My good friends Ben & Ann recently lent me a book called Welcome to my Country, a therapist’s memoir of her work with people with severe mental disorders.

What’s so great about Slater’s memoir is both her candidness and her willingness not just to enter the madness of her clients, but to acknowledge the madness in herself.

She expresses the great scandal of psychology- that she hesitates to share her past because she would lose her credibility, yet she’s “supposedly in a profession that values honesty and self-revelation.”

Maybe this is why my program at Wheaton emphasized the idea of knowing your own baggage and of “but for the grace of God, there go I;” that given other circumstances- different parents, a different temperament, a history of abuse- I could be in my client’s shoes, however ratted or torn or crazy or obsessive or sinful or cruel those shoes may be.

Throughout the memoir, Slater has breakthroughs with clients only when she’s willing to be graphically real with them. She connects with their stories because she knows that even though she may not be a wife beating sociopath, she has tried to crush the feminine in herself; even though she is not suicidal now, she has been suicidal at times in the past; even though she is not schizophrenic, she does have disorganized thoughts and lost dreams.

Slater’s work and much of what I learned in my program pose a challenge to a traditional view of counseling, because essentially what they are arguing is the powerful and heart breaking truth that the cure for the pain is in the pain.

But if the cure is in the pain, what do my clients need me for?

I think they need me to be a witness to the pain, to sit with them in it and let them know they are not crazy and they are not alone.

And perhaps this is why it is most important for me to be connected to my own story, my own madness. Because if I can’t remember my own struggle to be accepted, how can I empathize with what it’s like to have severe social anxiety? If I can’t remember what it was like to struggle with my own deep seeded sin, how can I keep from judging the man or woman who just cheated on his or her spouse? If I can’t allow myself to bring up memories of my niece, how can I properly grieve with my client who just lost her two-year-old daughter to cancer?

And perhaps that is why my profession is so excruciatingly painful and so excruciatingly beautiful at the same time. I witness a lot of hurt, a lot of pain, a lot of suffering.

But I am also connected in relationship to someone who has the strength to grieve and the strength to hope.

Somewhere in the strength of the client who struggles, I also find strength.

And somewhere in the gritty and raw relationship we share, I find hope when I am struggling too.

In short, I’m wrestling with the correct response to such generosity and graciousness from friends.

Since I’ve moved back to Warrensburg, I haven’t had any income. I got a job the first week, but it doesn’t start for another two weeks, and I’m sure my first paycheck won’t be until awhile after that.

In the meantime, I’m eating a lot of oatmeal and pb&j, and even more free meals from friends.

My friends have blessed me far beyond what I deserve.

Close friends have paid me to housesit.
Friends have paid me to babysit.
Friends have fed me.
A friend and my mom bought me wedding magazines.
Multiple friends have offered their homes to me, and I am living in one without rent.
Friends have offered to drive me to the city for my errands so I wouldn’t have to buy gas.
They’ve paid my way to conferences so I could attend.
They’ve paid me to do photoshop work for them.
A friend at the local coffee shop gives me my coffee for free.

And in addition to wonderful friends, I have been blessed by an incredibly supportive family (can’t say enough about my wonderful and generous parents) and a fiancé who helps me pay the bills.

So many of these things people are paying me for, I wish I could do for free. So many of the gifts so many people are giving to me, I wish I could pay back ]once I get paid.

But I know that they do it because they want to bless me and because they love me. I know that if I paid them back, it would nullify the gift.

So I’ll receive these gifts in my time of need, and look forward to days ahead when I can bless others as they have blessed me.

So, to those friends who have been immeasurably kind, thoughtful, and generous- and you know who you are-

Thank you for blessing me.

What I want to be clear about is this: Becoming married will not make me more of an adult.

Hear me out.

When I was single (I’m talking 22-28 years-old), people often made comments to the effect that I was not a complete adult, or didn’t have any responsibilities because I wasn’t single and/or a mother.

They would say things like, “Man, must be nice not to have any responsibilities.” I would respond with something like, “Oh, ya, it’s fabulous,” my sarcasm utterly lost. In my head I thought, “Ya, I just pay my bills by myself, do all of the house cleaning and maintenance and car cleaning and maintenance by myself, do all my traveling and driving by myself, or work an incredibly emotionally draining job counseling adults through their suffering and/or crises- but I certainly don’t have any responsibilities.”

And since I’ve become engaged, one person actually said, “welcome to the adult world!” as if I was just pretending the last decade of my life that I obtained a bachelor’s and master’s degree, moved across the country alone to start a new job, and took care of all my own housing and tangible needs.

