A helpful diagram

This is floating around the internet and I find it to be pretty cool. I spent a little more than five minutes trying to find the original source, to no avail.

If only I could use this new knowledge to find happiness with one of the three sewing machines I have. I used to only have one. Then, two got donated to me for yarmulke making purposes. After the wedding, I will donate them to a friend of the family's who works with African immigrants to teach them to sew for extra income. I love the features of the two new ones, but even after being taken into the shop, I can't seem to make the bobbin happy on the one I like in theory the most. The other just doesn't jive with my energy, somehow. I suppose I'll just stick to the simple one that has served me well.

A delicate question

Let's talk about weight, shall we?

The other day I had a completely irrational moment of outrage when a friend who I don't see very often commented on a status I had posted to Facebook. It went something like this:

R. just kicked her own ass working out.
Friend: 30 day shred?

Upon reading that, the rage flared up inside of me at the idea that someone would think I was doing something so predictable as losing weight before my wedding. That would be as bad as growing out my hair to fit some sort of romance novel fantasy of myself. I mean, that's what brides do. And I'm not a regular old bride! I'm a divorcee, damnit. I know better than that!

I fully admit that there were a few personal insecurities fueling my internal response. However, I contained myself and wrote:

R. Nope, just a regular part of staying healthy.

I'm not sure if that reads as bitchy or not but in my head I wanted to add, "And I just cut my hair, too." Of course, that is bitchy.

But the thing is, I am trying to lose weight. I'm just not losing it in order to fit into a dress made for a shape other than mine.

Grad school made me pudgy and slow. Now 9/10 of my clothing no longer fits, including all of my business clothes, which are very expensive. Plus, I know from experience that when I'm 10 pounds lighter than I started the summer, I have a lot more energy. And while I'm unemployed and the weather is nice, it's the perfect time to jump-start an exercise routine.

So, I've been riding my bike every day it doesn't rain and watching my caloric intake. You know, losing weight. Like every other bride on the planet.

And I'm jealous of the blogs that I'm reading about women with healthy body images who refuse to be someone other than themselves even though the vendors and family that they talk to indicate that they should think otherwise. A. writes in her recent post:

But for all my love for wedding blogs, it is shocking and contemptible that you so rarely see overweight brides represented online, as though by our very size, we cannot possibly fit the archetype of “bride”.

Offbeat Bride directed me to Natalie's post of advice for brides that don't fit the common mold where she gets to say things like:

For some reason, I had it in my head that my wedding day would be a celebration of love and happiness between Nick and I however it seemed that foolish me had little idea of the true wedding agenda - basically some kind of reality tv show where the ugly duckling turns gorgeous siren.

She follows this great demonstration of her correct priorities with some great advice and her commentors are pretty awesome.

I can't write those kinds of posts where I give a big efyou to the WIC but I'm sure glad those women did. Check them out.

A Mugging on Lake Street

For my degree, I took a Crime Policy class with Jens Ludwig, who wears awesome sport coats. He was fantastically enthusiastic but also completely realistic in his expectation of our ability to enthusiastic about the topic. I was impressed by his ability to successfully walk the line of introducing humor to leaven tragic subjects without being disrespectful in any way to parties involved. I also appreciated his willingness to devote a portion of most class sessions to explaining the statistical mechanics of the studies we were reading. He would go so far as to make up simpler data sets and write them out on the board so that he could mathematically manipulate them in ways that were parallel to the ways the data were manipulated in our research. I liked that dedication.

Jens had two overriding morals in every discussion that we had: the data is ambiguous AND this is the best research we have on any particular topic.

In other words, there is no truth about why crime occurs or how to stop it that any group of experienced, knowledgable and educated people will agree upon.

In other other words, who knows?

This morning I read a first-person account by a white investigative journalist about a random attack he suffered while biking on the west side of Chicago, a predominantly poor and black area of the city.

It was terribly honest in its reluctance to make public the internal searching he has to to give meaning to this experience and, ultimately, ends up with the same conclusions that Jens voices. It's all ambiguous. There are no answers yet.

I appreciated his willingness to be honest about his anger for the kid who did it but also to recognize that anger won't answer the question, "why?" Anger will only lead to repeating stereotypes and will tear the world apart further. So he does research to answer the question in an attempt to mend his own soul (although he never speaks in spiritual terms) by talking to police officers and his friends and other victims and his attacker and the kid's mom and experts on hate crime and members of the juvenile justice bureaucracy. He listens to his friend who is also a pastor who suggests that he examine how much he wants to invest in the rehabilitation of his attacker. He displays his own thought process as he moves through his analysis.

Through it all it is clear from the tone off his writing that his statement early in the article is correct:

At a moment when millions of Americans set race aside to vote for an African American presidential candidate, I've been forced by juveniles to look it square in the face. Last February, Attorney General Eric Holder said that we are a nation of cowards when it comes to addressing race. I plead guilty. There is no joy in writing this.

