordained ministry.
I still balk at "doing my hair and make-up" as basic chores I must do to appear professional, never mind the multiple sets of clothing I must have to do the same. My husband had 3 pairs of pants and about as many shirts for his professional wardrobe, doubtful anyone ever noticed the repetition.
I think about the above vignettes as my friend wrote to me to say she was dieting again because of gaining some weight back after losing some over the course of 18 months by painstaking abstinence of even the smallest "pleasures." Then, after receiving her resolution (I had invited her to have some dessert at my home.), I read an article in the local news from a woman who talked about the self-hatred women experience - particularly of their appearance, their bodies. Still later, I cleaned out some old professional publications with one entitled "Terminal Anorexia," illustrated with a skeletal thin female body - the ultimate picture of a societal paradigm of misogyny. . .
One of the hardest lessons in love I have had is looking in the mirror and telling myself, "I love you."
Somehow, believing God loved me remained theoretical and giving my cognitive assent to the concept changed nothing. Yet, looking in a mirror and telling myself, "I love you," brought the matter right to the heart. I didn't love myself. I could barely look at myself at first because I felt ashamed, unworthy - too imperfect in too many ways. And if I felt unworthy of love, how in the world might I actually experience God's Love in my bones?
I realized I couldn't. The Love had no power because I kept it at arm's distance - a nice idea with no transformational force because it flitted in my prefrontal cortex, but never travelled down any further in my brain or my body.
I can at least look at myself now and say the words. And somehow, by being able to say them to myself it helps me believe the words I read in the Bible over and again - God so loves the world, God finds the creation good and humankind very good, God sings over me (I like to think in the same way I croon again and again about the wonders of my wonder-pup.). God is a parent holding a new born for the very first time and staring at the infant in awe and wonder - and Love.
I hope gaining incremental self-acceptance has also grown my love for all the fallible people around me. I think it has. Because as I am learning to love all my shortcomings (and God loves even those shortcomings - God loves everything about me*), I become more aware of my additional shortcomings (like they've been waiting in line to meet me all these years) and in turn, I have more grace when others show me their faults and foibles. It's like, "Hey, I do that, too! Don't you hate it when that happens?" Most of the time, I'd say they do. I hurt for them when they seem unaware or utterly bent on blasting the world in some way. And still, I know I, too, am unaware and utterly bent on blasting the world - just as much as I long for paths of reconciliation and peace.
So here is to Love which simply Loves "for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health" all the days of our lives.
*If anyone ever reads this and has a certain background, they may be affronted by this statement because the adage is "God loves the sinner, but hates the sin." Like we have some substance purely holy somewhere within us, like God is not powerful enough to love all of who we are. As if Love itself is not powerful enough to "cover a multitude of sins." If God loves us at all, God loves all of us, because God created all of us, exactly as we are.
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