When I get married this summer, I will start a new chapter in my life where I will finally have a partner to share life’s responsibilities, life’s ups and downs, life’s fun and tragedy with someone else.

But I will in no way, shape, or form be more of an adult than I was the day before.

I want to clarify this because of my many rockstar single sisters (and brothers). Women (and men) who are the type of adult I hope I will still be when I become married.

Who work part time jobs so they can devote the rest of their time to the refugees in their community
Who work hard to attain their goals of getting a doctorate or writing a book
Who work on church staffs, dedicating their time to the discipleship of members
Who travel to places like Afghanistan, Korea, and Quito to love on people
Who devote weekends to volunteerism and mentoring
Who are advocates for women who have been victimized

That is all:)

I have yet to pick up a Cosmo/People/Glamour/Vogue and not immediately feel fat, ugly, and completely inadequate in a number of ways.

But occasionally, when I’m waiting in line to check-out with my groceries, I pick one up and flip through it (against my better judgment).

Usually, I choose an article featuring one of my favorite celebrities in hopes that it will reveal some honorable quality about said celebrity, so I can justify my positive feelings towards her or him.

But have you ever noticed that all articles about celebrities sound remarkably the same!? For real. First, they all start out something like this:

“At about 9am Tuesday morning I sit waiting in (insert ritzy hotel name here) and (insert actress name) breezes through the door wearing (something casual, that normal people wear) with (some flaw) on her sweater. She is surprisingly easy to talk to and even asks about my day…”

Then, somewhere in the article, the actress throws in some completely humble remark. One article stated Julia Roberts doesn’t believe in housekeepers, because all people should be responsible to clean up their own mess (who wouldn’t go to see her next film after reading that?!). A recent article on Jennifer Garner (I confess, one of my faves) quoted her saying she’s always dreamt of meeting Yo-Yo Ma, but doesn’t have the guts to call him up (who doesn’t love a celebrity with insecurities?).

I often wonder, do these celebrities throw these little virtues in throughout the interview and then laugh about them later with their friends? Or, does their agent or publicist remind them before they leave to throw in some Joan Cleaver remarks? “They are going to eat this up!”

Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe celebrities really are “just people.”

What I really want to know is why the authors of said articles never say anything more original. I mean, if a person like myself who rarely reads mags gets sick of reading different variations of the same thing, wouldn’t avid magazine readers be bored to tears?

It doesn’t really matter, though, because like I said- I think magazines are the devil.

http://jesserosten.com/2012/fotoshop-by-adobe

Since I’ve gotten engaged I’ve been thinking that maybe you can tell a lot about a girl by people’s reactions to her engagement. For example, I’ve had many people tell me how excited they are to meet Nick, because they know that I have high standards and wouldn’t marry just anyone- guarded girl with high expectations and low tolerance for cheesy pick-up lines or petty come-ons?

I’ve also spent a significant amount of time staring at my left ring finger- which I never thought I’d do. It’s not so much because I like looking at the ring- though that’s part of it, because it is a beautiful ring- as it is the fact that I am wearing a ring on my left ring finger. For 28 years I’ve wondered whether I would wear a ring on this finger- sometimes longingly and sometimes just out of curiosity, being content with my life without it. Now I’ve got diamonds on my hand.

And let’s just talk about the diamonds for a minute.

I keep thinking that this piece of jewelry I’m wearing is probably worth more than I am. What a strange feeling.

I also keep wondering how my perceptions and feelings of this ring will change, grow, evolve over time.

Which leads us to the real issue- the one that is so much more significant and enduring than any diamond could ever be- and that is the thought of sharing my life with one man-Nicholas Scott Brennfoerder- for the rest of my life, and how my feelings about him will change, grow, evolve over time.

I’ve been having this recurrent thought that throughout my whole life I’ve never made an irreversible decision- at least not an important one. Big decisions- to take the job or not? To move to Missouri alone or not? To spend money on a plane ticket to visit a friend or not? To go to the University of Michigan or Grand Valley State? To start my Master’s right out of college or wait? To buy the practical Ford Focus or the SUV I’d prefer… Etc, etc- all seem—all are—so much smaller than this decision.

Marriage is irreversible. Yet, many marriages fail.

It’s funny how, in our culture, if I said “My marriage won’t fail” at this point, many of you would think I’m overconfident or naive. You may not say it, but you’d be thinking it. Statistically, our marriage has something like a 50% chance of lasting (although I heard that if you get married after 25 years of age, your chances of success raise to 75%).

But after the proposal by the creek in the snow on a cold winter night, the ring, the wedding planning, the wedding, the honeymoon- that’s what we’re left with, commitment to life together.