The article is in this month's Chicago Magazine (September 2009) but it isn't online. However, it is worth purchasing the paper version to read "A Mugging on Lake Street" by John Conroy. For me, it was the perfect complement to my class that studied the quantitative data analysis regarding crime. It uses one crime as an object lesson to analyse the wisdom of experts and eyewitnesses: sources that are just as valid as numbers.

The conclusion of both sources of knowledge are the same. What we know is not enough. If problems must be solved by digging out the roots, we still have a long way to go to discover the extent of the underground tendrils and branches that crime grows from.

Shower!

So, my wonderful Bridal Brigade threw me a wedding shower on Sunday. It was so nice to be the center of attention. Right now it feels like this wedding is about everyone but me. My friend Mark tried to cheer me up by reminding me that your wedding is the one day when it's all about you. I laughed a tired laugh of derision. If it were all about me it would have happened in a courthouse 3 months ago or a small ceremony in my parents' backyard. I think big events must only be for first-time brides. This wedding is a day that's all about Jacob's family, from the scale of the event to the way I am struggling to treat his parents to the $800 impersonal rabbi. I'm not complaining. It's important to Jacob and I chose all of it because I want our marriage to start off on the good foot of compromise and because I know the relationship between he and I will be better for the next 40 or 50 years if his family feels included, loved and wanted. It's a worthwhile thing to sacrifice for.

Plus, I know it will be a rocking party. We've got a great band with a phenomenal band leader. If I want, I can dance the whole time and not talk to anyone. I've planned lots of quiet into my morning. My dress will be gorgeous and fun to wear. The ceremony will be full of God and I'm sure the hugeness of what Jacob and I are doing will move me in meaningful ways. I will be happy.

But the shower was especially lovely. It was truly moving that so many women from so many different aspects of my life came together and gamely threw themselves into the process of entertaining themselves with each other, asking, "So, how do you know Rebecca?" I hate being at parties where I only know one or two people, so this party was especially appreciated since this was a party where all the attendants had the potential to feel on the fringe but came anyway.

I felt loved.

I felt celebrated.

It was held at my mom's house since she has enough room. However, they don't have air conditioning and this past weekend was the hottest so far this summer. Lots of sweaty faces and glasses of homemade limeade. I went early just to hang out with my mom and to help her with any last set-up things. Once other folks started arriving, she disappeared and read her book for most of the time. Perfect since I knew that made her happy.

And did they start arriving!

With armloads of casserole dishes and tupperware containers. With pineapples and dip. With balloons and flowers. With presents.

I was a little unnerved as I opened presents since at most showers, that's sort of a side activity while the women kibbitz. But my ladies were quiet and all of them watched me. So, I told stories. No need to rush this thing. I told stories about the givers. I told stories about the presents and why I had chosen them. I told the story about my grandma offering up a bottle of astroglide as hand-sanitizer at a picnic. It had been left on her bathroom sink by one of my cousin's and she mis-used it unknowingly for weeks before the picnic.

I asked my friend Susan why they were all so intent. She reminded me that I didn't have a traditional registry. I'm using www.alternativegiftregistry.org and have simply listed the types of things we would like rather than specific products. We also emphasize heavily that folks should feel free to shop in their own cabinets and at thrift stores. Susan pointed out that at a normal shower, everyone has seen all of the gifts before on the store registry. At this one, each was a surprise. Also, Susan was kind enough to tell me that I was interesting and had interesting friends so the gifts had even more potential to be interesting.

And they were, in fact, interesting. One woman bought us a teapot and serving dishes from a cooperative of women in Africa and wrapped it in boxes she hunted up from all over her house. My brother's girlfriend found us a great serving tray. I got a gift-certificate to a fair-trade bead store. I got yoga props and a used sensual yoga book. The giver told the story of realizing too that maybe we would be grossed out more than appreciative of her desire to fulfill our wishes not to contribute to our world's hunger for more new things. We all laughed and I assured her that I love it. I got an assortment of spices from the local freshly-ground spice store including cinnamon that my friend's two toddlers chose by seriously smelling all of the offerings. My sister-in-law gave me a water-boiler that we want because it uses so much less energy than boiling on the stove or in the microwave. My other sister-in-law brought a fun game that involved competitively cataloguing the items in our purses. My 4th grade Sunday school teacher and now-friend gave me a 1976 cookbook published by the ladies in the church who watched me grow up. I was especially moved by my friend Carrie's present from Crate and Barrel. For my first wedding, she had made special effort to track down bowls we had registered for but that had gone out of stock. My ex-husband got those in the divorce and I've always felt bad about her wasted effort. But she didn't hold it against me went back to Crate and Barrel for a beautiful glass bowl for this wedding. Another friend gave me one of her family heirlooms that I've known the story of since high school. Her family in Germany had sent a desperate letter to "Daniel Pinkham, Cicero, America" during WWII begging for the scraps from their tables. The family sent weekly shipments and received lovely things in return because the Germans didn't want to accept charity. Elena gave me one of the lovely little demitasse cups. A friend who couldn't make it sent a bowl made by an artist local to their family's hosue in Michigan. Add to these stories lingerie, potluck paraphenalia, massage oils and gift certificates to IKEA and I feel completely showered with the love that the intimacy of sharing experiences creates.

