And if it frightens and torments you to think of childhood and of the simplicity and silence that accompanies it, because you can no longer believe in God, who appears in it everywhere, when ask yourself, dear Mr. Kappus, whether you have really lost God. Isn’t it much truer to say that you have never yet possessed him? For when could that have been? Do you think that a child can hold him, him whom grown men bear only with great effort and whose weight crushes the old? Do you suppose that someone who really has him could lose him like a little stone? Or don’t you think that someone who once had him could only be lost by him? – But if you realize that he did not exist in your childhood, and did not exist previously, if you suspect that Christ was deluded by his yearning and Muhammad deceived by his pride – and if you are terrified to feel that even now he does not exist, even at this moment when we are talking about him – what justifies you then, if he never existed, in missing him like someone who has passed away and in searching for him as though he were lost?

      Why don’t you think of him as the one who is coming, who has been approaching from all eternity, the one who will someday arrive, the ultimate fruit of a tree whose leaves we are? What keeps you from projecting his birth into the ages that are coming into existence, and living your life as a painful and lovely day in the history of a great pregnancy? Don’t you see how everything that happens is again and again a beginning, and couldn’t it be His beginning, since, in itself, starting is always so beautiful? If he is the most perfect one, must not what is less perfect precede him, so that he can choose himself out of fullness and superabundance? – Must not he be the last one, so that he can include everything in himself, and what meaning would we have if he whom we are longing for has already existed?

      As bees gather honey, so we collect what is sweetest out of all things and build Him. Even with the trivial, with the insignificant (as long as it is done out of love) we begin, with work and with the repose that comes afterward, with a silence or with a small solitary joy, with everything that we do alone, without anyone to join or help us, we start Him whom we will not live to see, just as our ancestors could not live to see us. And yet they, who passed away long ago, still exist in us, as predisposition, as burden upon our fate, as murmuring blood, and as gesture that rises up from the depths of time.

      Is there anything that can deprive you of the hope that in this way you will someday exist in Him, who is the farthest, the outermost limit?

      Dear Mr. Kappus, celebrate Christmas in this devout feeling, that perhaps He needs this very anguish of yours in order to being; these very days of your transition are perhaps the time when everything in you is working at Him, as you once worked at Him in your childhood, breathlessly. Be patient and without bitterness, and realize that the least we can do is to make coming into existence no more difficult for Him than the earth does for spring when it wants to come.

And be glad and confident.

Yours,
Rainer Maria Rilke
(December 23, 1903)
——
from Letters to a Young Poet (trans. Stephen Mitchell)

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The monotonous whirring of the DC fan struggled to tear the air and the silence asunder as I waited for my father-in-law to be to come to terms with the prospect before him. As I looked around waiting for him to speak, a number of things struck me about the drawing room: the french windows through which narrow shards of light passed through and painted patterns on the floor; the rich blood-red colour of the well laid cement floor; the rich dark brown of the mahogany and Burma teak furniture; and the tiny faces that occasionally peered in from the room next door as they tried to catch the ‘latest happenings’ and dutifully relay them back to the young lady I had come to meet.

Though I had been a part of such a ritual in the past, I had never really taken centre stage. The ten years that I was away from home had further intensified the feelings of awkwardness that I had felt even then. Awkwardness for everyone around, particularly the bride-to-be as she was asked to answer a series of questions and on occasion, even requested to walk or sing in front of the visiting party.

It was this feeling of awkwardness that had prompted me to try to break the ice as well. But my attempt had failed. Not for anything else, but for the fact that the stout 55-odd year old man who sat opposite me had a somewhat distant, regal disposition and was obviously deep in thought. And though the magic of 19 Baitakkhanna 2nd lane, Sealdah, Kolkata – 700 009 - the parental address of my wife to be  - had obviously fallen from its erstwhile splendour, the impressive exterior, the flurry of man-servants and the Tiffany lamps within still stood testimony to a time gone by. 

After a while my sister, Bharati, who taught two of this gentleman’s daughters, cleared her throat: ‘Mesomasai‘, she asked, ‘what are you thinking about? Wouldn’t you like to ask Soumyabrata what he does in the UK?”

