SheLoves Magazine

Wellness Wednesday: The One Decision I Regret Most

“I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.”

By Tara Rodden Robinson |Twitter: @tararodden 

When I went to church this past Sunday, I grew a little tense. It was Mother’s Day and I usually avoid any public observances that include motherhood. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with my mom—in fact, quite the opposite. It’s that Mother’s Day reminds me of an inescapable fact: I am not a mom.

Just the other day, I got treated to big dose of all the mom-ness that I am not privy to. I had been invited to a mid-week happy hour–a drinks with the girls evening. I arrived at the bar early so I could sit and sip my wine in peace for a while, just to enjoy the sensation of having nothing to do and nowhere to go.

When my friend arrived, another woman rose from a table across the room to intercept her. I knew this was going to happen—my friend had told me that she’d invited others to join us—and I knew that probably all these other women were going to be complete strangers to me. No big deal: I’m good at meeting new people. What I didn’t know was that all the women at the table had kids in the same Montessori school. Yep, it was a Mommy’s Night Out.

To be honest, my non-mommyness didn’t phase me. At least not at first. The conversation didn’t revolve entirely around kids. We talked about other topics, like one woman’s impending divorce and her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s complete meltdown. And when they learned that I am a productivity coach, the group became positively enraptured, asking me all sorts of questions about time management and such. But then the dreaded moment arrived.

“How old are your kids?”

I paused. Swallowed.

“I don’t have any kids,” I replied.

Cue the crickets.

“Oh!” she said, finally.

I didn’t realize how truly awkward that moment was until a few days later when I received—no lie—a handwritten letter of apology from the person who’d invited me.

Damn.

Looking Back

It’s not that I never wanted children. I was just very ambivalent for a long time. Plus I was waiting for the right time: the time when we had a stable income and health insurance. When we finally got around to trying, I was 38 years old. It took me three years to get pregnant. And in my eighth week, I miscarried.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I spent weeks doubled over with grief. And when I wasn’t howling in pain, I was in my office, working as usual, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. I didn’t (and still don’t) understand the shame that came with the sadness. Why should I be ashamed of myself? I hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet for the longest time, I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.

My aunt, one of my mom’s younger sisters, tried to comfort me. The little book she sent told me, “never doubt that you are a mother.” Of course, I know this is bull****. Mommies have actual children. For me, no child equalled not a mommy.

Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to. There are many things about my life that I love. I have a lot of happiness, joy, abundance. There is only this one thing that is missing.

In Hindsight

I wish I could go back and talk to my still-ovulating younger self.

I’d tell her that there is never a right time to have a baby. I’d kick her butt and tell her to stop second-guessing her heart’s desire. And I would tell her to throw out her birth control pills and get herself pregnant.

When I look at my younger friends, the ones wrestling with the same ambivalence about being a mom, juggling the same timing issues and looking for that just-right moment, I want to take them by their shoulders and shake them until their teeth rattle. I want to yell, “When you’re fifty and menopausal and highly accomplished, the only thing that will matter to you is your family. Please, for goodness sake, have one!” If they didn’t call the cops first, would they get the message?

I wonder how my cocky twenty-something self would have reacted to such a visit.

I hope with all my heart I would have listened to me.

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Dear SheLoves readers, take a few moments to consider these questions:

• If I got a visit from my twenty years older self, what would she most want me to know?
• The heart’s desire I am second-guessing right now is …

______________________________

About Tara:

Tara Rodden Robinson is an author, coach, and educator. Known as The Productivity Maven, she blogs at tararobinson and tweets @tararodden. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and their two dogs. She is working on mastering complex yoga poses and searching for the perfect gluten-free bread recipe. When she’s not writing, coaching, or teaching, she’s out in the wilderness hiking and watching birds.

Down We Go: Why Prepositions Matter

FROM THE ARCHIVES:

When it comes to serving Jesus in the trenches, there’s a huge difference between “to,” “for” and “with.”

By Kathy Escobar | Twitter: @kathyescobar
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Many people I know are tired of just talking about theology or participating in yet another Bible Study that increases knowledge but not practice. They are hopping off the “upwardly mobile” path that’s focused on bigger, better, and more successful and choosing instead the slow, scary path of descent–into the trenches, the margins of life and faith … the places where Jesus seemed to go.

But where do we start? What does it mean to live out the wild ways of Jesus in practice, not theory? To me, it means cultivating a life of extending love, mercy and compassion, welcoming pain, honoring doubt, diffusing power, practicing equality, pursuing justice, expressing creativity, and celebrating freedom. These eight core practices are explored deeply throughout Down We Go: Living Into the Wild Ways of Jesus.

But first, before diving in, we need to continually consider the importance of three prepositions that matter when it comes to a downwardly mobile life–the difference between “to”, “for” and “with.”

Power Shift

I was first exposed to this idea through my friends at the Center for Transforming Mission (www.ctmnet.org). They are dedicated to equipping grassroots leaders who are journeying with people in hard places around the world. Their work is built upon the premise that authentic transformational relationships cannot be built upon power or inequality. Even though many of us would nod and say “of course!” the reality is that many of the missional models we’ve been taught perpetuate a divide between “us” and “them” that is sometimes conscious, sometimes unconscious.

Considering these three prepositions has really shaken up so much of what I believe about living in the trenches with people.

• The Preposition “To” is Paternal and Creates Oppression

In most Christian and typical mission-oriented circles, the most prevalent preposition has become the word “to.”   The style of the preposition “to” is paternal. This idea is built on principles like:

“I have something I need to give to you.”

“I have wisdom I need to impart to you.”

“Here’s the advice, biblical truth or kernel of life-changing knowledge I have to give to you.” 

The problem with the preposition ”to” is that it begins with an “I’m up and you’re down” perspective of power that is patronizing and disempowering. Someone has more resources, knowledge and put-togetherness than the other.  This posture often ends up making the one on the receiving end feel like a project or even a loser.

• The Preposition “For” is Maternal and Creates Codependence

The preposition “for” is another easy reflex for most of us.  The style of the preposition “for” is maternal.  It’s when we want to do things for a hurting person.