We didn't get around to making our quilt squares but seeing the fabric I had brought and the examples up-close and in person spurred a lot of folks to say they were getting started. Then, those of us that could stay cleaned up and replaced all the cold bottles of Mexican coke that we had drunk so my mom never even knew we were there.

Thank you, ladies. Planning a big event is totally worth it if I get to swim in the smaller eddies of gatherings like this.

This made me laugh very hard.

Both the music minister who treated me so hurtfully and the 33-year-old boyfriend who admitted later he was actually 38 and then had the nerve to break up with me by not returning my phone calls I was making to ask when the flight was leaving for the trip he mischievously asked me to let him surprise me with. Both have attempted to friend me on Facebook. Although I sent a message to both to give reconciliation a chance, their responses were so deficient that I quickly hit "ignore." Kudos to the men who have broken my heart and kept far away from my profile.

Thanks to Breakup Girl for the video.

Hopefully

Over the past couple of days, I've made an interesting revelation that is liberating in its own way. I was having tea with a good friend of mine and admitted, without really intending to, that I hate being at home all day from 9-5. I don't enjoy either implementing the wedding plan or finding a job. In fact, trying to find a job actually makes me feel bad. But that's what I need to be doing all day from 9-5. This generally involves being at home on my computer. When I have a job and I have a shitty task, it's OK because I have at least one co-worker that I like hanging around with on breaks and stuff. But at home, there is only me. Feeling crappy about the work that has to be done. Sometimes, I cope with this by not doing the work and surfing the internet or taking a nap. This does not get the work into a more completed state and generally makes me feel worse about the whole predicament when I realize how unproductive I've been all day. Especially when I realize that Jacob spends all day doing stuff he'd rather not do but he gets paid. Now, everything sucks AND I'm living off a sugar-daddy whom I fear will ultimately resent the mis-match.

This kind of thinking has a tendency to spiral in a downwards direction. When that happens, I try to go for a walk or do some yoga. Sometimes that works. Otherwise, I give up for the day and read a book or watch a DVD. That's at least productive int he sense that my creative muscles get a work-out.

But it liberating to actually name this thing that makes me feel so bad: I don't like being at home all day.

Hopefully, the next step is being able to say to myself, "OK, that's stinks, now suck it up and get some work done."

Hopefully.

Digging wells

On Monday night, Jacob and I went to a support group for interfaith couples who are not yet married.

I don't know how to sum it up.

I liked it in that way that I like humanity and I like it when people are vulnerable to each other. Many of the personalities that I got to observe were enjoyable. I felt like Jacob and I were super-advanced and my ego likes that while my soul hangs its head in premonition of the work its going to have to do to clean up that mess.

We're in a very peaceful place right now and I am reveling in it. The wedding still has to be implemented and a job still has to be found but we're no longing fighting and having quite so many discussions. My mom says she can hear a difference in my voice when she talks to me. There are still things to be worked out about how our interfaith life will look but, honestly, Jacob's doing most of that work right now, examining his insides. He recently read the book Nothing Sacred and I think it blew his mind a little. He keeps quoting it in different formats, like the interfaith group and at Torah study on Saturday morning. I am reading Common Prayers, even though I protested it for awhile since no one ever seems to recommend any inverse books by Jewish interfaith partners who find their spirituality deepened by their exposure to Christianity. After two different people responded sarcastically to my complaint with "Oh, wah. It's hard being part of the dominant culture, isn't it?" then I decided I should actually read it.

So, with all of this reading and the research we did before we got married, we are very prepared with answers to dilemmas that get brought up in a group like the one on Monday night, which I am glad about personally. However, in the context of the group, it really reinforced to me that every interfaith couple has to come to its own decisions; there is no template that works for everyone. One couple had been dating since high school with a long-distance interval during college and are starting this conversation now that they are considering marriage. It was interesting to listen to their concerns about baptism and conversion and their struggle since it is important to them both that children undergo these rituals and that both of them considered the rituals mutually exclusive. This isn't an issue for Jacob and I and so I had no wisdom to offer. I could only tell our story.

I also interjected at one point in the large-group discussion and commented on the repetition of the word, "belief." I didn't want to be too much of an evangelist for the emergent movement but did want to share the sense of liberation that I feel because I've stopped focusing so much on beliefs and shifted my attention to practice and transformation. So, I told my story.