Once I asked Nick what part of the wedding he’s looking most forward to, and he said the vows. Suddenly my anticipation of wearing a white dress appear quite shallow.

He got it right.

I haven’t been a counselor very long, but I’ve been one long enough to know that marriage is: insert synonym for difficult here- strenuous, trying, painful, laborious, intricate, arduous, heavy, hard-won, etc.

But I have peace in going forward because I know that even though I fear the day that he doesn’t love me or I don’t love him, or he betrays me or I betray him, or I get lost in my work or he gets lost in his work, or we grow apart or we hurt each other- I also know we’re committed to God and to each other.

And even though I fear the struggles that will come, I can look forward to marrying Nick, because I trust his heart and I trust God’s.

You may be thinking that there’s not much I could tell you about driving through six midwestern states (or maybe 4- According to the map I found, Tennessee and Kentucky aren’t part of the Midwest? (Side note: People in the South don’t seem to realize that Michigan is part of the Midwest, but it is. I think Michigan and Wisconsin should be considered the Great Mid-North, but that’s just my opinion.)), and you may even be right.

But I had to drive over 30 hours through the midwest, so you can certainly handle a few of my reflections on it.

Quick synopsis: I drove 12 hours south through Michigan, Indiana, and Kentucky to arrive at my twin sister’s place in a suburb of Nashville, Tennessee. I spent 6 days there and then drove 9 hours northwest through Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, and Missouri to arrive in Warrensburg to speak at a Blue Christmas service and spend 6 days visiting friends (and mainly my boyfriend). I then drove 10 hours northeast through Missouri, Illinois, Indiana and Michigan to my sister, Juli’s house in Battle Creek. I spent the following morning watching my 1-year-old nephew before driving 1.5 hours south again to pick my grandpa up in southern Michigan, and then finally drove 4 more hours north to my home in Northern Michigan.

Observations from the journey:

First Leg (Michigan-Indiana-Kentucky-Tennessee)

-In Indiana was shocked to see a landfill with a very beautiful and elaborate sign reading “______ County Landfill” (I don’t remember the name of the county). I didn’t realize that landfills are something to be proud of…?
-Somewhere in Indiana or Kentucky I saw a sign outside a forest that said, “These trees grew 9% last year.” I found this pretty interesting, but wished I knew what average growth for trees is. Is 9% good or bad growth?

-Somewhere on this leg I also saw a sign that said “Recession 101: Self-worth beats net-worth.” This made me smile, because I’ve been unemployed for half of this year- causing both my self-worth and net-worth to plummet at remarkable speed.

-I noticed a significant decrease in rest areas after leaving Michigan, and have to say that my home state does rest areas better than almost any state I’ve driven through. I’d say there are typically rest areas almost every 30-60 miles. I’m proud to say I’ve probably stopped at every rest area on Michigan’s West Coast.

-Gas fortunately got less and less expensive as I drove south.

Second leg of the journey (Tennessee-Kentucky-Illinois-Missouri)

-This leg was pretty uneventful.

-Biggest thing I noticed was the plethora of “Adult” stores and Strip Clubs in Missouri. Not sure why that is, but can I just take this chance to say that “Gentleman’s Club” is one of the most ridiculous and infuriating misnomers of our time? Really? Changing the name to “Gentleman” makes you feel better about yourself going in there?

Last leg of the journey (Missouri-Illinois-Indiana-Michigan)

-So one of the mixed blessings in driving from Missouri to Michigan is that the way my GPS takes me leads me off of the freeway for about three hours. I always enjoy this break of scenery through beautiful old barns and farmhouses. However, as a recovering road rage-er, I consistently relapse at this point due to the country folk driving 10mph under the speed limit. I almost lose it every time I enter a town in which the speed limit lowers and the person in front of me (who is already going the lower speed limit) has the audacity to slow down even further!
-I also dread this leg of the journey because of the long stretches without somewhere to stop- which is exacerbated by Ma and Pa Farmers ahead of me driving 35mph in a 45. As someone with overactive bladder, at least I can laugh at the random places I’ve either had to stop and go by the side of the road (like the time I was with Melissa Pogue on my way to Michigan for Applefest and we saw a sign that said “roadside park” which made me very happy, but ended up having only picnic tables and no bathroom-who does that?- which made me very upset, so Mel pulled over and I went right there next to the car in the pouring rain) or beg some overly restrictive shop owner to let me use his private bathroom (like the time one of my sister’s male friends who I hardly knew was giving me a ride to Columbus and I spent 5 minutes telling a man that if he didn’t let me use his “employee’s only” restroom he was going to have a mess to clean up). Right…so anyway…

-I love the “values” billboards in Michigan (maybe other states have them too). You know, the ones that say things like “Climbed Mount Everest. Blind. Vision. Pass it on.” and has a picture of Erik Weihenmayer.  But I have to confess I’m always disturbed by the one that says, “Helped Injured Opponent Win. Sportsmanship. Pass it on.” and has a picture of two members of one team carrying an injured player of the other team- because I just think the injured player should sit out and the game should go on. I mean, it’s not poor sportsmanship to be competitive. Injury is part of the game.