The next one hour went by in a blur, as I was asked and answered questions about me as a person; why I had decided to go to the UK; what I had studied; where I lived; how I lived and whether I had the intent and the means to look after his daughter who he had so carefully raised through the years. Of course, I was also asked – many a time – when I intended to return. In hindsight, what must have also worked against me was the fact that I was 38 years old, had a receding hairline and was a good 13 years older than his daughter. Why on earth had I waited so long to make up my mind?

Finally, satisfied with my answers, he softened and turned to my sister and said, “So Bharati, what is it that you propose?”

Obviously proud of the fact that I had given a good account of myself, and more importantly that she had proven correct in her judgement, she said, “that you consider giving Arati’s hand in marriage to my brother, Soumyadeep”.

Arati, as I was later told, was the second of the five daughters that my father-in-law, Prafulla Ranjan Ghose, had had through his obviously prosperous and incredibly fruitful life. As she was summoned in to briefly meet with me, I could feel shivers run down my spine. I promised myself that I would try to make this as quick and as painless for both of us.

Arati came in and sat down in the one vacant chair in the room. Dressed in a rich, yet simple fuchsia saree, she had a spring in her step and a flicker in her eyes. She looked at me and quickly darted her gaze away, a hint of a smile quickly appearing on her lips. And then she looked at me again…

Even as I tried my best to keep my attention on the beautiful young lady before me, I couldn’t but help look back toward the door through which she had walked in moments before. Standing in the doorway, for a brief moment, was a young girl who’s gaze through her dark troubled eyes had made my heart skip a beat. And then, the door had closed and she was gone.

I didn’t know then if anyone else had noticed the brief encounter. I had. And it had left an indelible mark on my mind….

“Arati is a wonderful young lady”, I concluded to my sister, as we left the house. “She’s beautiful, well-educated, has a sense of humour and is obviously from a very good family. What more could I want?”

Over the next day and a half my parents and my parent’s-in-law to be deliberated on whether, and if so, how we should proceed on the matter. As I waited anxiously for my parents and sister to return from every visit my thoughts kept racing back to the dark troubled eyes that I had seen in the doorway. Till I could wait no more and with an air of nonchalance asked my sister who the girl was.

“Manuja”, she said almost to herself, “she’s Arati’s younger sister. And for your information, she is quite against the wedding. She doesn’t want to lose her sister to a lord from such a far off land”.

I stared into nothingness as I tried to come to terms with the thoughts going through my head. Had fate conspired to bring the two of us together? I knew nothing more about her other than what I had heard from my sister now. How then did I feel myself so inexplicably drawn to her? This defeated everything that I had come to learn and live by over the past decade. Against every tennet that I had so thoroughly memorised and actualised every day at work - the fact that a decision could not and should not be taken in isolation. How could I be thinking of marrying the girl when I knew nothing about her – I had not even heard the sound of her voice - and knew nothing of her personal views, other than the fact that she was opposed to her sister’s proposed marriage?

It took me another two days before I plucked up enough courage to face my family and share with them that while I was indeed keen to marry a girl from the Ghose family, it was not the same girl that we had seen.

Even today, I remember vividly the way their jaws dropped and silence filled the room. No doubt, the same thing would have happened at 19 Baitakkhanna 2nd lane the day after when my father and sister went across to convey this missive from me.

Many years later, Arati confided in me in that she had indeed seen the exchange of glances between us and my obvious unease during my discussions with her. The soft smile that had emerged on her lips then was not in reaction to seeing me sitting there, but in spotting my obvious discomfiture at the door closing and with the vision of Manjula being left behind.

Life, time and again, has taught me that things that are destined find a funny way of working themselves out.

The next seven days were a flurry of activity that were filled with requests, confusion, tears, more deliberations, laughter, planning, invitations, execution and finally the shrill sound of the Shehnai filling the warm autumn air signalling that we had indeed gotten married. Manjula and I. Together.