I was attending a hip, young evangelic church in the city that emphasized social justice. To become a member of the church, you had to download a form from the website that had a list of 12 statements that you had to "believe." If you could agree with these statements, you signed on the line at the bottom, met with someone to discuss it and were then considered part of the club. I couldn't agree to all 12 and, in fact, outright disagreed with several points. I sat down with the pastor to discuss this and said that I believed in this community of people and what they were trying to accomplish. Could I still participate in community activities? I specifically mentioned continuing on the worship team and starting a nursery for all of the babies that were being born. To both he told me that he would be uncomfortable with me being involved because there was a fear of "wrong teaching." That hurt a lot because I was starting to feel like I was forming real relationships with some of the people at that church. To be pushed to the fringes because of "beliefs" seemed unfair and contrary to the truth of the bonds we were forming as fellow human beings. In attempt to heal this pain, I did research and found a movement of people who were trying to explore spirituality in a post-modern context that acknowledged that all of us see God differently because we're all looking through the lens of our individual experience. To expect everyone to believe the same things in counter-productive since it negates the commonality we have as humans in that most of us are all trying to move toward God in whatever way we can. I described this article that uses the metaphor of Australian cattle ranching versus American ranching. Americans build fences to keep cattle together since the boundless lushness lures them to wander. Since Australia has so little water, ranchers dig wells to keep cattle in one place. They never wander far from their source of life. This metaphor allows spiritual communities to redefine who is a member. Instead of those who have all come to the same conclusions banding together for safety and putting a fence (or numbered list) around those conclusions, a community can be defined as people walking toward the water. You can be part of the community if you are in the process of exploration and transformation because knowing that God is bigger than our vision means that you have no choice but to keep discovering new ways that we are wrong about what we believe. People on different paths can reach across the paths and hold hands while they walk.

This is incredible liberating to me and makes an interfaith relationship very easy to consider. My struggle is making sure that I keep my behavior with Jacob loving by making room for his struggles since he comes at this from a different place.

I wish that I could reach into the heads and hearts of all interfaith couples that are struggling and shift their spiritual paradigm in the same way that mine was shifted. Once beliefs become secondary to building community (while remaining primary for personal practice) discussions regarding rituals change and become less combative. Of course, I don't have the power of paradigm shifting, only the power of storytelling and storylistening. I tried my best at both.

I loved listening to another couple that described attending another young, hip, urban church. When there were a couple of sermons that made it clear that the Jewish partner wouldn't be welcome, the Christian partner immediately agreed to find a new church home but was still concerned about doing as God commands him in his practice. This kind of flexibility reflects how good Jacob has made me feels when he adopted my organic lifestyle, despite its increased costs and the intensification of his spiritual journey that he chose in order to accommodate my presence in his future.

We'll keep going back to the group after we're married. I'm curious to see the transformation in the lives and perspectives of these people and I like the atmosphere that affirms raising children in both religious traditions since, like being bi-lingual, this will only enhance their ability to communicate with God.

F$@K!

In the process of rounding up RSVPs, I found three families that didn't make it from one spreadsheet to another. Luckily two are local and one of those got a save the date. However, one is out of town and probably won't get to come now.

This sucks.

Mend yourself

I have nothing really to write but I feel like I owe you folks an update. I have been feeling that sense of soul tiredness that I described before pretty intensely. It sort of hit its peak yesterday morning when Jacob and I went to temple. Temple is a really interesting place full of strange and interesting people, real spirituality and unique worship experiences. But I was just bored. As we talked about it in the car afterwards, I realized that I had been super-cranky even before we left. When we got home, I sat on the couch to read my interesting novel, I felt bored. I went to finish the tabouleh in the fridge and put it down after two bites because I was bored. As I examined myself through conversation with Jacob, I realized that my neck and shoulders felt like rocks and remembered that that's where I store all of my tension. Then, as a result, the lack of circulation and flat-out pain affect my moods. This happens all the time when my life is stressful.

In our pre-marital counseling session on Thursday night and my therapy session on Friday, we talked about spiritual Valium, which would be something I could do to make me care less about the seemingly urgent relationship issues that must be worked out RIGHT NOW and focus a little more on living in the moment. I realized yesterday that getting someone to loosen up the ropes in my neck might be a source of that.

So, I called Thousand Waves Spa, made an appointment for a massage, went an hour early to sweat in the sauna, soak in the hot tub and breath in the eucalyptus in the steam room. I drank water and sat quietly in the relaxation room then barely spoke to my masage therpist, who understood my needs perfectly.

I came home feeling like a new woman. I was affectionate to my fiance and I got a bunch of crap done for the wedding. I fixed the printer/scanner that has been broken for nine months. I spent some time with one of my closest friends and she told me first that she had gotten engaged. I was able to be excited for her in a way I would not have been that morning, for which I am very grateful.

Today has been an extention of this feeling of wholeness. Soon, I'll start the casserole that we'll take to church with us. Jacob has been playing Final Fantasy 3 non-stop every hour he's been home this weekend. This marriage and wedding are about tikkun olam, mending the world. Part of that involves mending ourselves from time to time.