-I saw one sign advertising permanent false teeth outside of Chicago that read, “Don’t die with your teeth in a glass.” Really? That’s your marketing slogan?

-I was very relieved to see that the last leg of my journey involved snow. There’s a section of Michigan we call the Snow Belt that typically gets the most snow, and it didn’t let me down this year.

The feeling of driving North for Christmas, passing through evergreen forests full of snow glittered trees, and unabashedly singing to Christmas music, will just never get old.

I keep up with my “Bible in a year” plan every other year, except at Christmas time. That’s when I fall behind. That seems backwards.

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m the only one of my siblings at home right now. That seems backwards.

I have two degrees, a professional license and three years experience but can’t find a job. That seems backwards.

I feel worthless and ugly a lot of the time, but a lot of people love me despite my flaws. That seems backwards.

This Christmas has been a hard one for me.

I keep thinking about Jesus, this little baby that came for me. Jesus, this boy that saved the world. Jesus, this man who loves me like no other.

Oh, I thank God for that love.

How could I hear the stories I’ve heard, and not know His love?
How could I repent the sins I’ve committed and not trust His love?
How could I move through feelings of hopelessness and not count on His love?
How could I look into the faces of my niece and nephew and not see a glimpse of His love?
How could I grieve pain and loss and not rest in His love?
How could I offer myself in relationship and not learn from His love?
How could I love and be loved, forgive and be forgiven, if He hadn’t loved me first?

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul -my soul- felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

In this backwards world. I thank God for Jesus.

I’ve recently lost a bit of weight. I like it, I think I look better. I feel better. This isn’t the confession.

The thing is that when I’m sad or stressed I lose weight. Still not the confession.

And when I’m at my lower weight I have this internal struggle that says (confession): gee, I’d like to start feeling happier and less stressed, but then I might gain that weight back.

Do you hear what I’m saying?: I’d rather be sad and skinny than happy and fat (not even fat, just fat-ter)?

Yuck. Who am I?

I guess I’ve bought into the message I’m constantly trying to convince other women is a lie- our worth as women is determined by our looks.

Ahhh.

I have to say that another of my struggles as a woman is figuring how much of this I’m responsible for and how much I can pawn off on other people. As is usually the case with emotional baggage- the answer is probably somewhere in-between.

In order to own my part in my negative body image, I’m toying with the idea of doing something body-image related for my New Year’s Resolution this year. I’m not really into New Year’s Resolutions- particularly because follow though is very important to me, and people rarely follow through with their resolutions- but I’m thinking this year I could make an exception.

Maybe I’ll do something like try to eliminate my negative self-talk and replace it with truth statements.

I think sometimes people can take the whole thought-stopping, thought replacement thing a little too far- like when they assume they can fix their lives that way rather than doing the particularly hard work of grieving past losses or owning past sins- but there is some value in it.

My negative self-talk lately is spectacularly hostile lately- not so much do to my body image as my self-esteem. Being unemployed for half of 2011 has taking a particularly hideous toll on my self-confidence.

Anyways, I’m thinking about it.

Like I said, I’m not crazy about New Year’s Resolutions.

So I’m one of the “average Americans” I mentioned in my last post that gains about 10 pounds every winter.

At this point I’ve just sort of accepted it, because I seem quite powerless to stop it- unless I’m willing to diet, which I’m not (especially around the holidays).

I figure at least I’m not gaining 10 pounds in summer, right?  I mean, you can’t even see my protruding belly under my sweaters anyway.

Besides, who decided we gain in winter? Why not see it as we lose in summer?

Okay, but despite all the excuses, I do participate in a particularly ugly strain of fat-talk every year around Christmas.

But I wish I didn’t. I’m not sure what really causes the disconnect between what I know (my looks don’t define me) and how I feel (guilty for gaining weight).

I have a 20 month old niece who I hope to be an example of healthy body image for. I would hate for her ever to think that her looks are what define her as a person.

What if all of us women lived like we had a teenage daughter following us around, imitating our every move? Would that stop our self-disparaging comments? Our fat talk? Our low self-esteem based off what we see in the mirror?

Sadly, too often it doesn’t.

And then we create grown women who behave…just like we do.

Happy Holidays. Healthy body image. Think about it.