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that mourns in lowly exile here
until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Tuesday

PRaP 12-22-2009

“Expectations”

As an adult we are expected to do certain things in life and sometimes we can allow those expectations to get the better of us.  We are expected to work, pay bills, buy this and pay for that.  We are expected to be here there or everywhere when someone else wants us to be.  We are expected to act a certain way or be in a certain mood at a certain time or not at all.  It’s enough to drive me crazy!  Well when that starts to happen all I want to do is flush this toilet we call life and get myself a fresh bowl if you will.  I clean and sanitize it and make it smell all fresh and clean and then I can do my business if you will.  THAT IS SOOOOOO GROSSSSS!!!!  LOL! No really that was just awful.   You can stop laughing now.  Oh so you can relate?  But seriously when life becomes so overwhelming that you just think you can’t take it anymore step back and ask Jesus what it is He wants from you and where He wants you to be and what time He wants you to be there and what are His expectations of you and you will find that His burden is light.  Remember laugh hard, love long, and stay focused on the prize, the prize of Salvation and living eternally with Christ.

Galatians 6

Key Verse:

Galatians 6:2
Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.
Galatians 6:1-3 (in Context) Galatians 6 (Whole Chapter)

Peace and Agape Love,

Pastor Steve

Continuing on the theme of expectations let me focus on what people want from life and what it does for them. It is only but natural for all of us to dream and expect a lot from life. Depending on the stage of life these expectations keep changing. They are also influenced by your peer group. If your friend went on a holiday abroad you yearn to go for one as well. It is only natural to focus on what we don’t have. One usually forgets that we have a lot that the others do not have.

I learnt a very interesting lesson in my childhood. My father told me that if you want to compare, do so with the millions below you rather than the few thousands above you. If you are reading this blog you are amongst the minority that is educated, has a computer and your basics are taken care of.

So what are you unhappy about? Why are those expectations driving you up the wall? Just go out and do your best. You can usually never do more than your best irrespective of how much you push yourself. If you push yourself too much you will only drive yourself crazy and feel guilty at the end.

This reminds of this excellent chain mail which said that you have received a mail from God. It went something like this:

“Today is your lucky day. I am in a good mood and I will be handling all your problems. Just e-mail the problem to me with the subject – something for God to do. There is only one condition – you have to stop worrying about it and let me take care of it. I will get to it in my time.”

Think about this. Think of taking your happiness in your hands. You can have full control over it – but only if you chose to. Look at all the things that you have rather than all the things that you do not have.

<Irony>

I think it’s natural to want to define everything. Ever since I was young, I’ve had to pronounce, define, and “use-in-a-sentence” so often, I still dread the thought of it. I can still remember looking down at the wide-ruled looseleaf sheet of paper thinking, “I really have to fill this whole page?!” then, after finishing, “I have to do this again next week?!” Maybe it was those fractions of hours spent each day that birthed a desire that grew into a mindset of defining all I come in contact with.

Maybe it’s an innate human desire to know more – a few years ago I heard that human knowledge doubles every two years. I can’t even fathom if that rate is lower, the same, or higher now but, any way you cut it, that’s an exorbitant amount of learning. I can’t claim to know why humans push forward, but if I were to guess, it has to do with independence (from everything) and control (of everything). Once we “know about” something, it’s as if we can hold it in our hands, and mold it to our liking. We give it boundaries and limits – and study the inner workings enough to know what output we’ll get when we vary our inputs.

The funny thing about independence is that, although we’re taught it from a young age (i.e., Timmy gets a cookie for tying his shoes by himself), it seems to fight against our desire for control. Weird, right? Think about it though, for example, the popularity of self-help books and business analysis books. We yearn to free ourselves or our businesses from what we believe to be ethereal thralls so much so that we get to the point where we let a faraway voice, who has no perspective on our situation, set up boundaries and guidelines on how we should life our life or run our company. Dystopian novels thrive on the fact that people love to be told what to do as long as if falls within a realm of comfort they set up for themselves. If an author (or dictator) had a track record, I may even be inspired to sacrifice parts of my comfort box for a time, possibly even altogether.

So I think all our attempts at “defining” leads to the logical question of, “Can all things be known?”, which suggests the question, “Can all things be under our control?” If there are things that can never be fully known, then a problem arises when we try to define them. Similarly, a problem arises when we prematurely define something that turns out to be bigger than we originally envisioned. In our rapid industrialization of theories and thoughts, where we seek to process more efficiently and yield higher outputs and profits, we tend to overlook a growing crack in our path: expectation.

