This morning my mind is filled with reflections on sisterhood, sorority, and all it's meant.  Later today I plan to attend the funeral of a sorority alumna.  We only met once, at a sorority event at the FSU Alpha Chi Omega chapter house.  We were active collegiate members of two different chapters, in two different states, in two different eras-but the bonds of national sisterhood brought us together as alumnae.  As the chapter celebrated my and two other girls' engagements, our late sister and I discovered we went to the same church and thereby connected by an even stronger bond.  In my brief meeting and by all accounts, she was a terrific lady and so those of us who can will later pay our respects because if there's anything a sorority should show it's solidarity.

I attended a small private college in North Carolina where sorority recruitment is done in the  "fake break" between January term and spring semester.  I nearly backed out of recruitment all together, but ultimately I did complete the grueling week.  On the third day I asked a young woman in what would later be my sorority a pivotal question.  I wince as I recall how I brazenly asked, "So I do this thing for the next three and a half years, and then what?  What are the benefits after graduation?"  And that's when I learned about alumnae and how no matter where I lived in the States, I would most likely be near an alumnae chapter which meant I would always have connections.  To my freshman self that read "safety, security, home, friendship" no matter where I was.  They had my attention.

My parents were weary of my decision, until I came home wearing this bid day shirt. {Left} I suppose they were reassured that I hadn't joined a cult by the shirt's renouncement of the stereotype that the sorority would try to change me into some perfectionistic clone.  They embraced the individual that was me- a somewhat awkward, idealistic freshman.  They had diversity in intended major, personality, and practically every ethnographic measure.  While they didn't seek to make me a clone, they did change me- for the better.
Through Alpha Chi Omega I met my "Big" and "Little" {sisters} and several other women of faith who were lifelines to me in the years when I stepped away from regular involvement in the church.  I had opportunities to flex leadership skills within a community where I felt safe to explore who I was and wanted to be.

Yes, as a collegiate sorority woman I engaged in a lot of outwardly frivolous activities, but the majority were packed with meaning.  Beyond costume and toga parties, Greek-week dance, step-shows with NPHC, paying for t-shirts that announced I had friends, formals and semi-formals, and arts and crafts projects galore there was also community building, networking, community service, and learning.  So. Much. Learning: learning about how large organizations operate, learning to be a leader in formal and informal ways, learning how to be lead and be part of a team, learning how to support one another, learning financial responsibility, and on and on.

A social psychology professor once pointed out to me {and my class} that in our culture we lack ceremonies that celebrate the commitment of friendships.  But that is what initiation into a sorority {or fraternity} does.  At it's best, it celebrates the commitment to uphold communal values, to protect one another's character, to rejoice with one another, and- in cases such as today- grieve with one another.
For me, choosing Alpha Chi Omega has meant that when I meet alumnae from around the country, women whose collegiate experiences and backgrounds may be vastly different than mine, we will share a bond of common values.  I can, rather reliably, hope to find that at the core of each woman is some amount of ambition, a woman who values community and holds leadership potential, a woman who understands responsibility and loyalty and has interests that expand her personal horizons.  When I moved to Tallahassee, I had no one and nothing, except Alpha Chi Omega alumnae who, sight-unseen, offered to help me get a roommate, job, and any resource I could imagine.  They immediately offered me friendship, involvement, community, and a sense of security and stability.

 As I've "grown up," I've moved away from many of my closest friends in the sorority, primarily those from my new member class.  Even though I've become a "shady sister," one who goes a bit M.I.A., whenever I re-surface and reach out I'm always touched to find that those bonds are still there.  Despite the many miles that now separate us, we still share the laughter and excitement of our milestones as best as we can.  As we hit our mid-twenties and start the backslide to thirty we increasingly rejoice in engagements, marriages, and babies.  My Little and I now live on opposite ends of the east coast, yet we still randomly keep in touch with ideas and memories.  My Big, now expecting her first child, is still a pillar of strength and encouragement whenever we can align our schedules.  And now, I've been adopted by wonderful local Alpha Chi alumnae.  These women inspire me by their commitment and how they balance work, life, and mentoring the current collegiate members.  
I'm blessed to have joined an organization that matched my needs, provided room to grow, and meets my maturing needs.   I'm blessed that when I think about my sorority I'm not just nostalgic for those collegiate years, but also able to consider my participation in the present and future.  I am blessed to be able to celebrate the lives of my sisters and to show our support to the end.

LITB,
e.e.