“Let me makes these calls for you.”

“I don’t want you to hurt, so let me fix this part for you.”

“Your anxiety is giving me anxiety, so let me do what I can to take care of this anxiety for you.”

This is my reflex and the one I continually have to guard against in the work I do. The problem with this kind of approach to others is that it creates codependence. Helpers get sucked into helping and end in a one-up role where we need to take care of the person, make things happen for them, or remain in a position where we are always “serving.” It stays on those terms and remains a one-way relationship.

• The Preposition “With” is Incarnational and Creates Transformation

The preposition “with” changes everything. It means:

“I am with you in this moment, will stand alongside you, and am not walking ahead of you but alongside you.”

“I am in the same boat; I struggle, too, but my struggle may just look different.”

“I want to share life with you, not just take care of you or tell you what to do.”

“You have some things I need to learn from you, too. Let’s learn from each other.”

“With” removes imbalanced power from the relationship. It recognizes the fundamental dignity of the person and says, “I am here with you.”  It begins with listening for the deeper story that informs the suffering. It waits patiently for the person to ask for help, if needed, because sometimes people aren’t ready for help–sometimes people just need people to sit “with” as they work it out on their own.

Authentic

There is no question—”with” is scarier.  It means I let others know me instead of hiding behind doing good works at a protective distance. I make myself vulnerable and let others into my life, experience and heart, instead of just taking care of them to feel like I’m “helping.” Within the professional, clinical culture, as it is customarily taught, these kinds of “with” relationships may look like bad boundaries.

I understand how easy it is to stick with “to” and “for” modes of relationship. They protect us because they keep us in a place of power. They keep the focus off of us and on the other person. In the end, we don’t need “them;” they just need “us.” Even though that’s easier, I believe that “with each other” relationships create true transformation and are core to a life of downward mobility where there is no divide between “us and them.” 

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I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• What do you think about the difference between “to, for, and with” relationships?
• Which one is easiest for you to default toward?

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About Kathy:

Kathy Escobar co-pastors The Refuge, an eclectic faith community in North Denver dedicated to those on the margins of life and faith. She blogs regularly about life and faith at www.kathyescobar.com and just released a new book called, Down We Go–Living out the Wild Ways of Jesus in Action. She lives in Arvada, Colorado with her husband, Jose, and five kids.

Image credit: Chairs, by Peter Hellebrand

What I Learned from Fasting the Internet for 31 Days

SEEKING EVE MONDAY

Sometimes seeking + finding requires stepping out of the game.

By Christina Crook

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We are little gods on the internet.

Crafting and controlling our image on the world wide web. My sister and I joke that we should start a site called realmom.com where we do weekly photo challenges like: “Go take a picture of your toilet seat. RIGHT NOW.”

It wouldn’t be pretty.

And much of life isn’t. But it is real.

And, like our friend Pam Hogeweide recently reminded us, as followers of Jesus, we should be the most human humans of all.

In an attempt to put things in perspective I felt prompted to take myself out of the online game.

For 31 days I fasted the interwebs in all its forms. No google mapping. No email. No blogging, online news or Facebook. Each day I type-wrote a letter to my friend, Marisa, chronicling the journey.

I was seeking to …

• enliven my real relationships and filter out the extra
• open my ears to God’s voice and my eyes wide to the world around me, while the hum of my online life fell quiet
• remove my go-to time-fillers: contextless information via newsfeeds, Facebook and Google Reader
• challenge me to engage with new ideas, books, conversations, I’d tend to miss otherwise

Here’s what I learned in 31 days off-line:

There is something about the immediacy, the therapeutic clickity-clack of the typewriter that allows for a different kind of writing. The kind that spills from the heart rather than the head. The kind that’s intended for a single, known reader than a large, unknown audience.

Stepping off-line for 31 days got my hands moving, disciplined me to write every single day with or without a four-month-old and a two-year-old clambering about my knees. It was a luxury I could afford, being home with the kids and not bound to online work through an out-of-house job. But it was a sacrifice.

I had to say goodbye to my online comforts.

It made me feel small. It showed me I am small.

It taught me how to trust, that the world keeps on turning without my words, without my likes and dislikes.

It revealed the beauty of unplanned moments, reminding me that chance encounters beat out an online connection any day.

I learned that the smartphone check-ins I make multiple times a day are not actual time-savers but time-suckers. That if I, as a mama-of-two, want to engage with new ideas, read books, study, create — then I have to save up all of those two-minute, one-minute, ten-minute windows and bank them for things I really want to do. Like write poetry. Phone my Grandma. Skype my sister. Read The New Yorker.

I remembered that my children are watching and practicing every move I make. Word and deed. For better or worse.

I discovered the peace, the quietness of mind, I had been hungering for.

And I learned that snail mail gets people’s attention.

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Wednesday Wellness: My Green Valentine

“The real love affair should have always been with my health—celebrating God’s creation by enjoying it in its natural unadulterated state.”

By Ali Valdez

I am on day 32 of a 40-Day Challenge I developed at our yoga studio this year. The challenge is designed to radically change your body and awaken every participant to a new way of being.

I intentionally planned the challenge to end on Valentine’s Day. My idea was there would be some food elimination and quarantining of habits and on that final day, participants would want to go back home to their sweeties, eager for bear hugs, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and maybe another type of indulgence or two … (nudge-nudge, wink-wink.)

Instead they wanted to extend the program.

The original 40-day challenge was developed by Power Yoga guru, Baron Baptiste. Although I appreciate this movement,  I felt the original program gives a boost but lacks a sense of destiny. So I did it differently and yielded some interesting insights.

Now, as I approach the big V-Day, my idea of what a love affair can be, has already been transformed.

Disconnected

After my daughter was born, my eating habits created a “toxic” relationship with my body and I have known for a while this needed to end. The disconnect seemed so innocent at first— a quick run through the drive-through, that extra square of brownie at the baby shower, seconds at Thanksgiving. I later apologized profusely and promised myself never to do it again: no more Pringles, Frosties on a hot day or whipped cream on the hot chocolate.