Jewish identity

Jewish identity is a hot topic around my house lately. Interestingly, two women in my life who are passionate, intellectual lovers of writing have both written on the subject. I've spent a couple of days thinking about their words before responding but have recently left comments on both of their blogs.

If you are interested, Jess writes about it here. An excerpt to whet your palate:

I found it amazing to consider that a man or woman would walk around in a body that was their golden ticket, in the white skin that they wore often without knowing what that white skin entitled them to, and could still feel outcast and in the minority. Perhaps it is a testament to my religious insensitivity that I'm still astonished that a Jewish person could be white and still feel racially different.

Ali responds here.

But this tension arises because we have made race into a visual category into which we toss people rather carelessly. I had friend in college who frequently "passed" without wanting to, despite having a biracial African-American father because of her blond curls and blue eyes. And Jessica's right, white-looking folks tend to "watch purses" (among other things) in response to visual cues about race. But I look at my children, one of whom is Mexican-American and the other of whom is Ethiopian. When they walk around with their white-looking mama, they get tossed into "brown and black" categories or "Guatemalan and Foster Care" categories--none of which fit either of them in their glorious, specific selfhood.

I love these two women and have always loved them for their willingness to be vehement with me while also listening. Although they have never met in the flesh, my relationship with both of them on an individual level is shockingly similar. Go take a look.

Let me count the ways

Several weeks ago, I said to Jacob, "I know why I am comfortable with getting married so quickly but I don't know why you're comfortable with it."

He said, "The way I see it is that two years ago, we weren't right for each other. We were in different places and were looking for different things. But we're right for each other now. Getting married just guarantees that we'll make the decisions that keep us right for each other."

Seriously.

That man.

A couple of weeks ago, Jacob and I celebrated the 1-year anniversary of meeting at Tabitha's birthday party. In 6 weeks, we'll be married.

For a lot of people, this timeline is unthinkable. But for us, there is no reason to wait for a wedding. We had made up our minds to spend the rest of our lives with each other and would rather that happened sooner rather than later.

I know there are a lot of couples that are comfortable and even need to date for 2, 3, 4, 5 or more years before getting married. Of course, I am a huge advocate for everyone doing what is best for their own relationship And personally, I was unwilling to alter again the patterns and decisions of my life to accommodate someone else if there were not long-term benefits. I had reveled in enjoy-the-now relationships for about five years after the divorce and they were good and necessary. However, starting about a year and a half ago, I was really starting to go somewhere with my life. I was putting down roots and growing toward goals. I'd become committed to certain paths like emergent Christianity and training for a certain type of career. Maybe it was turning 30 or maybe it was realizing how much I was spending on grad school that made me think, "I can no longer just pick up and start over anymore without wasting some of the effort spent in my younger years."

So, my Mr. Right Now relationships with men became liabilities for the things I was trying to accomplish. Time spent with them needed to be more than just fun or an escape or an emotional salve. Time spent with a man needed to be as much of an investment as the time I was spending on my homework or the time I was spending building community at church.

But this pace has its downsides. When you melt down a precious metal, generally an artist tries to clean the pieces before exposing them to heat as much as possible to cut down on potential flaws in the finished work. If weddings are crucibles that burn off the dross of a relationship and leave only the pure gold, the chunks of scrap that Jacob and I threw into the pot had barely been touched by steel wool or water. So the fire needs to be a little bit hotter.

Planning our wedding has been a hot process. Three times we've had Serious Conversations about whether or not an interfaith life is what we really want, knowing full well that we would not be able to get married if the answer was no. Some family and friends have done double-takes and needed to be coaxed into a state of mind that is comfortable with the idea of our marriage. A wedding for 225 people that will balance both of our desires for an event and that will resolve even our individual internal conflicting desires for an event takes spiritual energy, and practical get-shit-done energy.

And my soul is tired. I'm tired of fighting to advocate for what I need. I'm tired of feeling threatened. I'm tired of making the right choices, even when they are hard. I'm tired of being the bigger person and thinking of other people's needs. I'm tired of buying things. I'm tired of planning. My soul feels squished like Giles Corey and can only focus on breathing underneath all of the weight.

I realized this about my soul when I went on what should have been an adventure out to the Quad Cities with my friend to do her a favor and to volunteer for an event she was trying to raise money at. A) The Quad Cities fascinate. I never fail to be delighted by the various sub-cultures that I encounter there. One of my best friends lives there and it has never disappointed. B) The event was a giant motivational speaker event with speakers like Robert Schuller and Rudy Giuliani. At one point there was a rap by an Italian woman with a book to promote that warned that you would never be fulfilled by TV but must, instead, look to Jesus to be satisfied.

The combination of A and B should result in at least one, if not two or three, blog posts describing, analysing and applying lessons learned from these adventures. What great stories! I would have my notebook out to make sure I remembered the outrageous details so that you, the gentle reader, could see them in your head as you read. I love adventures and I love sharing them on my blog.