Faithful Friday: For When I Am Weak, Then I Am Strong

I've missed the past two "Faithful Friday" posts, but not for a lack of words or experiences.  Rather it seems everything is an experience bent on my spiritual growth.  However, those experiences-well- they're part of a story that's not entirely mine to tell.  I can only tell you how I'm learning.

Last week was a roller coaster. I cried tears of sorrow and tears of joy, tears of self-pity and tears of humility.  In the end I cried because I love and am loved in return.  How humbling it is to know that one is loved despite all of ones flaws and failures, to be loved for ones quirks as well as talents.  How beautiful it is to realize that it is a gift to be able to grieve because it means there is something or someone worth grieving.  How comforting it is not to have to feel all of this alone.

On Sunday a friend- one of those rare kinds with whom you can have those chance, intimate, soul-baring conversations that has a lasting impact but with whom you only have passing, casual conversations for the rest of your relationship- sought me out to tell me that {though we hadn't seen each other in months} I'd been coming to her mind during her quiet times.  I was only able to confirm that yes, there were things for which she should be praying.  My priest, practically simultaneously, also took me aside to offer his support.  As I fought to keep my composure I realized I wasn't upset because I'd been reminded of my struggles, but touched, affected because I'd experienced the compassion and love of God through my community.  Through these words and actions the still small voice whispers, "I am with you."  I am reminded that I am not alone, to look for the blessings within the hardships.  

Another friend of mine likes to think that I'm strong.  I am not strong. God is strong.  As Paul wrote (2 Corinthians 12: 9-11): ⁹ But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. ¹⁰ That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions,in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

May you walk with the Lord and let Him be your strength this week.  May you love deeply and allow yourself to be loved with the divine balance of humility and boldness. May you experience the kind of love that gentles hearts and renews souls.  May you love with the freedom of a child, the wisdom of the aged, and the compassion of Christ.

Three on Thursday: Love Your Body

Life is beautiful.  It is hard, but- "It's the shadows and the shit that make the light bits believable," as Victoria Finlay put it in  Color.  {Great book on the history(s) of color/pigments-READ IT!} 

It's been a difficult week, full of ups and downs beyond the scope of my typical week.  Today has been exceptionally good though.  Elated with good news and full of life I decided to run to express my gratitude to be alive, and as I walked back home during my cool down I thought about three little things that we take for granted.  Dear Reader, I want you to think about these things in a new light.

The older I get the more attractive I find fine lines.  Strange, perhaps, but true.  As I reached my mid twenties they became a curiosity to me.  A few years ago I read something about how you earn your wrinkles.  Think about it- instead of regretting the sun damage that exacerbated your fine lines, think of them as reminders of the great times when you were too busy being present in the moment to worry about your skin {but please put on sunscreen in the future}.  Or remember all the joys and laughter of your life that earned you those trophies.  When I see fine lines now I don't think about age, I see wisdom, laughter, survival.

Kinesis-movement is such a gift!  Oh how we are made to move.  Our culture is saturated with inspiration to move for weightloss, or art, but what about just pure joy. To move because we are full of life! Because we can!?  To move because life is short and there are far too many people who don't have the freedom to move either politically, physically, or even emotionally.  Oh Reader it doesn't matter how you decide to move.  You don't have to run or do yoga.  You could skip a few of your steps towards some destination. You could simply marvel at the movement of your fingers.

Finally, scars.  Yes, scars.  Here I will leave you with this beautiful quote from Chris Cleave's Little Bee "...I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived."

There's an Ostrich in My Office

I can't believe it's already Wednesday!  My family and I gathered for a long weekend in Savannah, GA to celebrate my fabulous mother's birthday.  We strolled along the beautiful river and it was lovely to be able to walk so much.  There is so much art in that city; I'm not sure which came first- SCAD or the art community, but it's pretty great.  We had some delicious meals and some great walks, and left for home on Monday.  We heard about the bombings in Boston as we were driving home and we- like most people I assume- have been pretty vigilant about watching the news as the story unfolds.  But in between news castings I did get to complete this painting.  She was still waiting on my easel when I got home and painting is a wonderful distraction. 

It's difficult to tell in photos, but her eyes are a purple-y black, and I decided she needed some fancy lashes.  She's currently on display in my office, since we seem to be running out of wall space in our house- more evidence that it's time to get the etsy shop up and running!

Casting Cares: Denial Versus Prayer

There's a fine distinction, I'm learning, between casting cares on Him and casting cares "away."  I am learning that I must be careful to lift up my worries and concerns to the Lord through prayer, and not just push them down.  It is not enough to encounter a problem, new or recurring, and dismiss it, even if we say that it's in God's hands. That is what I mean by pushing something down.   It's passing the buck and it's not communication.  