The real love affair should have always been with my health—celebrating God’s creation by enjoying it in its natural unadulterated state. That means a profound reconnection with the vitality required of my body to pursue my life purpose.

No more sodas. No more poisons to pollute my system. These foods were the apple in the Garden, banishing me from my best possible health.

The more I allowed random, thoughtless consumption to turn my body into a living breathing trash compactor, the more I realized I was not able to be as capable, healthy and strong as I need to be. That’s where the co-dependence to snacking came into play.

The juicing stopped; the compost bin went dry.

Looking back, I’ve lost some weight–whatever–and the unction to eat meat. But more importantly: what have I gained? New insights.

I will celebrate this Valentines’ Day in the green: healthy financially, physically and emotionally. I have re-embraced sacred time for self-care. Bath salts and dry-brushing, the weekly massage.

Awakening

This morning, I awoke to sunshine, its dusty slivers peeking through my windows and settling against my skin. I observed my body after weeks of not visiting my reflection in a mirror (one of our suggestions on this 40-day challenge). I awoke to a new-found appreciation for the journey we , corpus and humanis, have taken together.

I smiled. The only culprit to blame for anything I see critically in that mirror is my state of mind. But to be entirely truthful: anything I see about my body that I do not like is a derivative of my old eating habits– “low-fat” cookies and pre-made meals. If my focus was to shift to the quality of the food, the time I spend preparing and eating it, as well as  the quantity, not only would I look better, I would probably live longer and feel better.

The sacred vehicle of mine–no, not the Volvo V50–but my blubber and bones, the thick muscles on my shoulders and back, my still skinny ankles have been invigorated by my rekindled love affair with the crudité, the salad and the unsung hero, the braised green.

Anyone who owns a car knows not to pull up to the gas station and pump fruit punch into the gas tank. When my car is in distress I get it serviced, its oil changed … not pump more junk into it.

Truth

For the past few years, I got into thinking that I had the choice to indulge my senses, without consequences. The 40-Day challenge has helped me once again realize how my body is the vehicle to my soul.  I started thinking hard about what I was putting into my body,  for what reasons and when. Then I calculated what I actually needed and when. My teacher always says in regard to mindful eating that Hunger is the Truth; Appetite the Lie.

Today I am taking a two-hour lunch, savoring my food and eating it slowly. I avoid drinking anything with my meal so the food can digest and I am chewing thoroughly. I am having an organic greens salad with a walnut vinaigrette, a marinated portabello mushroom sandwich with sweet onion marmalade and a quinoa green onion side salad with some chopped arugula. I am full, I am happy, the tastebuds are zipping. The food is delicious!

Now as I make my way to the gym to swim, teach one hot yoga class and then a Yin, I know I have the energy I need to teach excellent classes.

Here’s what I’ve learned: it’s great to love my body on the outside, but it’s best to love it from the inside.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• Has the new year inspired you to make any heath and wellness changes?
• How is it going for you?
• When you take care of your body, do you also feel like it also affects your spiritual wellness?

About Ali:

My name is Ali Valdez and I live between Seattle and Houston. I am a Christian yoga instructor, academic and writer, and devote most of my time in servitude to my students, who are yoga teachers or studio owners developing yoga communities in their cities and towns. I have also worked and led Kindergarten and small groups at my church. I love religion, philosophy and man’s inquiry on all things of higher order. I have devoted my life to study and am versed in the metaphysical, philosophical and topics of comparative religion. Practically, I love wellness, nutrition, the gross and subtle energy bodies, healing, alternative medicine, fitness, exercise, and healthful levels on many levels. I have done crazy things like marathons, sky-diving and state-of-the-art spa treatments. I look forward to connecting with you all and sharing whatever insights I may have that serve you in your aspirations. For fun, I travel the world, host retreats globally, read and write on my blog, the Gadabout. I also party with my Bun, a little five-year-old named Mathilde. You can learn more about what I do at sattvayogaonline.com

Down We Go: Honoring Doubt

“Now, I believe a critical element of our faith journey is a willingness to wrestle with doubt by honoring it, recognizing that it is part of faith.”

By Kathy Escobar | Twitter: @kathyescobar

“Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty is ridiculous.” – Voltaire

A few years ago my then 15-year-old daughter asked me a question out of the blue: “Mommy,” she asked, “what was there before God? I know God made the world, but how did he come into existence in the first place and what was ‘there’ before?” 

The first thing that crossed my mind was whipping out John 1 or Genesis 1; the only problem is those scriptures don’t properly answer her questions.

Instead, I resisted the panic rising in my chest and the fleeting thoughts that because I had no good answer, maybe my faith was a sham. Or even that I was actually an atheist. I responded, “Julia, way to go, asking the world’s most profound questions that no honest person can fully answer!” 

Right after that, the next question that got fired from the back seat by one of the nine-year-old twins was,  “While you’re at it, Mom, how do we know the Bible is true?”

Yeah, just an average day driving home from basketball practice for the Escobar family!

The Webster’s definition of doubt is: “to be uncertain about something; be undecided in opinion or belief.”  Some synonyms for “doubt” include:  apprehension, confusion, disbelief, lack of confidence, misgiving, mistrust, quandary, skepticism, suspicion, uncertainty, and reluctance.  Do you recognize any of these in your life right now?  The antonyms (or opposites) include:  belief, certainty, confidence, dependence, faith, reliance, and trust.

I used to think the sign of being a good Christian was a rock-solid certainty that I could back up with exact scriptures.  Now, I believe a critical element of our faith journey is a willingness to wrestle with doubt by honoring it, recognizing that it is part of faith.

Downward Mobility

Doubt is embedded in a life of descent, while certainty is often synonymous with ascent.  Even Jesus himself expressed doubt in the Garden of Gethsemane. As honest sojourners, we will always be living in the tension between doubt and faith.  Similar to the practice of welcoming pain, if we can’t embrace doubt in our own lives it is impossible to allow it in others.

And real people doubt.