But, you and I both get bupkus from that trip. And thus, I know my soul is tired.

This past weekend, Jacob and I went up to New York to visit his parents. We wanted to make sure that they feel included in our plans and to smooth out some of the bumps that we've encountered with them. But my soul is tired. The first day and a half were really hard for me. I was staying in someone else's house, trying to be a respectful guest, but struggling with whether to say the emotional things that I wanted to say so they would know how much they've hurt my feelings and maybe set a precedent for how I am willing to be treated in the future or whether I should just pretend like everything is OK and establish a foundation of good-will and affection that will ease future conversations about boundaries. This will be one of the last chances we can afford to spend with them at a time that is not a holiday with the whole family present. If not now, when? Right? But my soul was so tired. Jacob was so good and supportive and we brainstormed together what our best tactics should be. But even when we resolved to say something, I literally said the words in my head, "I am not brave enough to blow everything up while everything is so peaceful." Even if blowing shit up was the right thing to do. And I have no idea if it would have been the right thing. Maybe it was and I'll reap the consequences late. I don't know. I just know that I didn't confront them at all about the things that they have waited to say until they can say it on the phone. I just couldn't generate the energy to facilitate a healthy conversation that would involve forgiving them for their defensiveness ahead of time so that we could actually be productive in fixing our relationship. And Jacob couldn't do it alone. That's not how a partnership works.

So, we made it through the weekend. We had a legitimately good time. We laughed and we talked about some details of the wedding as a group. Jacob talked a little bit about his views on Judaism. We went through old photos and we chose which of Grandpa Manny's quilts we wanted. (We're going to use one for our chuppah.) We ate yummy dinner at Moosewood in Ithaca. It was a lovely time. I perked up a little toward the end of the second day when we went shopping at some thrift stores. Shopping is a little like drugs to me. I stay away from it most of the time because I know it is a slippery slope. But, like a little Valium every once in awhile, it helped the time pass by with a little less angst. (For those of you that don't know me, that was a joke. Kind of. Too much addiction in my family makes that an impossible route for me. However, don't think I don't wish I were the kind of person who could just dabble in a better life through chemistry.) :-)

I don't know if we should have cleared the air in a blow out. Neither does Jacob. One or the other of us changes our minds about that every 8 hours or so. But he and I are tight with each other and I am content with that. I want to marry him and he wants to marry me. That is a blessing that I can count a bazillion different Elizabeth Barrett Browning ways.

The laws of Moses and Israel

In Brian McLaren's A New Kind of Christian, he tells a fictional story that reflects his own journey in examining the faith he'd always known and realizing that what he'd always believed was actually blocking him from feeling the presence of God. It is a difficult journey and at one point, he is walking along a river with his friend and mentor who acts as a Socratic guide, asking leading questions and being a solid comfort to the grief the main character feels as he watches the life he knew slip away as he confronted things that used to be "needs" for being a good Christian as simply cultural requirements. While walking, the internal pressure he feels to discard his old life feels so unbearable that he picks up a giant tree branch and starts swinging it as he shouts out a catharsis.

Jacob and I have been getting pressure from a couple of different sources that we shouldn't be having a religious ceremony or that we should call our ketubah something else since ours it not really a Jewish wedding and its not really a Jewish document. These are serious requests from people we love and I will not belittle them with an angry rant. Actually, the time for that has mostly passed for me. Early in the engagement, I was much more sensitive, especially at the idea that we might have to look really hard to even find a rabbi that would be willing to perform the ceremony. I cried quite a bit because being rejected by an entire faith community brought up all sorts of other rejections that I had tucked down deep, like my own feelings of rejection from Christianity when friends and extended family alike told me that I wasn't really Christian if I believed that God lets everyone spent eternity with her, or if I believed that God was bigger than than gender, or if I believed that Bible was not a set of rules to be strictly adhered to.

The first rabbi that we talked to - who was a close acquaintance - said that he would consider officiating but that he wouldn't use the language of the traditional ring ceremony: "Behold you are consecrated unto me, with this ring, according to the Law of Moses and Israel." Again, the argument was that since it wasn't really a Jewish marriage, the traditional words shouldn't be used. Anita Diamant writes, "If one of the parties is not bound 'by the laws of Moses and Israel,' the contract is not binding; it is void."

Wow. That really hurts. Our wedding is not binding? It is void?

For a woman whose first husband believed that their marriage vows weren't binding even though it was a "Christian" marriage, I was really hoping for more this time.

I wrote in my journal at the time in protest over all of the Jewish people who do not follow the laws of Moses and Israel. They don't keep kosher. They don't go to services. They honor money and television before God. Some don't even believe in God. Yet they still get to be considered Jewish and their marriage commitment is binding and not void. I pointed out to anyone who would listen that I keep a kosher home. I go to Jewish services. I follow God as best as I can.

These are the same protests that I made to my friends and extended family when they told me that I couldn't be part of their Christian club. But as I searched, I found Christians who believed that I belonged.