Like any relationship, one cannot take for granted that something will be accomplished by the other person.  For example: throughout my life my family's general rule was one person made dinner and the rest of us helped clean up.  Despite the division of duties, it wasn't really fair to expect this to always be the case as there were times when it was necessary for the cook to be the cleaner.  Such an expectation might foster feelings of being taken for granted, or it might mean that the work never gets done because of other factors that prevent the assumed cleaner from cleaning.  We set ourselves up for disappointment when we simply expect someone else to do something, without telling them what we expect them to do or how we expect them to help.  Even with our omniscient God as the other person in the relationship, there is still a need for communication, and it's for our benefit.

Lately I've been tempted to think meh, God's got this; I don't need to be concerned about this, and then I fail to pray about it.  When it resurfaces I dismiss it, because God's got it.  Subsequently, I've found that while I'm very good at tricking my own mind, my body is not so easily deceived and it will tell me when I've just been pushing cares down instead of lifting them up.  My dreams get wackier, my neck and shoulders tense up, I can't focus, and I experience other symptoms of stress.  It's not pleasant, but it is a great reminder of my need to pray-that we are beings created to be in communication and relationship with our Creator.

I believe that God is omniscient and in control, but He's not a dictator; He's not "Big Brother."  He's Papa, Abba Father.  He doesn't just want to fix my problems in an impersonal way.  He doesn't just want to give me a fish and feed me for a day, but as a good parent-He wants to teach me to fish.  Yet even that parable falls short, for in learning to fish I may deceive myself into thinking that I'm in control; He wants me to fish with Him.  In other words, He doesn't want to be my backup or my sidekick, not my rescuer but my teammate- Master and apprentice.  As God lovingly and patiently teaches me lessons I'm not expected to keep them to myself, but to humbly help others learn them too.  I have not mastered this lesson yet, but I am learning in the lap of my Heavenly Father.

There's an Ostrich on My Easel

Craft stores are dangerous places for creative types.  I can go in with plans for one idea and come out with a multitude more, or I can get completely overwhelmed by all the options.  I had the former experience recently as I went in search of nifty letters to create an alphabet wall for a bun in {someone else's} oven.

As I was walking past the bead aisle I was struck by a lovely color combination:

I love the khaki green and earthy tones with the metallics and the ballet slipper pink.  I like how the addition of the pale pink to this palette softens the otherwise utilitarian feel and warms up the metals to give the palette unique richness and depth.  

I've been thinking about painting an ostrich for a couple of weeks- they're such "odd birds," which makes them perfect for a whimsical makeover.  Of course, as you can below, my take on this palette had a darker green, a lighter pink, and antique gold in place of silver tones.  Taking a break from my typically bolder hues, more muted hues seemed more appropriate for this endeavor.  She's still a work in progress.  I imagine her beak will be shades of silver, her back cloaked in purples, and then we'll add a little life to her eyes.

Faithful Friday: Honesty & Growing Pains

When it comes to my relationship with God, lately I feel like a teenager, or perhaps even a toddler.  It's like He's the parent that only gets recognition when He does something really cool, such as answering a prayer in an unexpected way, or in the way I wanted.  Or I come whining to Him.  The rest of the time I spend acting as though I'm in control.  Perhaps it is behavior more like the teenager- aware of your bad behavior and wanting to be nicer, more appreciative, but finding yourself indulging your selfishness.  You know better, but you've yet to establish the patterns necessary to make more permanent and conscientious changes.

It would help to be more consistent about taking time to re-center by spending concrete amounts of time in the word and listening prayer {I'm great at the rambling talking part}.  It's tough, and if I'm honest there will be days that I may just go through the motions to make the habit, but somehow I trust that I'll get stronger as I make each choice.

About this time last year an online devotional "You'll Meet An Old Lady One Day" really struck home.  The decisions I make now in how I act will affect the kind of person I become when those patterns become rigid.  When I am old I want to be the kind, wise, creative lady that people enjoy being around.  I believe we earn our wrinkles, and I want mine to be from laughter, from a life well lived.

Every day is a new challenge.  I've traded physical growing pains for spiritual ones.

I don't know how this post will help anyone, except to honestly say that my faith journey is not perfect.  I get tired and sit idle too long, or stubborn and stew in my resentment, or even recklessly over confident, but my faltering in the journey doesn't make my destination any less present or secure.  The messages around me say to stop comparing, to be honest and tell the whole story because that's what makes community.  You never know who you'll help when you share your struggles, as well as your triumphs; you never know who'll help you either.