Expectation generally isn’t a bad thing. It plays a role in encouraging, growing, and inspiring. The standards set can boost our confidence, push us to higher levels, or maybe more importantly, give us the desire to move to higher levels. It’s when we rest on expectations that we fall over; unexpectedly so when they are founded on premature definitions or the undefinable. At times, we can easily go too far with those people with whom we think we are close, expecting something grand or deep, but receiving nothing of the sort. Sometimes we can easily fit close friends, spouses, or relatives into cages of expectation where we think we know someone so well that we tell ourselves we’d rather not talk to them about certain things, or avoid certain discussion topics because of the direction it would head, eventually finding out it was for our own loss.

The list of things that we tend to define too early or can’t be defined at all is probably endless, but a few that come to mind would be the human spirit, diseases, joy, depression, vortex tubes, love, God…  the list continues.

</Irony>

I’ve noticed a growing trend recently.  People – mainly younger people – are starting to realize that the man who now leads our country is notably different from the man they elected.  The lovely rhetoric about change has dissolved, replaced with bickering over health care and rushing to judgment on situations that were handled “stupidly.”

Yes, my young friends, the honeymoon is over.  There are hard lessons to be learned now, the first (and most important) of which is this: no candidate for any public office can ever deliver on every promise.  Why?  Because our government is designed so that no one person can push their agenda through unilaterally.  And inevitably, someone in that government is going to have a different opinion that the candidate. 

Don’t misunderstand – I am not commenting on Obama’s intentions or performance as our president.  It’s far too early in his administration to really judge how effective he has been.  While I have a strong moral opposition to some of his policies, I completely support him as our leader, and I want him to succeed.  If he succeeds at his job, then we succeed as a country.

The issue is that most of us were extremely jaded by Bush; and with good cause.  We went from having the entire planet standing with us in a display of unparalleled global unity… to alienating anyone and everyone that ever gave a damn about America.  In the aftermath of the many problems that plagued our country, we were willing to listen to anyone that promised a different path.  We were a country that had lost our way, and Obama promised us to put us back on track.  I think many voters, especially first-time voters (Obama was very popular with the college crowd) bought their man lock, stock, and barrel.  Having attended a university at that point in time, I can tell you that many students were completely taken with him and expected him to deliver 100% on all of his promises.

It has been said the voter turnout for that presidential race was one of the highest ever, and for that I am thrilled.  Obama got a lot of people who were disinterested in the political process out to have their voices heard.  The problem is, I don’t think they fully understood the process they were becoming involved with.  I don’t think they understood the degree to which that process would, for better or worse, change their candidate and alter his ability to make good on his word.

Those of us who have been through elections before saw it coming.  We knew that, as beautifully crafted as Obama’s speeches were, and as pure and good as his intentions were, there was no way he’d be able to deliver everything.  We accept that as being part of the process.  All we can do is cast our ballots for the man who best represents our values and hope that he doesn’t completely bail on us (or choose to make a statement by not voting, though I don’t know that I agree with this).  I hope that all those who turned out to vote this time can understand that and will not be discouraged from participating in future elections.

It’s really not just a political lesson; it’s a life lesson.  No matter how wonderful we make something out to be, in the end there will be disappointment.  Expectations are powerful things that are nigh-impossible to fulfill… especially when it’s something as major as the kind of change Obama promised.  That platform carried him to the White House amidst a tremendous uproar of patriotism, but I suspect all the rhetoric – well-meaning though it was – is going to end up biting him in the ass.  The more you let someone down, the more they are likely to remember it – especially in the ballot box in three more years.

Its been nearly a year since I wrote but yet less than a year and I decided I must return. Its been a year that has just flown past but has been fun.

Continuing on my theme of happiness I just thought I will pen down my views on what is the biggest enemy of happiness. EXPECTATIONS nearly always make one unhappy. Expectations from job, from spouse, from family and from any other task or activity that you may undertake.

Expectations for certain kind of behavior, to do things in a certain way or for certain outcome. They all lead to unhappiness when they are not met. I suggest you take life as it comes. Enjoy it the way it unfolds. I have always believed that whatever happens – happens for the good. Believe it and life is happier.