As frustrating as it can be, doubt is part of the human experience.

We doubt we are lovable.

We doubt God is good.

We doubt all kinds of things, whether we say them out loud or not.  In the quietness of our hearts, in the darkness of night, most people, regardless of their beliefs, education, and socio-economic level, wrestle with some form of doubt.

Honoring doubt is similar to welcoming pain—living in the tension and not feeling the overwhelming need to make it all better and tie it up with a neat and tidy bow.  Julia’s question can never be fully wrapped up by slapping a scripture on it, even though I wish it were that easy.

We must learn to hold the space for doubt.

Life down in the trenches requires us to become people and communities who honor doubt. We must integrate into our practices safe places for ourselves and others to wrestle, and trust that God is at work in ways we sometimes can’t see.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have heard friends say, “I thought I was the only one who felt that way” after sharing their fears, questions, and doubts about theology or God or their faith experience and hearing that others are in the same boat, too.

We must find ways to allow people to doubt in public, instead of suffer in private. 

Pockets of love can hold the space for doubt because they put relationship above belief.  It is hard to live in the space of our own doubts and hold the space for others, but we must find a way.  Like welcoming pain, we must trust God is at work and our main responsibility is only to be present in the midst.

I’m more convinced than ever that we love better when we stop trying to resolve what can’t be fully resolved and focus on the very simple essentials instead:  love, love, and love.  Most people, regardless of their specific faith experience or struggle, tend to agree on one thing:  the importance of love.

We don’t have to have all the answers.

We don’t have to take away people’s pain and struggle with belief.

We don’t have to move people toward certainty.

What we do have to do is honor doubt as a natural part of the human experience.

I continue to learn, more than ever, that the downwardly mobile life requires honoring and respecting doubt–my own and others’–instead of resisting it.  It’s where real people live.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• Is it easy or hard for you to embrace your own doubts?  The doubts of others?
• What are you learning about doubt on your faith journey right now?

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About Kathy:
Kathy Escobar co-pastors The Refuge, an eclectic faith community in North Denver dedicated to those on the margins of life and faith. She blogs regularly about life and faith at www.kathyescobar.com and recently released her book called, Down We Go–Living out the Wild Ways of Jesus in Action. She lives in Arvada, Colorado with her husband, Jose, and five kids.

TGIF: Why I Didn’t Go to the Gym in 2011

On hot fudge sundaes, loving my jiggly bits and saving the world.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
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[Full disclosure: I'm sipping on a glass of white wine as I write this post. #liquidcourage]

“It’s too bad you’re fat,” he said. “The dress looks better on your sister.”

I was six.

He* was my 21-year-old cousin.

This was the moment I believed a lie.

[*Complicated back story. Perhaps for another time.]

Being a hot fudge sundae

Like a lot of women, I have naively clung to the lie that my life would be mediocre, uninspired and boring, until I lost the proverbial ten or twenty pounds. Forget Santa, I’ve waited my whole life for Skinny Me to magically show up in a cape and rescue Pudgy Me. I thought of Skinny Me as my stronger, braver, carefree, adventurous alter-ego; she grabs life by the cojones. 

Does anyone relate to the following?

(It’s too bad I’m fat) If I was skinny I’d…

wear more colour.
wear less makeup.
ask for a promotion.
sing in a coffee shop.
take that belly dancing class.

write a book.
embrace my curly hair.
launch a small business.
charge the rates I deserve.
wear my glasses more often.

swim with dolphins.
Wait … 
put on a bathing suit,
stop obsessing about my thunder thighs,
learn how to swim, and …
then swim with dolphins.

wear a “little” black dress (Size: M/L – depending on the store),
forget about my back fat, muffin top and dark armpits,
rock red lipstick and smoky eyes,
smile at myself in the mirror (even my jiggly bits),
and shake my bon-bon.

stop hiding my face behind my hair.
believe that I’m worthy of love.
speak up in meetings.
find a mentor.
save the world.

I’m sensing a collective Amen.

After years of struggling with my weight, I’ve slowly come to realize I didn’t want to be skinny. I wanted the life I thought only a skinny person deserved to have. A life of: frolic + freedom.

Early 2010, I read Geneen Roth’s book, “Women, Food and God” after watching her on Oprah. (I’m such a cliche, right now. Haha. #shootme) Geneen’s book helped me re-frame 2011.

Geneen confirmed a hunch:

“It’s never been true that the value of a soul, of a human spirit, is dependent on a number on a scale. When we start defining ourselves by that which can be measured or weighed, something deep within us rebels. We don’t want to EAT hot fudge sundaes as much as we want our lives to BE hot fudge sundaes. We want to come home to ourselves.”

Ohhhh …

I wanted to BE a hot fudge sundae. I wanted my life to be full of creamy decadent friendships, hot oozey passion, topped with whipped whimsy, nutty adventure and sweet maraschino-cherry life experience.

I wanted my life to be a story that was so riveting, so grand, so epic, you couldn’t put the book down.

The Problem: My Sinking Heart

A couple of weeks ago, I had a candid conversation with my friend “Lisa” about the role beauty plays in dating. She told me about her friend “Trent” who only dates girls that are long-distance runners. Aesthetic reasons aside, Trent believes their lean bodies speak volumes about their inner strength, dedication, determination, commitment and willingness to get uncomfortable.

If a lean body communicated such wonderful characteristics, what did my pudgy body communicate?

Something about this story totally unraveled me. I was a sobbing mucous-dripping mess. I cried for over an hour. Trent confirmed a deep-seated fear of mine: my pudgy body was not worthy of love. Why would someone see me as a worthy partner if I was weak, flaky, faltering, uncommitted and wary of discomfort?

“Weight loss does not make people happy. Or peaceful. Being thin does not address the emptiness that has no shape or weight or name. Even a wildly successful diet is a colossal failure because inside the new body is the same sinking heart.” – Geneen Roth

Ah, yes. My sinking heart.

When my sinking heart is drowning in self-hate, I deprive myself of food and I punish myself with exercise. A recipe for disaster, yes?