Their definitions of who was really Christian were generous because they believed that humans are inherently broken and so shouldn't try to second-guess God. They believed that as humankind grows and changes, so does humanity's understanding of God, so each generation will practice their faith differently than the generation before. The important thing is to be in community, struggling together to figure out God's will, as Walt Whitman says, "re-examine all you have been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem." This means using traditions that may have been discarded and discarding traditions that others say are necessary.

Which brings me back to Brian McLaren. I never had that moment of birthing pangs to discover that everything I had believed needed to be re-thought. I had a moment of relief when I found folks who thought the same way that I always had and who were willing to push me to think more. I've had a similar experience with Judaism.

We found another rabbi who had no problem with our interfaith plans and who invited us into their faith community that had a large population of interfaith families. We also found the Reconstructionist congregation nearby where we starting participating that explicitly states that the Judaism their children practice will be different than the Judaism that they practice. We have found online support groups and resources like Interfaith Family and the Dovetail Institute. I can make this journey to acceptance again.

However, Jacob's walking style is a little different. He is more like Brian McLaren. Although he has long had niggling doubts about aspects of his faith and began the journey long before he met me, it is much harder for him to overturn what he has always believed in favor of a new truth that is trying to push its way out of him. I love him for the work that he is doing so that we can have a life together. If he married a Jewish woman, this new truth would still push its way out of him; it might just have a little longer to do it. Marrying me speeds the whole process up and - like inducing labor with Pitocin - it becomes much more intense and painful.

So, what do I say to the people who are telling us to have a civil service? Us, who say the shabbat blessings every Friday night, who keep kosher, who go to services on Saturday and church on Sunday, a civil service? To one or two, I explain that although the group that they identify with believes in a very narrow definition of Judaism, there are other groups that widen the definition. Once you acknowledge a continuum of belief, it's not hard to fathom that Jacob and I belong on that continuum somewhere as a Jewish family, even if our children go to church camp some summers. Thus we are, in fact, really Jewish and our wedding should reflect our spirituality. For other people that I am not as close to, I let Jacob do the talking. His journey is harder than mine and it would be disrespectful if I tried to speak on his behalf. It would be saying that I don't trust him to make the right arguments, which is not true. Jacob is working hard to suss out his identity as a Jewish man. This earns him the right to speak for himself.

And I love to hear him talk.

Erika's wedding quilt

When I asked Erika for an important piece of text, she sent me a copy of a note Brian had given her. It was short and sweet and so I emailed Brian and asked him for a note from Erika that was special to him. They were a perfect match of texts, both expressing delight in the high quality of the time spent together so far and looking forward to all of the time they would get together in the future.

I used strips of orange fabric from a kit I bought from trinasdoings on etsy. Look at those cool dogs she sent me! I printed the text in shades of blue and pulled some other blue fabric out of my stash.

Erika has joined Brian in his enthusiasm for the University of Illinois football and they tailgate often. I figured the color combination would be useful.

I love making these and, rationally, I should take a little break. Actually, I told Tabitha she'd get hers by her anniversary. It would have been too much to get that done and to graduate on time. Last night, Jacob and I totaled out the number of weddings we have attended this year. So far, we had my brothers' wedding in January when I was both the sister of the groom and a bridesmaid, his friends' Jewish wedding in Michigan, my cousin's wedding in Florida, Tabitha's wedding where I made the flowers, and Erika's wedding where I was a bridesmaid. None of these were 6-hour commitments. All required either travel or work. And I have loved it. But I'm a little exhausted and looking forward to a little break until my own wedding. After that, we've got two more to attend in October. That makes 8 total for the year, including ours.

Whew!

Real butter

As a general rule, I hate unity candles.

I have been to too many weddings where the couple goes over to light the candle while somebody sings a pop Christian love song that is 2 minutes and 15 seconds too long for the 45 second ritual. (I have even been that singer once.) Then, everyone has to stand there awkwardly until the song ends. In my most hilarious experience with the awkward waiting moment, the stentorian, charismatic pastor put his hand on the groom's shoulder, closed his eyes and just nodded his head or shook it a little, occasionally uttering little guttural noises that clearly communicated that this was a meaningful moment. I respect this pastor in a lot of other ways but this was a little over the top and I struggled to keep from laughing.

Also, I don't like unity candles because so often the bride and groom blow out their own individual candles after they have lit the center candle. I'm all for putting all your eggs in each other's baskets but, really? Keep a little of your individuality, please.

Finally, another general rule in my life is to avoid accumulating decorative junk and I've seen too many $55 candles that were bought at a kiosk at the mall gathering dust in friends' home. I suppose I shouldn't judge their ceremony because it violates one of my own rules but . . . I'm petty like that. I need to hold it at arms' length in whatever way I can so that I am not tempted back to my suburban, materialist life.

