The power of a question

Fortunately, Nutella needs no questions.  Bliss in a jar. :-)

I vividly recall sitting in church about a year ago. I was on a back row by myself (John was playing on the worship team), not in the mood to be around people, dealing with some sort of struggles (who isn't?); and I was feeling mightily annoyed that my husband felt obliged to be there every dadgum Sunday of the year.

Sunshine and light, I was not.

Suddenly a question was posed in my mind:  Are you not fortunate and privileged to worship where, when, and whom you please?

{contemplation, introspection, prayer}

You can imagine how the service ended.  It ended well.

I've been thinking about the power of questions lately and the life-altering usefulness they've served life. Just last night, I was walking dogs with my neighbor, Kris, and we talked about our kids getting older. She has a crazy schedule juggling a full-time job, a 6th grader, a high school senior, and a son in graduate school.  Not to mention trying to train for the Austin Distance Challenge.  She said she asked herself recently, "Will you prefer it when the kids are grown and out of the house?"

I've found questions to be so useful, I've made a conscious decision to try, T-R-Y to use them in circumstances where I find myself feeling burdened, superior, or finger-pointy (which is all too often).  Man, those questions have called me out.

"You think a few B I L L I O N people would like to trade places with you?"

"Under the same circumstances, how would you have behaved?"

"Fallen short much?"

Have questions cured my world-class ability to judge, compare, complain, or wallow? (See, that's a good question.) Um, no. I still fall short, but they help.

People talk about "finding the right answers", but I'd venture to say there's plenty of good to be gleaned from finding the right questions.  If you're like me, I often know the answer; it's the question that I need.

Can I bring this back to running?  I sure can.  Because as I've said before, a marathon is a lot like life. These are the things I have to ask myself on a weekly basis:

"Who's going to train for this race if not you?"

"What is your purpose in training for the marathon?"

"Your hip is hurt, and you're devoid of sleep.  Who wishes they could move their legs and have your problems?"

Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? ~ Jesus

a mini rant (or is it a rave?)

Every now and then I'm privy to the conversations my 14 year old daughter has with her girlfriends.  I'm shocked I tell you, shocked, to hear how often beautiful young girls bemoan their weight and specific body parts. They want to lose 10 pounds, make their thighs thinner, grow taller (overheard:  "Did you know you can go through some sort of procedure where they break your shin bones and make you taller?").  Perhaps more boys will like them (ugh), and they'll be happier. It breaks my heart.

Barbie blown up to lifesize. Yay for modern women. :-(

I was 14 once, and I understand how a negative body image can become a silent, desperate plight to be 'perfect'. They say men are visual, but good grief, women are too; they just turn it inwards. With the advantage of some a lot of age and hindsight, I believe all of that body image angst is the work of Satan (and yes, I mean what I just wrote). Whether a or woman is 5' 7" and 110 lbs. or 5' 1" and 350 lbs., I want them to know, really know that they're valuable, beautiful, and loved.  (Psalm 139:14)

But I'm frustrated because I don't know how to help this epidemic of female body dysmorphism. I see it all around me and I, of course, am not immune.  Images are everywhere. There's Barbie, mainstream pornography, photoshop, magazine covers at grocery store check-out stands, etc. I don't measure up figuratively or literally. My hunch is you don't either.   

I remember reading a Little House on the Prairie book with my children a few years ago.  I was struck by the thought that Caroline Ingalls was out on a desolate prairie, with her husband, and did not have to be concerned about comparing her body with a female ideal.  There was no 'ideal'.  As desolate as her situation was, it also seemed liberating.  Now THAT'S women's lib, I thought.  Partnering, caring, and comfortable in your own skin.   Because there's nothing to tempt you to think otherwise. Ah, take me to the frontier in Kansas.  

Do I think eating well is good?  Of course.  Do I think exercise gives me more energy, keeps me feeling young(er), clears out my mind?  Yep.  There's a certain value to those things that I don't wish to minimize  -- because they don't have to be mutually exclusive. But do you have to be  crazy "skinny" to be valuable?  Absolutely not.  I really. Truly. Don't give a flip. 

Women, let's not strive to be perfect renditions of the female 'ideal' (who set that up anyway?).  I'd venture to say it's not a healthy focus for weight loss or an exercise regimen either. With confidence I say:  All of my friends and family are BEA-U-TIFUL.  Be healthy! But I don't even know or care what your body looks like. :-)


P.S. My sister-in-law, Sheila, is experiencing excruciating pain right now. Doctors think it's probably cancer in her bones.  I don't know.  I know her heart and it's one of the most beautiful, most honest things I do know.  If you're reading this, please pray for her. 

I had an epiphany a few years ago when I was out at a celebrity party and it suddenly dawned on me that I had yet to meet a celebrity who is as smart and interesting as any of my friends. ~ Moby