The Weight Of It All

I don’t carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I carry it on my stomach…and hips and boobs and backside.

In a time where everything matters too much, I have inadvertently ignored the fact that everything I eat matters too.

I’ve swallowed my feelings along with the flavors that force them down fastest. Not bad things or unhealthy things, just too many things. Because there have been entirely too many things out of control in our current climate.

Things that I’m having difficulty digesting. Things that just don’t sit well in my gut. Things that leave me feeling hungry for a better world and so I have filled that emptiness with whatever is at my fingertips.

I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. I have gnashed and gnawed, clinching whatever was in my jaw with each new disastrous development.

And it’s been hard to look away from the drama unfolding before our eyes and put down the popcorn. It’s been proven we eat more when watching anxiety producing plots. We seek to satiate the scare. Horror stories sell snacks. And our plot has definitely thickened, along with my waistline. Politics, gunmen, sexists, insurance, assault, wages, wars, racists, rape, fascists, flags, fear, fires, hacking, hurricanes and hate. Endless, heaping helpings of hate.

And it’s become too much, the weight of it all. Mine included.

And instead of going for a run, I just want to run away, exercising nothing but my right to solitude and sorbet.

But there’s so much of it. So very much right now, that I just can’t get away from it…much like my burgeoning backside.

At this very moment ash is falling from the sky into my driveway. And each fluttering flake was once a vital part of someone or something’s life. It’s literally touching me. As well it should.

Without eating me alive.

So I’m pushing back my plate…and everything on it, if only for today. And going for a walk, somewhere indoors because the air quality is just too poor outside.

And it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do. Very much.

But it’s okay to care for me too.

Otherwise, I won’t be able to do anything about the things I can indeed do something about.

And maybe, eventually, I’ll return to being able to actually enjoy and savor those occasional times of solitude and sorbet. Rather than just swallowing them down to get by.

Follow me on Instagram and twitter @TheLauraBecker

Take My Money...Please!

Our school is having a fundraiser, would you be interested in participating?

Of course, would $20 be okay?

Well actually, we’re selling this wrapping paper/frozen food/candy bar/useless-mass-produced-plastic…

Oh, that’s okay. I don’t really need that. I would prefer to just donate the money.

But you can’t do that.

Why not?

Because we’re selling this wrapping paper/frozen food/candy bar/usless-mass-produced-plastic-needed-by-no-one-novelty-that-will-clutter-your-closet-until-you-foist-it-on-someone-else-guised-as-a-gift…

Really, it’s okay. I’d rather just give the money to your school.

But you can’t do that…

Because we’re selling this wrapping paper/frozen food/candy bar/usless-mass-produced-plastic-needed-by-no-one-novelty-that-will-clutter-your-closet-until-you-foist-it-on-someone-else-guised-as-a-gift-that-I-have-to-sell-2,000-of-to-get-a-$10-trinket-or-face-scholastic-shame-and-scorn…

What if I just give you $10 and donate the other $10 to the school on your behalf?

But you can’t…

Because we’re selling this wrapping paper/frozen food/candy bar/usless-mass-produced-plastic-needed-by-no-one-novelty-that-will-clutter-your-closet-until-you-foist-it-on-someone-else-guised-as-a-gift-that-I-have-to-sell-2,000-of-to-get-a-$10-trinket-or-face-scholastic-shame-and-scorn-because-for-every-million-dollars-of-product-we-push-Philanthropic-Frauds-And-School-Scammers-will-donate-.000002%-and-put-the-rest-in-their-pockets-instead-of-into-school-programs…

But $10 is 50% of $20 isn’t it?

I don’t know.

Why not?

Because we’re selling this wrapping paper/frozen food/candy bar/usless-mass-produced-plastic-needed-by-no-one-novelty-that-will-clutter-your-closet-until-you-foist-it-on-someone-else-guised-as-a-gift-that-I-have-to-sell-2,000-of-to-get-a-$10-trinket-or-face-scholastic-shame-and-scorn-because-for-every-million-dollars-of-product-we-push-Philanthropic-Frauds-And-School-Scammers-will-donate-.000002%-and-put-the-rest-in-their-pockets-instead-of-into-school-programs-like-basic-math-that-help-us-actually-understand-the-consequenses-of-cutting-funding-so-far-we’re-forced-to-fundraise-for-our-futures-in-the-first-place.