So, with all of this baggage, I found myself moved by my friend Erika's unity candle ceremony this past weekend. Both times at the rehearsal and the real time with actual flame made something catch in my chest. Their mothers lit their candles before the service began and after Erika and Brian lit the center candle, they left their own candles lit and pushed them to the back of the altar and, together, moved the center candle forward a little.

That simple movement communicated so clearly, "We continue to value our individual needs but by this act of commitment, we move our relationship to the front of our attention."

It was stunning in its simplicity.

This simplicity reflected the entire ceremony. There were about 75 people in attendance at the small chapel of North Central College. It took about 20 minutes and, aside from their desire to do the unity ceremony their own way, the service was entirely traditional, with nothing that "reflected their personalities perfectly."

But Erika was a different woman once it was completed. I sat on the hotel bed with my fancy hair and make-up in my pajamas that morning and asked her in a quiet moment what she was feeling so I could use her experience as a reference point for my own in 6 weeks. "Ready," she said tightly. She smiled all morning and was never any kind of bridezilla. Still, after the ceremony, her gait and smile and laughter were all a little bit looser. She actually looked several shades darker, like her tan remembered to shine once she was married. It was the difference between this

and this.

Both are gorgeous, one is comfortable.

I look forward to being comfortable with Jacob. Right now, planning this giant event and trying to get certain people to be supportive of our interfaith plans and trying to find a job and the wrestling and tearing of our relationship as it emerges from its chrysalis cause us to fight and snap a fair amount. On Tuesday night, I went into a 45 minute stretch of being tetchy because he had rung the doorbell to be let in with his bike while he should have known I was in the middle of cooking dinner in preparation of his arrival so it would be on the table when he walked in. It was a visceral response that had nothing to do with how well my day had gone or how I actually feel about serving him (I love it). I know myself too well to think these kinds of moments will stop entirely after the wedding. However, I have complete faith that they will drop off quickly once the stress drops off like the trough after the ocean wave. We will get a chance to be comfortable with each other.

I don't think the transformation will happen after the ceremony, like Erika's did. It will probably start after the last guest has left the morning-after brunch and I wake up from my nap. Still, I look forward to it.

I am grateful to Erika for reminding me of what I have to look forward to. I am also grateful to her because her wedding was WIC (wedding industrial complex) all the way. A hotel reception package, matching bridesmaids gowns from David's Bridal, a suite of printed items that all matched, scads of formal pictures, a head table, manis and pedis the day before with the bridesmaids, party bus with hard-drinking groomsmen and goodie bags galore. It was completely predictable in every possible way.

And I did not have a sarcastic, cynical moment the entire weekend.

Look at how much fun is on my face as we mocked the groom for holding bouquets while the other bridesmaids ran to the bathroom at the park we stopped at to take pictures.

This is not the face of a girl who is experiencing the hell of the WIC, which is what you might expect from the way I describe it with horror at times.

Because at the heart of Erika and Brian's cookie-cutter wedding was Erika and Brian, who were full of love and graciousness to all of their guests. All those goody bags? Full of food to sustain us through the drinking and the photos. At the rehearsal dinner in the restaurant, they gave us gifts that rocked, including matching flip-flops for when our silver shoes got painful and a great big silver purse to haul our shit around on the party bus plus an expensive gift certificate to Hancock fabrics, which had to have been individual to me. Thoughtful and full of love.

WIC weddings are just a medium, like a pie crust or potatoes. If you put crappy ingredients in, it's going to suck but good ingredients like love, consideration and real butter, you can get something amazing. Both my brother's wedding earlier this year and now Erika's wedding remind me of that and make me just a tad less judgmental, which means that actually, I've gotten a tad less insecure in my own choices.

Erika has been one of my best friends for over 10 years. I had so much fun over the two days of her wedding and I am so grateful to her for including me in such an honored position. I danced all night (thanks to the DJ and daily bike rides), grew in kinship with the other (tiny) bridesmaids and got a chance to delight in Jacob. What more could I ask for?

I Live In A Duplex

A few months ago, Jacob and I posed for one of the artists at church. She took hundreds of pictures of us individually as the person "off-stage" entertained the one being photographed. She approached us to do this because she said we had interesting faces.

She has a series of portraits called "I Live In a Duplex" where she paints two heads on the same canvas and lets the viewer draw conclusions about what the relationship is. Her name is Virginia Broersma and she is both super-cool and a really talented artist. You can check her out here.

We've seen her at church a lot but haven't talked much about what became of our sitting.

So, how much fun was it to show up at church to set up for our first baby shower and to see my giant head on the wall.

I don't know who dude is with me. Draw your own conclusions. :-) Investigation on her site reveals that it is entitled "Grasp".

Further investigation reveals that Jacob has been included, as well, although she didn't hang it at church. You can see it here.

Have I mentioned how much I love that my church is full of artists? I should also mention that it was hard to concentrate during our Leadership Co-op meeting because I kept looking at myself.

God works in odd ways.