Nothing You Can Say Can Tear Me Away...(And Other Political Songs)

Warning: This is my once every few years political statement:

So, let me get this straight:

When it's 'your guy' in office who's hitting hard numbers and getting bad reviews, he gets the excuse of 'he's doing a great job, despite the mess he was handed from the last guy."

He's off the hook.

(And btw, the 'last guy' is always the 'other guy' who's always labeled 'the idiot.')

But when it's not 'your guy' in office, it's 'the other guy' the one who came before who screwed it all up. He's on the hook.

That's convenient.

Here's the thing: When we choose 'our guy' we treat him like family, like the brother or cousin we're rooting for, even if we don't agree with everything about him, his way or his lifestyle -- we see him as 'in a process,' "doing the best that he can..."

We have grace, we make room for the blind spots and we cheer him on for the strengths we see in him. We're connected to him because we see our related-ness to him  -- because we've chosen him.

When he's not 'our guy', we filter all his good stuff through his bad stuff, so that all that we see are his weaknesses no matter where we look because that's the only thing that's left after we're through sifting him.

We call ourselves bastions of love and spiritually enlightened because we had the good sense to choose 'our guy' but we mock and are mean and actually feel good about being kinda rotten because we have no sense of connection to this other guy, who's not 'our guy'.  We haven't chosen him so, no matter what he does, he's screwed in our eyes.

That doesn't sound so 'spiritually enlightened' to me.

Are we even seeing that when we do that, 'that guy' never has a chance and would have to be perfect to bypass our fierce judgment of him?

That we've created a religion where we are God and "our guy" has our favor and therefore, salvation. But the other guy? He gets the law. He's measured by every breath he takes in a way that we aren't pleased with and anything less than perfect is complete failure.

I mean, how many times have we been close to someone, call that person "wonderful" and then, there's a breakdown in the relationship. Then, the person who was formerly 'wonderful' is now persona non grata in our lives and an asshole by our estimation.

But wait! Then, something happens, we reconnect and reconcile and that person is wonderful again.

Really? That person changed that much?

 

Or was it just our choosing and unchoosing of him that affected the light in which we saw him?

Question:

What if...we chose every guy as 'our guy'?  

What if we cheered every guy on for his strengths?

What if supported every guy in his weaknesses?

And what if we assumed that every guy was handed something that worked and something that didn't work from the last guy? What if we assumed that every guy brought something of strength and something of weakness to bring to the next guy?

Sort of like that 'human being' thing that we all have...

The double standard isn't working but it is illuminating...

As soon as I choose you, I will see you differently because my connection

of who I am

to who you are

is what will drive the relationship.

I will see us for what we have in common, even though we have differences.

But if I don't choose you, I will see you differently because my disconnection from who I am

to who you are

is what will drive the relationship.

I will see us for what we have that's different, even though we have so much in common.

And that creates animosity

Oh trust me, I know this all too well.

When I left conventional Christianity to take a path with God in a different way than I had before, life became very interesting and illuminating.

 

Because the people who chose me, kept seeing my faith and beauty, kept seeing my love and trust, kept seeing me as someone who helped and served and was growing in my understanding of God and life despite the fact that I went through a very snarky phase and some bumpy times on the road of finding my way as I exited my old religious ways (not very different from when I entered my conventional faith all those years ago, when I was judgmental and banging people over the head with the Bible...)

But the people who learned that I didn't express my faith in the ways they were used to and 'unchose' me because of it, all they could see was  that I was different than I was -- different than they are. These are the people who gloat when my children or I get sick. These are the people who make snarky comments about me on their Facebook pages or patronizingly tell me that they're praying for me to not go to hell.

And I just shake my head and say to myself, "Not only am I not who you think I am, I could never do enough or say enough to convince you of my love, my beauty or my strengths because you have not chosen me. Therefore you cannot see me."

And I walk away from their meanness and rejection and think, "I love them because I still choose them" and I still see their strengths. I still see their gifts and I still learn from them.