And after all of that, the school can’t just take my money?

Nope.

WHY THE HELL NOT?!?!

Because we’re selling this…

Hey kid, if I just give you this $20, will you go away?

Yeah, but I’m not sure if I can make change.

I’m beginning to wonder if any of us can.

follow me on Instagram and twitter @TheLauraBecker

These Are The Times In Which We Live

These are the times in which we live.

Times we did not choose, but rather chose us. Escalated into existence by yesterday’s choices, chosen by those who lobbied for them. Owned them. Because majority did not rule. Money did. And sadly, today’s tragedy will again become tomorrow’s cataclysmic cash cow despite the ratings won, ribbons worn and rallies walked.

The marketing machines and partisan platforms will wedge into our wounds opening wider the divide along with our wallets as we dole out dollars not in charity but fear. Despairing over our destiny, where we long for the dread of days gone by. Buying in and selling out as we stockpile solutions to never be seen, you know, until it happens again.

And heads will talk and channels flip

And we’ll scroll and like and share.

And we’ll emote with emojis because we care

And offer our thoughts and prayers.

Calamity will be commoditized and our mourning monetized as we secure for ourselves that which signals our solidarity and sympathies. Our hearts will bleed for victims, but very little of that blood will actually be deposited into banks.

And we’ll celebrate the assailant by repeating evil’s name. Invoking it over and over as we boil down the beloved to a tasteless tally boldly emblazoned across the bottom of our screens. Crassly comparing collateral. And we’ll jump to conclusions rather than the defense of others. And demand answers over change.

We’ll stare at our phones in disbelief, in the middle of our writing rants, as texts trickle in that our very loved ones are on lockdown from reports of an active shooter. (Yes, in all truthfulness, this happened.) Then rejoice in grateful relief that no one was injured and then catch ourselves as our hearts sink knowing that there are those elsewhere who did not receive this same news today.

And we’ll hug our own and give thanks and say, “But for the grace of God go I.” Fully forgetting that God’s grace is with those who are suffering as well. We did nothing to earn ours over theirs. Our goodness did not give us immunity.

Nor does our self-perceived goodness give any of us the go ahead to parcel out platitudes to those in gut-wrenching grief, drawing focus to our feelings because after all, we were affected in some way too weren’t we?

Because these are the times in which we live. Right now.

But tomorrow has not come. Yet. Though it appears to promise to do so. And it is not set into certainty that it will go exactly this way…again. Forever on a looping cycle of cynicism over the tragedies of todays like this today.

These are the times in which we live. And though we did not choose them, they chose us. And we choose what we do in them. And if and how tomorrow will be any different.

Because time measures change. And these times, they are a changin’. Exactly how, is our choice.

Follow me on twitter and Instagram @TheLauraBecker

This Little Light Of Mine, I'm Gonna...Well, I'm Not Sure What The Hell I'm Gonna Do!

This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine…but only in the way that everyone in my pew agrees with.

This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let It Shine…until the electric bill gets too high. I don’t want it to actually cost me anything.

This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna…replace it with an LED. This whole shining thing just takes too much energy.

Let It Shine! Let It Shine! Let It…glow lightly, but only for ambiance and virtue signaling.

Hide It Under a Bushel? N…Well, not all of the time, only when someone’s around who might not like it.

Hide It Under a Bushel? NO!...Definitely not! But I will do my best to obstruct any other bright light being shown on problems that do not directly affect me personally.

Hide It Under a Bushel? N…well maybe under a decorative shade so it’s not so harsh and can be focused directionally only on the darkness that I want dispelled.

Let It Shine! Let It Shine! Let It…be blocked just enough to cast lots of questionable shadows where my darkest fears and hurts can flourish.

Won’t Let Satan Blow It Out…I’ll completely insulate it behind hurricane glass cut off from the outside world so it will never be challenged by the winds of change.

Won’t Let Satan Blow It Out…but I’ll huff and puff until I have extinguished another’s light with all of the hot air rolling from my mouth talking when I should be listening.

Won’t let Satan blow it out…I’ll just do it myself. What the hell’s the point anyway?

Let It Shine! Let It Shine! Let It…

Let It…

Let It.