Trent’s theory is partially true. Some girls have indeed managed to find the perfect balance of diet and exercise. What he didn’t account for was skinny/athletic girls who don’t love themselves. We all have at least one skinny friend (her thighs don’t touch), who can’t stop obsessing about diet and exercise. Trent’s theory didn’t account for beautiful girls who lived in my dorm who ran 15 miles after eating one cookie. Girls who starved themselves a whole day before a family meal because they’d have to eat everything on their plate. Girls who, despite their pretty shell, didn’t believe they are worthy of love.

Girls, who look “athletic” on the outside, but share my sinking heart.

The Real Reason I Haven’t Been to the Gym in 2011

Once I figured out I was actually craving an exciting life, I knew 2011 needed to be different. No more New Year’s resolutions to reach my dream weight before the summer. I refused to go to the gym until my motives were clear.

I made a pact with myself to never go to the gym for the following reasons:
- Guilt
- Shame
- Punishment

This meant that I barely went to the gym this year.

The verdict?
I didn’t lose or gain any weight in 2011.

I did, however, write a killer chapter for the story of my life.

I went on a life-altering road trip. I ran my first half-marathon. I made a sick amount of new friends. I helped raise $43,600 for my sisters in Uganda. I went on dates. I read great books. I ate delicious food. I got out of debt. I debated life’s deep philosophical questions over Skype.  I bought a wicked camera. I shot my beautiful girlfriend’s wedding. I charged what I deserve. I wore red lipstick. I cut my hair. I got a promotion. I wore thigh-hugging running capris (cringe). I spoke up in meetings. I found my voice. I wrote a column that helped me find healing.

Psssh… who wants to be skinny?

I’d rather be a hot fudge sundae! Holla!
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My theme for the year has been to invest in the things and people I love. “Awake my soul” by Mumford and Sons nails this message for me. Enjoy!

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So dear friends…

1. Do you remember the moment you believed a lie?
2. What are some things you want to do in 2012?
3. What’s holding you back?
4. Have you struggled with your weight?

Love you more than Coconut Pinkcherry Yogurt, (<- Recipe)

xoxo,

Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.

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My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.

Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.

I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.

My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.

I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.

SheReads: Five Books that Inspire Wonder and Awe this Advent

Hear this, O Destiny; stand still and consider the wondrous works of God.

By Destiny Loeve

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It’s December, and I just spent several days on the beautiful mountain of Whistler. The snow softly drifting down along with the majesty of the mountainous backdrop had me captivated. The village, decorated with twinkling lights, inspired all kinds of joy. And oh, the privilege of skiing down through fresh powdery snow under a crisp blue sky… my heart was happy. In such a setting my instinctual response was (and always is!) amazement at the glory of God in His creation.

The book I recently read (many thanks to my husband who graciously allowed me to claim it first)–Indescribable by Louie Giglio & Matt Redman–explores this idea. Together they take on the task of inspiring wonder in an “information-overloaded society” that is “thirsting for wonder” (p. 65). They direct our gaze up to the sky, the Sun, the moon, the stars, the galaxies, and the farthest reaches of the universe. And the result for me was simply “wow”. Accompanied by some astronomical facts, pictures of things I’ve never ever seen before, and reflections on the magnitude of Jesus in the creation of the cosmos, this book was full of insights. It had me google-ing things like “pale blue dot” and watching videos of the moon, February 25, 2007. Our universe is jaw dropping, awe-inspiring indeed.

And what perfect timing for re-focusing on the necessity of wonder. Yes, the festive season is upon us. For me, and likely for you, December can be a bit of a frenzied month. Filled with many good things, it becomes just that … filled. I am keenly aware that I must prioritize moments of wonder and awe at all the birth of Jesus Christ signifies.

Matt Redman writes in Indescribable, “In the biblical account of the birth of Jesus, it was a star that led the wise men to find Him. But God has been using stars to point people to Him long before this momentous event. Yes, the heavens declare the glory of God.” (p. 36)

From the glorious snow-capped mountains, to the newborn babe we revere at Christmas, there is much to stand in amazement of. I would love to encourage you to take these words from the book of Job in the Bible and make a simple substitution of your name for Job’s–just like I did–and let’s take this to heart in December amidst the beautiful hustle and bustle:

Hear this, O _______(your name!); stand still and consider the wondrous works of God. (Job 37:14)

Confession: I’ve never done anything formulated during the season of Advent (besides open up a little window on a box to discover a chocolate). However, my heart constantly leans in these days leading to December 25th towards Simplicity, Worship, and Reverence to mark the arrival of King Jesus among humble humanity. This month I wanted to offer some suggestions of books you might read to take you on this same journey of Wonder and Awe.

Here’s some books our contributors are inspired by:

• Helen recommends Present Perfect: Finding God in the Now, by Gregory A. Boyd.

 This book is an invitation to wake up to God’s Presence – it will help you journey daily with a keen awareness of whether you’re truly awake or not. We live in such a distracted culture and often forget to live in the present moment and bring God into the “now” moments of our busy lives.

 I found it a very compelling read and will read it again many times, I’m sure. It’s not a book that makes me feel guilty when I find myself distracted and too busy, but it invites me to open up my heart again to the whispers and presence of our magnificent God.

•  Musu recommends Seeing and Savouring Jesus Christ, by John Piper.

This book comes to mind immediately. It is small, written with passion, leads one to look further into the Bible and each chapter ends with a prayer. John Piper’s word to the reader starts like: “Who was Jesus? That’s the question I will try to answer. But my aim is not for you to be neutral about him. That would be cruel. Seeing and savouring Jesus Christ is the most important seeing and savouring you will ever do. Eternity hangs on it. So my aim is that you see him as solid truth and savour him with great joy.”

• Kelley recommends A Widening Light: Poems of the Incarnation, edited by Luci Shaw.