Because my spiritual journey now includes people who don't agree with me or like me and it's not because God told me to, or else. And it's not even because it's a good 'golden rule.'  But because the path I'm on has shown me that I'm connected to you and to everyone -- this thread of humanity and divinity connects us all.

So, in order for me to see for who you are, I gotta be willing to choose you as you are.

Does that mean I gotta vote for you if you're running for President of the PTA or President of the United States of America?

Nope.

But there's a different kind of voting we do, on another level, every day called 'choosing'.

And when I choose you that means that I've voted for you in my heart as being

'my guy'

and not

'the other guy'

and I'm rooting for you to win at life,

regardless of whether or not

you're voting for me.

Update on Saturday, June 2, 2012 at 12:57PM by Stacey Robbins

Jared,

Thanks for your comment and for bringing up the point that this blog is more philosophical than political, you're right.  Because the truth is that I'm not pushing for any one candidate and I'm not pushing against any other candidate.  The principal of this philosophy applies regardless of who's in office or who the 'other guy' was before this guy.

Thanks for bringing that up!

Stacey

God Loves Hairy Cookies

(Here's an article from the "Way-Back Machine" when the kids were smaller...Even though they're bigger now, the message is ageless. Enjoy!)

God Loves Hairy Cookies  There are moments when you know you're going to have to prove your love - and it's going to cost you something...something big.   This past week was the holiday class for my son, Caleb.  Twice a month, he leaves our home schooling routine to join 20 other kids his age for games, crafts, lessons and fun.  I dropped him off in the care of another teacher and took my little one out for some alone time.   When Seth and I arrived to pick up big brother, Caleb cried out words I was dreading to hear:    "Mom! I made you a COOKIE!"    Where's a trap door when you need one? If you don't know this about me, I am a little bit of a germ freak.  Years ago I was worse and have since been reformed.  I was about to find out how changed I was.   I gulped, and tried to strategize how to honor my son's heart and my standards of sanitation at the same time.   Around the room, it suddenly looked like one big petrie dish; there are kids coughing and wiping their running noses, grabbing their crotches and licking their fingers.     "I can do this, I can do this..."  I mantra-ed from a closedthroat.   I broke the cookie in half and breathed deeply. While Seth was eyeing the other half on the plate and Caleb was chomping into his big cookie, I took the tiniest piece of the bottom, pointy corner and put it in my mouth.   "Mmmmm!" I groaned in what I knew was fear to me but sounded like pleasure to my son.     I did it.  Well, it was more like, I got away with not doing it and I felt slightly proud of myself.   Until I saw her.   That other mom.  Amy.  Sitting with her only son who was there quiet and peaceful; she had an outfit that matched and make-up that wasn't leftover from yesterday.  I already couldn't relate to her world.   And then, she did it.  With big-eyed anticipation, looked over her son's cookie, beamed proudly, picked it up and was about to take a bite when she looked down, and found something that made her stop.  She put her manicured fingernails together in a tweezer-like way and pulled out a nauseatingly long, dark hair!  She quietly extracted it (I was gagging) and resumed the approach to her mouth.  She didn't even turn the cookie around to the other side!!  I watched in complete awe and horror as she devoured the entire thing.   She even licked her fingers.   I needed an ambulance.   And a royal spanking.  Because what I had just witnessed was the pure, unselfish love of another human being.   And that made me think of God.   He loves the hairy cookies of my life.  My ugly parts.  My cranky parts.  My fat, cellulite-ridden sagging parts.  Everything in him is love, that's who he is.  So, wherever he is, he is pulsing and living that nature.  That nature doesn't change when it encounters the flesh or the spirit in me any more than I stop being a woman if I happen to walk into a men's room.   God's also not like some snooty British royalty, looking down upon us, his subjects....those people, appalled by our peasant manners.  He's not judging us the way that I was judging my son's offering to me.   He is love.  And when is love most valuable?  When we need it most and where we need it most.   Take that with you today.  And when you're acting like a big hairy cookie, just remember that God knows what to do with that area in your life that's making you gag. Instead of trying to fix that place in you, or reject that place, just notice it and talk to that Spirit of Love about it.  And remember that his heart is to eat you up and consume you with his love.   I do that with my boys.  I grab them into my arms and bury my head into their neck and slurp 'em up, even when they're dirty and stinky.  I'm okay with that stuff, I just have a hard time with cookies.   God doesn't have a hard time with any of it.   Have a great day and remember that you are loved.