Gita also suggests that one should focus on ‘karma’ or action and should not worry about the outcome. Worrying about the outcome is akin to having expectation for the results.

Is this easy – no it is not. But that is the journey to happiness.

So the next time your spouse does not behave the way you expected or your boss does not praise you the way you thought he should – accept it as another new dimension of life and move on undeterred.

Wake up every morning to take on the world. Its another wonderful day. Be happy you are ther and enjoy it. Be happy.

Come, Thou long-expected Jesus,

Born to set Thy people free.

From our fears and sins release us;

Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel’s Strength and Consolation,

Hope of all the earth Thou art;

Dear Desire of every nation,

Joy of every longing heart.

There’s a nice YouTube rendition of the song at Windows to the World

Presenting His Excellency Karl Lagerfeld, in Shanghai, discussing his work ethic, competition, and how he is “built for the battlefield” on Talk Asia on CNN. Full interview airs December 23, 2009.

There are some things in life that are intuitively apparent. From the moment that I opened my eyes on 02 July 1942, I knew that I would go on to do things that were different. Somewhat removed from the ordinary. Special.

Born Manjula Ghose, I was the fifth of the thirteen children that were born to my parents during their wonderful married life, of whom, unfortunately only nine survived. It was very early on that I realised that I had to make a choice: I could either be one of the many and fade into the backgound or stand slightly apart, in an attempt to win more than perhaps my fair share of our parents’ attention. I chose the latter.

I had a wonderful childhood. I was completely at peace with everything around me. Ours was a rare example of a ‘kulin kayatha’  Ghose family choosing to dabble in business and finding that they were actually good at it. My grandfather, the legendary G.Ghose, had built up an empire around his business in Dacca, and we, the beneficiaries of that empire, grew up amidst pomp, splendour, lots of people, servants, ayahs, and of course, many siblings. This was further aided by the fact that my father and his three brothers all lived under the same roof. As did their families. Consequently, our family was large. Very large.

And I was often left alone to fend for myself, to find my spot even in the midst of this splendour. To make myself heard. To stand up and be counted. To not be brushed away.

I also had to contend with the conservative social ‘norms’ of a wealthy family of the times. It would be unfair to say that we were under house arrest. It was just that our movement outside our lavish living quarters was somewhat limited. Particularly, on our own.

On the rare occasion that we were allowed out, it was always in the presence of our elder siblings and without doubt, a man-servant or two. The exception to this routine was when my father, the second of the three son’s that G. Ghose bore, chose to take us on our annual sojourn. Tired of work, he would retire along with us to any place that caught his fancy - Darjeeling, Madhupur, Varanasi, Lucknow. These places needed to fire his imagination and meet his doctor’s description of being a ‘healthy place’. A place in the proverbial ‘West’,  that aristocratic Bengali gentlemen of the time would retire to for rest and recuperation.

I also remember that most of these holidays were more than slightly open-ended. The abundance of my childhood gave my parents the ticket to stay on in a place for as long as they liked. And our holidays on more than one occasion saw the days pass into weeks, and the weeks into months, till my father felt rested enough to head back home and once more plough into the challenges of running an extremely successful business and making it even more successful. These holidays did not only involve my immediate family members - which continued to expand during this period -but also a virtual entourage of cooks, ayahs, men-servants and yes, teachers.

Teachers, since our longish sojourns naturally gave rise to a break in studies on more than one ocassion. But that was little cause for concern. My family had built and ran the school that we studied at. Besides, like many wealthy families of the time, we resorted to homeschooling during these breaks, a form that is much less fashionable now.

As I reflect on my childhood, I realise that the one thing that I really had in abundance, and paradoxically did not have at all was space. Growing up in this millieu and in these circumstances, I often found myself being carried away even farther. Initially, it was my way of filling in the space between those times when I had the sole attention of my parents, or the attention of my older siblings who were ‘in charge’ of our motly brigade; but then, over time, this space was also fuelled and filled by my fantasies of the wonderful places I had seen; of the places that I had read about but was yet to see; of new cultures; climates; moods and people. I longed to make this mine.