When asked to share a book that provoked wonder and awe it was this simple collection of poems that came to mind. The poets all offer reflections on the mystery of Jesus, embracing the full arc of incarnation from birth to resurrection. The poems are accessible and insightful, written by several poets including Madeleine L’Engle, Luci Shaw and Eugene Peterson. When I had limited space in my suitcase bound for Burundi, this was the cache of poems I packed! I leave you with one example that penetrates my heart since my own story, namely the adoption of my daughter, resonates with the truth revealed:

After Annunciation by Madeleine L’Engle

This is the irrational season

when love blooms bright and wild.

Had Mary been filled with reason

there’d have been no room for the child.

When we mull over the mysteries of this Advent season, the language of poetry hints at the deep truth best, allowing us to brush up against the brightness–leaving us standing in awe.

• Kathy recommends Waiting for the Light: An Advent Devotional by Susan Wade, Ricci Kilmer and Christine Sine.

This book is a compilation of reflections from a variety of different bloggers around the globe. This guide is ordered into four specific movements for the four weeks of Advent–Preparing, Seeking or Expecting, Waiting and Becoming. The reflections are beautiful and challenging, but the part that is the most lovely to me are the liturgies and prayers that are included at the beginning of each. Filled with God’s hope, love, mercy, justice, and peace, these prayers are stirring my soul this season. (Editor’s note: Kathy and I both contributed to this book, but even if I didn’t, it would still be one of my favourites. I am enjoying the quiet reverence it lights in me as I journey through these devotions this Advent. –idelette xo)

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So SheLoves readers, I’d love it if you would take a moment to write a response about what causes you to literally or figuratively stop in your tracks, and say, “Wow, God.”

Happy reading!

About Destiny

Destiny Loeve treasures most her roles as wife to one daring husband & mommy to three sunshiny children. She loves to see things grow in her garden, read great books, hang out at her church, meet all kinds of people & sit in her living room with friends. When not on maternity leave, she works as a pediatric nurse, and finds as many opportunities to volunteer in the community as possible.

TGIF: Why I Didn’t Want to Talk to My 95-Year-Old Grandmother?

On yellow scissors, squishy elbows, “What’s wrong with me?” and life’s big questions.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
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“She wanted me to give this to you,” he said.

I examined the yellow scissors in my hands. Entranced, I put my fingers through the snug handles and snipped the blunt metal blades in the air as if to ensure that it still worked.

She was my grandmother. Or, Ammachi as I called her.

Back when I was in fifth grade, I gave my grandmother a pair of yellow scissors. I wish I could say that “the gift” involved some kind of noble sacrifice on my part, but it didn’t. I’d just upgraded to purple scissors at the beginning of the school year. My new pair was shiny, sharp and purple. Did I mention they were purple? Yellow reminded me of daisies, rubber ducks and bananas. Psssh. Yellow was for toddlers and I was ready to play with the big boys. Purple conjured up images of velvet, ink pens and grape juice. Owning purple stationery offered a warped sense of “sophistication” for my fifth grade mind. Having said that, it does not bode well for me that in my late twenties, velvet, ink pens and grape juice are still my definition of sophistication.

I remember gladly offering up my yellow scissors without experiencing any sense of loss.

Two decades later, holding the same yellow scissors unraveled me. It was the closest thing to finding a time-capsule I’d ever experienced.

My dad had just returned from Kerala (South India) where he spent some time with my now bed-ridden, very sick, 95-year- old grandmother.

She put the scissors in his hand and said, “Tell Kukku-mol* I’ve taken care of it for all these years. I want you to return it to her. I want her to have it.”

*Kukku –My family nickname #dontask, Mol –Daughter*

Let me put this into perspective, my grandmother had taken care of my cheap plastic scissors since the Gulf War. Gobsmacked. #1991wasalongtimeago

Fast Forward

A couple of weeks had gone by since my emotional reunion with the yellow stationery when my dad said, “Ammachi wants to talk to you. She said she wants to hear your voice.”

The moment the words fell out of his mouth, I felt my throat close up.

I didn’t want to talk to her.

From the age of six to about 11, my grandmother lived with my family. When the potent smell of talcum powder and eucalyptus wafted into the room, I knew she was near. To this day the cobalt blue bottle of her Noxzema face cream instantly transports me to our “cozy” two bedroom apartment in Dubai.

I’d play with the loose skin on her elbows while she read me stories from the orange hardbound children’s Bible with the red foil embossed lettering. Her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes distant and her voice urgent. She told me stories about The First Rainbow, Baby Moses in a Basket and, my favourite, Manna Falling from the Sky. And, just when she thought she was making progress with the squirrely six-year-old she was trying to pass her legacy onto, I’d giggle.

“Ammachi! Your elbows are so squishy!” I’d announce amidst more giggles. Her face would relax. She’d burst out laughing and pull me in for a kiss. Well, not technically a kiss. I don’t think my people “kiss.” We “sniff-kiss.” She pressed her thin lips and bulbous nose against my cheek and took a deep audible breath — inhaling the scent of my skin, inhaling my entire squirrely-six-year-old-baby-powder-essence.

And yet …
I didn’t want to talk to her.

I didn’t want to talk to …
The woman who smelled like talcum powder and eucalyptus.

I didn’t want to talk to …
The woman who let me play with her squishy elbows and sniff-kissed me.

I didn’t want to talk to …
The woman who saved my yellow scissors for two decades.

What is wrong with me? (And life’s other fatiguing questions.)

I thought about why I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of talking to her.
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“If we cannot be clever, we can always be kind.” -Alfred Fripp

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When I was young my grandmother spoke in broken English. As the years have gone by, she has reverted back to her mother tongue Malayalam. While I understand the language, I can’t reciprocate. My mind and tongue have a head-on collision and paralyze me.

The two default questions I revert to in Malayalam:
a. How are you?
b. What did you eat?

Every time I ask the same two questions, I feel ashamed. I think about how frustrating it must to be to be on the receiving end of those conversations.

While the language barrier is part of the block, the other part of it is not being able to push past the veneer of surface conversation. Our conversations feel practiced and clinical.