What Love Does

'Trust' is such a gift.

And when it's not there, we usually insert controlling behaviors where trust would have been if we had it.

When we do that -- that 'acting controlling' thing -- we're living reactively to the emotions, fears and paranoia that mistrust brings.

Living reactively isn't freedom. It isn't peaceful. It isn't loving

to ourselves.

We've been given a spacious place. A place where there is one 'yes' after another. A place that is 'for us' -- where everything works together for our good. A place where we can create and thrive and be happy.

It takes trust to live there.

And the prayer I've been inspired to pray over the years as I journey from certain places of mistrust to that place of rest is to say, "I trust, but I don't trust. Help me where I don't."

Love hears.

Love illuminates.

And Love heals.

Every place where we see we're trying to control a person, place or thing, could be another reason to condemn ourselves but that's not going to serve the cause of freedom in our life so, let's try something new:

Let's look at the controlling thing, not as yet another reason to condemn ourselves but, as a signpost that reminds us, "Oh...I just need some love here..." and appeal to the Source of Love and Trust for the obstacles in us to be cleared away so that the spacious place can be revealed.

There's a passage that calls to me, "The blessed man's heart is secure with the trust of God's love."

I call the 'blessed man': "The guy who gets it."

I want to get it...even more in my life.

God knows what's broken, why it's broken and how to fix it.

Because God is Love and Love knows how to heal 'un-love.' That's its very nature so, how could it do something other than its nature?

I don't know that it's really about how much work we have to do to get there -- though many of us have worked very hard -- as much as how much work God does to bring us to the place where we can finally receive that love and trust.

Life is a journey of healing for some of us. About our flesh and mind aligning with the perfect spirit within us.

We can begrudge that journey or we can live it, with full embrace to the finish line.

Accepting ourselves and 'what is' as God unfolds the mystery of who we truly are in a world where we've been focused on 'what happened to us.'

It's in that 'what happened to us' story that we find ourselves out of sync with our trusting spirit and trying to take matters -- and people -- into our own hands.

That controlling/mistrust combination isn't working.

Because we are so much more than what happened to us. And our spirit knows it.

This is the time of our return to the spirit: The one that trusts and loves and operates from that spacious place -- where our whole being 'sighs' with the relief that comes from letting go and resting in the trust of love.

Sigh...

May you continue to be encouraged on the journey to that spacious place.

You're not alone.

Love is with you.

And yes, it's worth saying again:

Love heals.

♥

What is Wax Made Of?

Was in Balboa, heading back to the car after a great island walk with my girlfriend. I think we covered every topic from kids to new sneakers (I finally got new ones after 8 years of shredding my Asics to bits) to marathons (no, I'm definitely not running in one...new sneaks or not) to in-laws, to spirituality

all in the matter of 2 1/2 miles.

I love friends who you can talk to about practically everything AND lose weight at the same time.

Works for me.

Almost to my car, I saw a father on his bicycle standing in front of a candle-making shop with his son who seemed about 12, who was straddling his bike right next to his dad.

The dad was talking to another man about the weather or something while the son was looking in to the window, intently watching the women make the candles when I heard the question,

"What's wax made out of, Dad?"

I slowed to a pause waiting for the answer because I thought, "Wow, that's a really good question...."

You know it's one of those 'primary color' questions: "What is 'red' made of?" and stuff like that.