And the world was mine! The means of my travel, my flights of fantasy. Sitting on the terrace will my legs dangling over the parapet, I soaked in the soft winter sun that gently nourished my hair, my back, my legs and my imagination allowing me to travel places that I had only read about in the books that I loved to read. Books and subjects that  fired this imagination even more: the wonderous depths of our rich cultural history and the expanse of this wonderful planet mapped in the pages of the Georgraphy book.

The world was mine. And, I had grown up over the years to be a beautiful debutante. Fiercely passionate about what I believed in; my individuality, nurtured through my attempts to make myself heard; and further when I found that I was one of two young girls in class who was destined to go through the years in school with the same name – the only difference between us was a Roman numeral - Manjula Ghose-I and Manjula Ghose – II; my family, that was the very source and reason for my existence; and my dreams, which lived within me without having to seek askance from anyone else. That which made me thirst for more. Made me want to see the unseen and know the unknown.

It was for time to tell whether I would realise what I knew instinctively at birth. That I was special. And that everyday was another beautiful dawn, pregnant with possibility.

There are categories of people whose bodies we label as public property. Bodies we can comment on, talk about, harass, own, label, criticize, and categorize. Bodies that are no longer people, just…bodies.

How often have we heard commentary on women gaining or losing weight? Aging? Getting pregnant? That’s this kind of public body issue. Why do we feel like it’s not just acceptable but appropriate? Complimentary to tell a woman that you’ve noticed she’s slimmed down, insulting to say she’s put on a little weight, but still within rights to comment on!

Disability makes a body ‘public’, too. Questions from strangers about why you have your mobility aids. Comments (often quite rude) about why you’re using the disabled seat on public transit or the disabled parking spots. Don’t get me started on what they say about people using electric wheelchairs or scooters. People feel like they have a right to assess whether your disability is real or if you’re a ‘faker’, with no more information than what they can see when they look at you.

And then there’s size/weight. I’m not sure how many of you are familiar with the recent fracas with Lincoln University. They have added a new ‘fitness walking and conditioning’ class that is required for anyone with a BMI of over 30.* Lots of things to say about this – firstly, BMI is an inherently flawed measure. It was never intended to be a measure of health, only to show where the average ratio of weight to height falls. That’s it. And it only showed what average was at that point. The equation for BMI dates back to the 19th century – back far enough that for people who were poor, periods of starvation/undernourishment when crops weren’t good were a regular part of life. That kind of skews your averages, don’t you think?

Anyhow, enough about the history. So what we have is a measure that shows what the average weight to height ratio for men was in the 1800s. Sounds pretty irrelevant to me, what do you think?

Further, BMI doesn’t differentiate between muscle mass and fat. Serious athletes tend to test with very high BMIs even though they are in almost impossibly good shape because all it assesses is weight-to-height ratio.

Okay, so we’ve talked about how BMI is useless. Now let’s talk about how this measure at Lincoln University is a bad idea.

Now, let’s get something out before I say anything else – I think encouraging people to exercise and eat healthy is a good idea. However, I think that ACROSS THE BOARD. Some of the most unhealthy people I know happen to have metabolisms that keep them skinny. The fact that they are skinny does not make their lack of exercise and their poor diet any better!

However, the way this is being done at Lincoln University – targetting people who are fat – is discriminatory. We’ve had studies show that people don’t actually have long-term control over their weight. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/08/health/08iht-snfat.5614611.html?_r=1 Our bodies change their energy use to reflect the amount of energy we’re taking in, leaving us with bodies about the same size whether we eat more or eat less. https://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/full/332/10/621

Dieting, we’ve seen, works in the short term but every study I’ve seen suggests that the vast majority of people who diet or make ‘lifestyle changes’ find themselves as heavy or heavier 5 years later. And that’s people who stuck with the change, not people who tried to just diet a bunch of weight off and go back to their old eating habits.