The questions I want to ask her:
Why’d you save my scissors? What do you remember about me as a child? What is unique about me? What should I look for in a husband? Will I be a good mother? What did you learn from your children?
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“When your suffering is a little greater than my suffering I feel that I am a little cruel.” –Antonio Porchia, Voces

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Hearing her belaboured breath and raspy longing voice terrifies me. The fact that they have already read her the last rites is so overwhelming to me. The fact that she is bed-ridden, simply awaiting death is devastating.

Some more questions I want to ask her:
Are you scared? What do you think heaven is like? What do you miss most about Appacha (grandfather)? Do you have any regrets? What do you know now, that you wish you knew then? If you had one dream for my life, what would it be? What should I do when I miss you?

And yet …
The words don’t come …
The courage doesn’t come and
I don’t want to talk to her …

Earlier this week I read Erin’s powerful piece “Learning the Language of Presence.” If you haven’t read it, go read it now.

Erin talks about being in Iraq and feeling at a loss for words, but finally coming to the realization that:

“She didn’t need to hear my words, she needed to feel my presence. And in more ways than she would ever know, I needed to feel hers.”

It was reassuring to hear that even when the words didn’t come, my presence was valuable. This isn’t one of those TGIF’s where I’ve figured it all out. It’s me as a work-in-progress.

I did eventually make the call. I still only asked the same two default questions, but this is how it went:

“Hi, Ammachi … It’s Kukku.”

The voice cracks on the other line, “Ende ponnu-molay!”
Translation: My golden daughter!

Warm tears …
Fat tears …
Salty tears …
Tumbling down my eyelashes …
Streaking down my cheeks …
Diving off my chin …
Sommersaulting onto my lap.

*encore*

“She didn’t need to hear my words, she needed to feel my presence. And in more ways than she would ever know, I needed to feel hers.” – Erin Wilson

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So …*deep breath*…

Is there someone in your world that you don’t want to talk to?

1. You don’t have to name names, I’m more curious to hear about your reasons for avoiding contact? I want to hear a real reason. Not, “I’m busy.”

2. What is the worst-case scenario that keeps you from making contact?

3. On the flip-side, what could be a possible positive outcome from experiencing this person’s presence?

Love you more than my friend Jen’s creamy Pumpkin Swirl Cheesecake Bars, (<- Recipe)

xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.
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SheLoves Half-Marathon for Living Hope
- How it all got started? Read the story: HERE
- Donate: HERE
- Facebook Event Page: HERE
______________________________________________________

My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.

Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.

I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.

My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.

I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.

TGIF: “Polished-Practiced-Perfect” Me vs “Raw-Ragged-Rough-Take” Me

On Bonnie Raitt, bullfrogs and getting lost in the supermarket of life.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
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“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” -Dr. Suess

“You’re just so … exposed!” she said. Her elbows on the table. Her hands open emphatically in front of her.

I was out for lunch with my cousin-sister visiting from San Fran at the Salt Tasting Room. Exposed brick, concrete floors, communal tables and a chalkboard wall with the specials. Very Gastown. Very Vancouver.

We had the “Wine Flight” (a wine tasting selection). FYI, I’m no Carrie Bradshaw. I don’t always drink wine on my lunch break but this was a special occasion.  My cousin was moving to Hong Kong for work.

Each wine was perfectly paired with an assortment of meat and cheeses.

Mmmmmm … 

Where were we? Ah yes! My cousin. She told me she had been reading TGIF and couldn’t get over how much of my real life I put out there. I laughed and brushed it off saying my honesty (word-vomit) was a default setting I couldn’t control.

Then she said some really nice things that (awesome) cousins say when they visit and finished up by asking, “So, what’s going on with your singing?”

The Sound of Music

“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.” -Maya Angelou

Many many moons ago, I used to sing. Back in 2003, I recorded a little demo album in Dubai. Some of the songs from that album even played on the radio in Dubai. Late-late-late night radio shows.

My life has moved on since then.

For reasons that are far too sensitive and nuanced to get into (that’s saying something, coming from me) I will say this: almost overnight I lost the joy of singing. What was meant to be a break for a couple of days, turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months, months snowballed into years. Six years to be exact. Six quiet years.

The fact that I suffered a pretty serious quarter-life crisis didn’t help. The crazier life got, the quieter I got.

When I first started singing again after my six-year hiatus, my voice sounded strange and unfamiliar. I cringed when I heard it out loud. It wasn’t as strong as it used to be.

Yet, I continued to sing at home, in the shower, in my car, in my bed. I had no plans to revisit my life as an singer-songwriter but I did want to know my voice. Who is this person? What does she care about? What does she want?

Turns out she had dreams, hopes and passions. Who knew? She had been such a Debbie Downer for so long.

The more I sang, the more insight I got into who I was and who I was meant to be. I was hard-wired to sing. It was irrelevant whether I was singing for an actual audience or just in the shower between a lather-rinse-repeat shampoo cycle. Singing was the auditory treasure map to my shipwrecked soul.

Slowly my thoughts got louder. So loud. I couldn’t contain them any more.  They pushed and shoved their way out of my mouth. They got bolder. Soon I was saying the things that “we-all-think-but-don’t-say.”

This surround-sound version of me bore a striking resemblance to the crazed six-year-old who ran around laughing, singing and screaming.

I can’t afford to lose her again in the supermarket of life.

Six years was too long. Six years felt final.

So now, I put my shiz out there. For everyone to see, read and hear. If I get lost again? They (family, friends and colleagues) can come find me.

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”  – E.E. Cummings

The Right Now

Given my crazy schedule and an effort to make TGIF more sustainable, Idelette and I discussed doing a vlog (video blog) once a month.

Except l thought, why stop there?! Why not take it one step further and record a little song to shake things up?

*insert buzzer*

First mistake.

Turns out:
- I can’t remember anything from my “Digital Recording 101″ class in university.
- There is a reason why people get paid boatloads of money to record music.
- It’s impossible to “throw together a song” in one evening. Even a karaoke song.

Still I thought, “Leap, Tina. Leap.” Actually, a bunch of Facebook friends (you know who you are) reminded me to leap this week.