But the dad kept on in his other conversation, not answering his son. (Which by the way, reminded me of the time my then, 5 year-old Seth, started doing some relationship math in his head while strapped in his car seat, 

"Mommy has a mom. Daddy had a mom. That makes them my grandmas.  Their mom's had moms and those would be their grandma's..."  

and he kept going, muttering under his breath and counting on his fingers in a way that made sense to him, when he called out with his little lisp:

"Momma?  I came out of you and you came out of your mom and she came out of her mom....so, where does God come from?"

I didn't see that one coming. I exhaled and raised my eyebrows, peeking into my rear-view mirror at that cute little curly-haired kid whose eyes were wide-opened and waiting.

I was about to pretend I didn't hear him quite right and ask him to repeat himself (something I admit, I sometimes do when I want a nano-second more to think of an answer -- or wait for the ground to open, which ever comes first -- when he did a little 'a ha!' gasp and called out,

"Oh! I know!

He came from his grandparents!"

Worked for me and plus he was 5 and it was cute so I just let it be.)

And it made me wonder if the dad really heard his son's question and just kept on chatting another chorus of "How great is this California weather?" instead of turning to his son and saying, "Wow. No clue. Good question, bud. Let's find out."

Heck, I almost wanted to do that. Take the kid in the store and go, "Let's go ask!"

I do that with my kids and their spirituality. I think I'm still bruised from being force-fed theology so, I try not to do that with my boys. They ask me questions and I answer from my experience instead of telling them that they have to believe a certain way or God won't love them. I refuse to teach my children that terrifying message.

It confused me too much -- all those answers. I have much more peace living in the goodness of God with my questions than in the fear of God with the wrong answers.

I need to do that more in other areas -- all areas, probably.  

I love that sense of wonder and the honest question of that little boy today. It compelled me and opened me. I felt more vulnerable, more human...and divine...in the space of his seemingly silly 12 year-old's question.

Rumi said 800 years ago, "Sell your cleverness and purchase bewilderment."

Today's a great day to trade that, "I know it all-ness" for a little "I wonder-about-it-all-ness." Today's a great day to enjoy a little more curiosity and awe and a few more question-asking moments than answer-giving moments.

Okay, maybe that's just my personal message for today. As I'm on this two-month full-time journey to healing, I think I'll take a few more moments to pause and to peer

and to ask.

"Curiosity is one of the great secrets of happiness." -Bryant H. McGill

And happiness is a great part of health.

I'll take it. And I wish it for you, too:

So...

"Happy, curious, question-asking, bewilderment" day to us all....

Sending love and peace,

Stacey

*Oh! And if you want to know what wax is made out of, click here: 

http://answers.ask.com/Arts/Crafts/what_is_wax_made_out_of

Cracked Heels

They were a mess. Dark, stained with deeply lined crevices painful to look at.

No matter what I did.

No matter what lotions 

or soaking

or primping

or massaging I did,

there was no changing the way my heels looked.

That's what happens sometimes when you have an endocrine issue. It shows up on your feet. And I, the 'Queen of Flip Flops' wasn't happy because it was ugly.

And I wanted to make the ugly go away.

"It's an inside-out job," my friend Laurie said. "You gotta take care of it from the inside."

Yeah, but the inside takes true work and time. I wanted the easy way out. Can't I just scrape it off or put a chemical or something?

Nah. I knew I couldn't. I already tried that and it just came back.

There is no such thing as an 'easy-way-out' when you have inside-out work to do.

So, 17 days ago, I took on a juicing experiment: living on mostly fresh green juices to see what my body would do. I also committed to no/low media. And in the middle of it all I took on a more focused commitment to treat my health like it's my full-time job. Rock began calling me, "The CEO of Stacey's Health." Not really catchy and no ginormous salary attached but, I liked it and found myself standing up a skosh taller every time he said it.