Furthermore, dieting is HARMFUL. A metastudy* by UCLA came to the conclusion that “The benefits of dieting are simply too small and the potential harms of dieting are too large for it to be recommended as a safe and effective treatment for obesity.” The study also noted that weight cycling – also known as the yo-yo effect of dieting – increases all cause mortality. I wonder if perhaps this increase is part of why we have this idea that fat people have higher rates of certain diseases. Among other things, this study connected weight cycling with increased rates of diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and strokes – all diseases we say are caused by being fatter. Maybe they’re caused by being past dieters more often than they’re caused by body size! (http://mann.bol.ucla.edu/files/Diets_don’t_work.pdf)

Okay, so I’ve talked a lot of the problems with the actual requirements…but what about the media coverage of the issue?

When the articles include pictures, they pull the usual trick of dehumanizing fat people. They are either turned away from the camera or their heads are not included in the picture. Often, they are ‘artfully’ out of focus. Also, they’re a lot bigger than the minimum size a person has to be to get forced into this new class at Lincoln University. A BMI of 30 is a lot smaller than most people think. For example, I was at a BMI of 30 not long ago. I wore a women’s size large. Maybe an XL if it was cut on the small side. In numerical sizes, I wore between a 14 and a 16. The people shown in the pictures I have seen so far are probably 8 numerical sizes larger, if not more.

That’s part of the media’s obesity craze, you know. They represent obesity as being UNBELIEVABLY ENORMOUS when really the medical definition of obesity includes people we’d think of as just being not skinny.

Yeah, according to BMI, I’m about halfway between ‘obese’ and ‘morbidly obese’. That’s a clothing size 18, for those of you who’re curious. Between an XL and an XXL. I also exercise daily and try to maintain good eating habits.

BMI is just a number. It tells you little more about health than age describes disability. At extremes, perhaps it tells us something, but in ranges just outside of ‘average’, it’s pretty damn useless.

Here’s the real twist I want to suggest. Even if BMI was an accurate measure of health, or we used an accurate measure of health to base our judgement on, it be not right to discriminate against people because of their bodies.

So here’s my question to you: why do we let our culture tell us that people have a right to judge the bodies of women, of PWDs, of fat people? Are you going to do anything about it?

*The Lincoln University faculty meeting minutes on their website confirm the existence of this new requirement:
The HPR 103 requirement can be satisfied/completed by doing any one of the following ways:
(a) Test out (earned a BMI of less than 30)
(b) Pass the “old” HPR 102: Lifetime Sports class
(c) Pass HPR 103: Fitness for Life
(d) Pass an approved “physical activity course” at another college (must be a transfer student to LU)

* A metastudy is a study that reviews the results of many other studies to see if conclusions can be drawn from the whole

…and yes, I’m aware I’m leaving out categories of people whose bodies are treated as public – people of color, homeless persons, politicians, GLBTQ folks (expecially trans people), and celebrities spring to mind. I’m limited here by the experiences I can speak from – a woman who is disabled and fat. I haven’t the ability to speak for those experiences I do not know, and I hope you will forgive me for not including them.

Psalm 62

My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him. Psalm 62:5

Isn’t it frustrating to get caught in slow-moving traffic on an interstate highway — especially when you get hemmed in with a solid line of cars in both the right and left lanes, a huge semi just ahead of you, and one tailing you? Sandwiched between two of these monsters, all you can do is stare at the back doors of the one in front of you and read how much the carrier pays in taxes each year. Some consolation!

I remember being in that kind of situation once. As I felt my patience running low and my adrenaline running high, I began to think of it as a small drama of the Christian life. Sometimes in our walk with the Lord we get hemmed in by uncontrollable circumstances. We grind to a halt, move only occasionally, and then not very far. We wish we could see what’s up ahead. Impatience and even anger compound the situation.

The psalmist must have felt something like that as he wrote today’s Scripture. But he reminded himself of his secure relationship with God, and that the way would become clear again.

We must choose not to fight life’s traffic jams, but rather to view them as opportunities to learn to wait silently for God and keep our expectation focused on Him. —djd

Dear heart, let perfect patience be thy goal; it is the way earth’s noblest souls have trod. It’s just a calm adjustment of the soul in all things to the perfect will of God. —hayward

Patience means awaiting God’s time without doubting God’s love.

If you’ve read through the Mormon Bloggernacle long enough, then you’ve probably come across Ray (aka Papa D of Things of My Soul.) Ray is noteworthy for a great many things (for one, I have never seen Ray lose his cool. I have seen him express strong sentiments against Calvinism at rare times, but he seems to be one of the most level-headed people I know), but one of the things I find most striking is his affinity for parsing. Here’s an example from his site with Alma 56.