I was tempted to leave you with one of the songs from the album that was professionally recorded back in 2003, instead of the crazy-audio-karaoke-disaster I was able to throw together. And then I thought … where’s the fun in that? I’d be missing the whole point of this exercise.

The point of life is not to be “Polished-practiced-perfect” Me, but to show up and sing like an out-of-tune bullfrog amidst life’s chaos.

I hope that exposing the raw unfinished version of me gives you the courage to do the same.

Come on, fellow bullfrog!

I can’t hear you.

Louder! Louder!

“Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” -Dolly Parton

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‘Polished-Practiced-Perfect’ Me (Studio, August 2003)

Download track here.

‘Raw-Ragged-Rough-Take’ Me (Bedroom, October 2011)

If you want an audio reminder to be ‘Raw-ragged-rough-take’ YOU, you can download the song here.
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So my SheLoves peeps, I have two thoughts this week:

1. I’m curious. What is the area of your life that you are terrified to expose? Note: I didn’t say “Is there an area…” I know we all have areas of our life where we silence ourselves.

2. What is the worst-case scenario that keeps you from exposing/sharing that part of yourself with the world?

3. Dream with me for a minute. What could be the best-case scenario (pay-off) in exposing/sharing yourself?

Love you more than an uber pretty Crispy Potato and Apple Roast with Shallots, Rosemary and Thyme,(<- Recipe)
xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.
______________________________________________________

SheLoves Half-Marathon for Living Hope
- How it all got started? Read the story: HERE
- Donate: HERE
- Facebook Event Page: HERE
______________________________________________________

My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.

Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.

I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.

My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.

I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.

Wellness: One Way to Infuse Your Life with Purpose

On stamina, stillness and the wisdom of Steve Jobs.

By Ali Valdez

Last week, the world was saddened and stunned by the death of technology savant, Steve Jobs. His Stanford University commencement speech, circulated prodigiously on the Internet, inspired millions. Its topic? Death. Not woe-is-me, cold-death-beckons-a-poor-Silicon-Valley-billionaire, but as a mentor and instrument of meaning, infusing his life with purpose:

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life.

My story

One Good Friday, my pastor challenged the congregation to contemplate Jesus’ death on the cross. The room was dark and quiet. This ties back to Peter who makes claims of loyalty for Christ, but indeed Jesus knew in advance his limitations. I lasted about ten minutes, gravely humbled by my lack of endurance. Instead, my leg went to sleep, my stomach hurt because I overate, my mind was distracted.

I realized I didn’t have the mental stamina, yet alone the physical stamina to be wholly present for more than ten minutes.

Stillness is something I have worked hard to cultivate. It is just me-and-God time, no one sees it, but it was a call to action. Wellness requires focus, discipline and health in the body and mind. Then the spiritual work can commence and be sustained.

Believing in the promise of Christ’s resurrection should diminish all concerns of death, right?  In 2 Corinthians 5:8 it states: Yes, we are fully confident, and we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord. (NLT). Beyond stating the body is a temple, or “earthly,” Christians typically tend to regard the body in its most practical day-to-day existence, not as a sacred, divine mystery. The Sufi mystic, Rumi, writes of Adam, “when he was given his body and his made of watery clay and fiery wind, the qualities inside the names became that; a human life being lived.”

As a student of comparative religion, I see death take many figurative forms but always  as star attraction. The Upanishads say “even as a heavy-laden cart moves on groaning, even so the cart of the human body, wherein lives the Spirit, moves on groaning when a man is giving up the breath of life.” Believers simultaneously feign diffidence and shake in fear at the reality of death’s encroachment on their conditioned way of life. It is never easy to let go, practice non-attachment and still feel human. We work through illness, aging, battling our genetics or lifestyle choices. Most of us have not lived through the egregious assault of death when it plays its hand in its harshest forms such as living through revolution, civil war, or famine.

In the Western world we have a choice.

Philippians 1:22-23 says: But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don’t know which is better. I’m torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me. (NLT) Paul knows that his work stands to benefit many. He understands duty and works whole-heartedly. Still, what we have accepted is a gift: Christ’s sacrifice of his material self.  To act in wellness is to operate in the fullness of the Christian life; physically, mentally and spiritually acquiescing to the graceful acknowledgement that there is work to do and fearlessness of death whilst doing it, even if that includes death of ego, prestige, or status.

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. There is no reason not to follow your heart.” –Steve Jobs

I believe living from the heart requires single-minded focus, discipline and health in the body and mind. Then the spiritual work can commence and be sustained. Now I understand that my body is indeed a temple on many levels. Sometimes I feel like God conducts my life like a conductor of a Stravinsky symphony.  Mine tends to be a temple frenetically in motion, like a whirling dervish. But now my body can also be a temple made of stone, cemented in bedrock capable of sitting, listening and learning for days on end.

This has become my barometer of wellness: when I can sit undeterred in the presence of God.

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So, dear SheLoves sisters, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• Like Paul and Steve Jobs, do you think about death and allow it to inspire you towards clarity of purpose?
• What is your relationship with your body? Do you think of it in its most practical day-to-day existence, or as a sacred, divine mystery?
• Or: Do you have any questions?

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About Ali:

My name is Ali Valdez and I live between Seattle and Houston. I am a Christian yoga instructor, academic and writer, and devote most of my time in servitude to my students, who are yoga teachers or studio owners developing yoga communities in their cities and towns. I have also worked and led Kindergarten and small groups at my church. I love religion, philosophy and man’s inquiry on all things of higher order. I have devoted my life to study and am versed in the metaphysical, philosophical and topics of comparative religion. Practically, I love wellness, nutrition, the gross and subtle energy bodies, healing, alternative medicine, fitness, exercise, and healthful levels on many levels. I have done crazy things like marathons, sky-diving and state-of-the-art spa treatments. I look forward to connecting with you all and sharing whatever insights I may have that serve you in your aspirations. For fun, I travel the world, host retreats globally, read and write on my blog, the Gadabout. I also party with my Bun, a little five-year-old named Mathilde. You can learn more about what I do at sattvayogaonline.com