Not “cause it.” Or “make it.” Or “demand it.”

And this little light? It’s mine. 

I have been entrusted with it. To care for it. To use it. 

And if it goes out, which it might.

Reignite that fire!

A single spark can go a long way when the light is passed and shared and encouraged.

Because…

This Little Light of Mine…Is not the only one. Nor should it ever be.

This Little Light of Mine…Didn’t start with me. Nor should it end with me.

This Little Light of Mine…Goes wherever it will. And it will. We just have to…let it.

Let It Shine! Let It Shine! Let It Shine!

Follow me on Instagram and Twitter @TheLauraBecker

Prayed Upon!

Today, I was forcibly prayed upon in the coffee corner of Trader Joe's! And yes, I mean the "ay" type. But now, reflecting back, I clearly see there was a heavy dose of the “ey” type as well!

I am a praying person. I do it regularly. I do it with people I know. I do it with people I do not know. And I have done it in the rain. And I have done it on a train. And I have done it here and there and I have done it everywhere. However...

I was just standing there, grinding my own beans (to pregrind or not pregrind is another passionate debate for another post), when she came out of nowhere, sidled up beside me and extended her hand saying, “I want to pray for you.” Telling. Not asking. Her wants. Not mine.

To which I politely responded, “No thank you. Not right now.”

Then I continued bagging my beans, assuming those six words were well enough. Clear, yet cordial, while expressing my personal boundaries for my physical person at that particular point.

Nope.

She put her hands on me ANYWAY and went right on ahead in hushed tones with her personal plan of playing prophet. This was no longer prayer. It stopped being about a higher power the minute her personal agenda took precedence over anything of mine that was personal.

Pray for me on your own time. Fine. Rebuke me. Fine. Stand there in front of me and cry unto the Lord as loud as you want. It's your right.  (To a certain extent, it is Trader Joe's after all. Private property.) But don't put your hands on me once I've said no and call it prayer!

Jesus did not force his physical hands upon those who declined. There is no passage in scripture calling on people to go forth as the savior’s select S.W.A.T. team, pouncing on people with a power that evidently extends no further than their personal palms. It does not help the Christian cause to crusade through the coffee aisle cornering people for Christ.

The assumption, that you, a perfect stranger, are the only one with a direct line to the Lord about someone’s personal life and what they need does damage. It is demeaning. And humiliating. And belittling. Who exactly is being exalted here? That is not the spirit moving. That is something else. The ego perhaps? Or maybe it’s just too much caffeine? In which case, this isn’t the aisle for you.

You stopped seeing me long before you closed your eyes and opened your mouth with words that weren’t, “Lord, thank you for this woman's patience. Please give her the wisdom and strength to handle me in the appropriate manner here shortly”…as they likely should have been. Because that’s what I was praying. And at least we could have been on the same page.

Because this was not okay. To do to your fellow Christians. To do to non-Christians. To do to anyone.

And so I will be praying for you…that someone doesn’t “lay hands” on you in kind one of these times. Especially after you’ve declined.

Follow me on Instagram and Twitter @TheLauraBecker

For Sam and Corrie on Their Wedding Day

There are in our lives those plans. The ones knit for ourselves with furrowed brow. Willfully wound from wishes and worries and wonder.

Pondered and pearled and looped to perfection. However, completely impractical for the people we have become when finally put into practice. Delicate dreams, so easily snagged and shredded by the slightest snare.

And so we snatch at the fray, fumbling and forcing our fantasies back into their original form no matter how ill-fitting we may now find them. Because they are ours. Of our own design. The way it “should” be.

So for a time, we pinch and preen and pursue yet more alterations, rather than pursuing the alternative. A joy that fits.

A grand design of which we are a part. In which our longings become a part of something larger and our imperfections and failings become beautiful when matched with another’s under the craftsmanship of a master.

An over/under configuration that allows us to not only be lifted up, but to support the other, bound together in a beauty we could have never devised ourselves.

And when we do surrender the “shoulds” that appear to fit so well on everyone else and embrace the beauty of our just “being” what and who and with whom we belong.

We find comfort. In a love and a life laced together in a pattern all its own. Complemented with creativity and care and consideration. Artfully and authentically, custom crafted to carry one another in a joy that fits.