My days are about juicing 50 ounces of things like look and smell like the lawnmower clippings from my gardener, then adding something sweet to it so that I don't pass out while I'm drinking in the blessed 'micronutrients.' Occasionally, I eat some food: An ounce of salmon, an arugula salad, a bite of a Rice Chex homemade bar for my gluten-free son. 

Well, that last one was yesterday and while I could have resisted, I didn't. 

 Sigh.

And, I'm walking. A lot. And doing jin shin jyutsu on myself. And yoga. And journalling. And gardening. And meditating. And listening to health gurus and other inspirational people like Michael Beckwith, Dr. Wayne Dyer, and my kids.

Yes. I'm listening to my kids. I mean, I usually listen to them, but I'm present to them on a different level. They are so brilliant.

And edible.

Oh and I'm 'tramping' -- that's what the boys call it (which will have to change in a few years, I know, I know....)

We jump on the trampoline to work my lymphatic system. They count my jumps and giggle at my squeals as I try to figure out how to go higher without peeing in my pants when my bladder makes impact with the gravitational force of all my weight (not telling) landing on something that's the equivalent to flexible concrete.

And I make my bed.

And feel guilty and unworthy of spending this time on me.

And then, spend my time talking myself down of the ledge of that insanity.

The critic in me wants to tell me how I was worth more when I worked 90 hours a week and made nice money. When I was the the person more able to give and take fun vacations and bought my husband his dream Selmer Mark VI 1969 saxophone.

How 'life' would be better off without me if I would just let this unhealth run it's course -- then, it could leave behind the dead, heavy weight of me and move on, unencumbered by me and this autoimmune disease.

But the critic doesn't stop there: Then, it wants to blame someone else -- to make me the victim in a different way. Blaming my husband for stressing me out, or genetics for giving me the DNA, or my childhood for all the pain or the insurance company or incompetent health professionals who missed things when they were more treatable.

And on 

and on

and on....

And I remember Eckert Tolle's words, "If you hear two voices inside of you, remember: One of them isn't real."

So, I journal.

Taking those those thoughts, as wonky and wack-a-doo as some of them are and I honor them by giving them a place, a home if you will, on a page in this dimension. And I honor me by getting them out of my head where they imprison me.

The space clears. I sigh. And suddenly, the world where I felt guilty for being alive and such a burden, I now feel grateful for being alive and having such opportunity.

Nothing changed and yet everything changed.

At night, Rocky tucks me in. Something he's been doing for the better part of 25 years. He will touch my skin (and tell me how unbelievably soft I am) bless my head and all it's crazy thoughts and then, sit at my feet to rub them while we chat about the day.

He tells me about his job and I tell him about my inner work and most of the insane musings in my head.

A few nights ago, he interrupted my daily report:

"Holy crap, Sta....look at this!"

He tried to show me the bottom of my foot but I'm not Gumby, "Youch! Hold on, let me do it." And I grabbed my foot, pulling it up closer to where I could see.

"Do you see it?!" My husband was so excited, "Look!" He pointed, a la Vanna White, down the expanse of my size 11 foot.

How could I miss it? Pink, soft skin where cracked, bleeding heels used to be. "It's those micronutrients, Sta! Just like the video was talking about! Whoa...."

He was awestruck.

And it made me think: All those years, I've wanted the quicker fix on my feet, my life, my finances, my weight, my health, my spirituality, my whatever...where I just wanted to put something topical -- some healing salve to make it all better...there was a different commitment required; an inner work or as my friend, Laurie had said,

"An inside-out job."

I'm seeing that now, and again. (Love learning the same thing over and over...) Not fully there to the revelation, still only been a few weeks and I've got many miles more to go but I can see it better: What it's going to take and yes, now, I can even see what's helping -- and the difference the work is making.

It makes me 'sigh.'

I sigh a lot these days....

I know I could spend my life looking at the sky for a sign or something big like that but I don't.

Because it's amazing what you can see and learn, if you're willing,

from a couple of dirty, ugly

cracked heels.