Ray goes through scriptures, line by line…part by part…teasing the explicit meanings from the faulty inferences that people may make. By pointing out these faulty inferences, he frees himself from questionable and undesirable viewpoints. You can see more here and here. Others have written about the vagueness that allows this possibly being a gospel principle.

Lots of places have talked about “Middle Way Mormonism” recently. If we can call call “Middle Way Mormonism” an emerging, yet somewhat loosely organized school of thought, then I think that one common aspect of it is parsing. And although Ray is the resident parser, I find many people in the “John Dehlinistic” school of thought use it in some way or fashion. OK, so now I’ll have to explain…

As Ray said in a comment to a post “Freedom and Honesty,” one can still express heterodox opinions within the church…if one is not a threat, then one will not be seen as a threat, then one will not be treated as a threat. (And there are other posts from others about how to go about not being a threat.)

This comment seems minor…but I think it’s important to Middle Way Mormonism.vIt forms a major part of John Dehlin’s philosophy in “staying LDS” after a major crisis of faith, and I see that people who have coalesced around Dehlin (wow, this sounds so much more…epic…than real life actually is) in ventures such as Mormon Matters, even if they have not faced major crises of faith, exhibit this kind of thinking. So often do I read blogs from faithful members — who regard themselves as such, true believers — who seem to have quite heterodox views.

I think it’s because they have found a way to be authentic within their heterodoxy. I mean heterodoxy in a greater sense than “well, everyone picks and chooses.” Even while I look at John Dehlin’s “How to Stay” essay and wonder about his section on answer the temple recommend interview (which I covered here, but read Dehlin’s thoughts here and ctrl+f for “Temple Recommend”), I can’t help but feel that this approach is a meta-game…a game about the Mormon language that “takes advantage of” the system by parsing out expectations about particular words and answers and then ceasing to live by those expectations and assumptions. I feel uneasy about this…how could I answer in such a way when I still wholeheartedly believe that the “assumptions” and “expectations” I’ve just parsed out are what other members think about when I assent to certain statements?

I made some comments on a Mormon Matters topic in this vein. This “creative honesty,” if caught, could lead one to be seen as a threat. John Dehlin, after all, doesn’t lack ideological enemies or people within the church who view him as a “wolf in sheep’s clothing.” So, I had a nagging suspicion that “creative honesty,” “parsing,” “the Middle Way,” and so on, were somewhat illegitimate. Somewhat sneaky. Somewhat underhanded.

But recently, I have come to realize that it’s not sneaky to use a tool of the trade…and in fact, perhaps the other side isn’t so innocent. I came across it from reading a blog post at The Post-Mormon Perspective responding to Daniel Peterson.

See, William, the post-Mormon in question, is reacting to apologist Daniel Peterson’s open and copious parsing with respect to the church and information about its history. Peterson’s contention (and a contention that some other apologists have shared) is that ex-Mormons harbor faulty, if popular inferences about the nature of inspiration, prophets, church history…and when these inferences are falsified, they become wrongly disaffected. The apologists would argue that proper parsing would show that Mormon prophets should not be held as infallible (despite what any popular interpretations of quotes, scriptures, doctrines, or rumors are), and in fact, one can see fallibility and defect from times of old to times today. The disaffection that so often strikes people when members learn “how history actually went” is unwarranted, because these members should’ve never believed in faulty inferences and unjustified conclusions about history, doctrine, no matter how plausible these seem or seemed. (So, apologetics often becomes something like, “Oh, yeah, so that seemingly negative claim about the prophet is…true. But it shouldn’t harm your faith; it shouldn’t be a dealbreaker because the prophet is still human.)

And then a thought struck me. If apologists or the church use this same system of parsing, cutting away what is believed to be “false expectations” or “faulty inferences,” (perhaps even “ignorance” and “sloth”) when it is convenient, then why should I have disdain for members who use this same crucial tool to take Mormonism back on their own terms? If everyone is playing the meta-game, then isn’t that meta-game fit and proper?