On time

In a recent post, I talked about my "star gift" for this year: time. I have continued to think a lot about it, and figured it was time for another reflection on it.

First of all, I have noticed recently how bustling I am - in a good way! I know I am feeling more myself, because for the first time in months I am really excited about what I'm doing again. I realized today that I have for the last year and a half been in survival mode, just getting done what needs to get done, with no extra energy for anything fun. But today I was thinking about Lent and planning for Lent and Easter, and I was flipping through the hymnal and looking for new music to sing and imagining how to use it... I haven't done this in so long! I am eager to read things. I want to learn again. I want to try new things again. I am excited about prayer and reading the Bible. When I imagine picking up a new practice, it is exciting instead of draining. I decided my Lenten discipline this year would be to try to walk 10,000 steps a day; a year ago, this would be an insurmountable hill, but I think I could actually do it! Will it mean being much more intentional about getting off my behind and moving? Yes, but that no longer makes me want to cry and give up. It makes me happy! What a lovely feeling.

That said, there is a downside to my sudden burst of energy: it is unsustainable. I simply cannot do everything I have wanted to do for the last 18 months all right now. And this is where I come back to my star gift: time.

One of my ways I decided to focus on time this year was that every time I started to feel the stress of being rushed, I would tell myself, "I have time." That has *mostly* worked. Am I late to things sometimes? Yeah. But the world has not ended as a result. (In fact, it has made me a safer driver!) I also have tried to avoid saying, "I'm busy," and while that has slipped out a few times, I realized immediately that when I said it I meant it as a good thing, as in, "I'm doing a lot of things that I love right now." Still, this is a work in progress, and have a long way to go.

Then today, as I was looking for Lenten resources, I came across this:

O God, you are slow to anger and swift to have mercy;
Forgive us when we treat time as a commodity or an enemy,
when we abuse your gift of time.

In our fastness and our slowness,
help us to keep pace with you.
Free us to live in your time, a new time
in which there is a time for everything under heaven.
and slow is not too slow, and fast is not too fast.

Transform us into people who see time as a gift and a friend,
who live as if we have time,
because we know that your time will never cease.
Through Jesus we pray, Amen.


I don't know who wrote this, but it is exactly the prayer I need right now. I need to print it out and put it on all of my mirrors and my dashboard and my desk. What a beautiful way to capture and celebrate the gift of time.

Making colorful plans to celebrate

Today I finally picked up the phone to schedule my surgery. Of course, my surgeon's secretary wasn't in the office today, so it won't be official until tomorrow... but I have requested April 22 for what will hopefully be my LAST cancer-related surgery. By my count, this will be #8. Wow.

The day I saw the plastic surgeon last week, while I was in the waiting room, a friend of mine asked if I'd like to be on his team for the Rochester Color Run. If you are unfamiliar with these events, click here. Basically, it is a 5k where at various points throughout the race, you have color thrown on you, so you start with a white shirt and end in a blaze of color, and there is a party before and a big party after. Now that's what I call a 5k! The other thing about them is that you don't need to run it - you can run or walk or crawl, because it is not timed. It's just a fun way to get people out and moving. In addition, it supports a charity, and this year's charity is Teens Living with Cancer.

Michael and I had planned to do the Color Run last May, as well as some other 5ks, with the hope that an exercise goal we could work toward together would help us actually exercise. But then I had a mastectomy instead, so we couldn't. I've been getting an itch to try again...

Well, the date for Rochester's Color Run is May 24. So when I was called in for my appointment, I asked the nurse practitioner when I would be able to exercise again. She said 4-6 weeks after surgery. For an April 22 surgery, May 24 is perfect timing!

But best of all, what a way to celebrate. This falls at a time that is sort of my official "I'm done with cancer!" date, when I'm done healing from my last surgery. It supports a charity for teens with cancer, which is when and how this journey started for me. And what better way to celebrate than in a burst of color!

So we're registered. I can't wait. :)

Sermon: Salty, light-filled Christians (Feb. 9, 2014)

Epiphany 5A

Matthew 5:13-20

            Today we continue hearing from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, which is probably his most famous sermon, and the part of it that we hear today is one of the most famous parts. In fact, it is one of those parts of the Bible that has made it into everyday language without people necessarily even knowing that it comes from the Bible. We talk about people as being real “salt of the earth” sort of folks. And what kid hasn’t heard the song, “This Little Light of Mine”? These images of salt and light that Jesus uses today are earthy, well-loved, and well-known.

            But even as well known as they are, these two metaphors have much to offer us each and every time we hear them. So let’s dig into these metaphors today and think about what they might mean for the Christian life.

            The first thing to notice is that these statements – you are the salt of the earth, and you are the light of the world – they are not commandments, but statements about how it already is. We are so tempted to hear them as, “you should be like salt of the earth,” or, “Be more like the light of the world,” but that is not what Jesus says. He says, “You ARE.” Already! So… what are we?

            Let’s start with salt. What do we know about it? Our most common use for salt is for eating, usually as a seasoning. Those of you who are bakers know that salt is an essential part of the chemistry of baking. In cooking, what does salt do? It brings out of the flavor and makes it taste better. So when we are being “salty Christians,” we bring a certain liveliness and joy to the world – we bring out its flavor. But, keep in mind, this is not true in isolation. No one eats salt by itself – salt is best when it interacts with other flavors. In that sense, Christians exists not for themselves, but for the world – to love and serve and learn from and grow in the world. When we engage in the world, life becomes more flavorful.

            Another common use for salt is as a preservative. Before refrigeration was available, the best way to preserve meat was to salt it. Though we do generally refrigerate meat now, we still see salted meats – beef jerky comes to mind. I’m sure those of you who have done some backpacking are very familiar with how important salted meat is for getting needed protein on a long hike! So when Jesus calls us “salt,” he is telling us that we as Christians keep the world from spoiling, from going bad. Salty Christians seek to preserve life.

            Salt is also commonly used as a cleanser or healer. How many of you wear contact lenses? And what do you use to clean them? Saline solution. How many of you have ever had a sore throat or a canker sore, and have swished or gargled warm salt water to heal it? It works! But salt as a healer is not always very pleasant. That’s where the phrase, “salt in the wound” comes from – because salt as a healer can be a negative, painful experience. My mom tells a story about when she was a kid and her dog had fleas and she had bites all over her legs, which she had scratched raw. Then her family took a trip to the ocean and when she ran those little legs into the water – oh, did it burn! But I’ll tell ya what, her legs didn’t itch again after that! The reason salt hurts our wounds is that it is healing. And sometimes that, too, describes the life of a Christian. Christ calls us to recognize when there is a problem – perhaps an impurity in our hearts, or a need for forgiveness – and then to do what needs to be done for healing – like having a difficult conversation or admitting you were wrong. Or even the confession we practice every Sunday at the start of worship. Steps like these can be like salt in a wound: painful in the moment, but ultimately healing.

            And of course, who can live in Upstate NY and not think about salt on winter roads! We use it, of course, because it helps ice to melt. This is not unlike the role of salt as a healer – so often our relationships with others turn icy and cold, but salty Christians melt that iciness with love and prayer, and instead seeking forgiveness and reconciliation.

            One more thought on salt, and that is as a currency. Back in the day, salt was used as money, literally worth its weight in gold, and though today it is the cheapest of spices, it used to be that only the richest in the world were able to add salt to their meals. So when Jesus says we are the salt of the earth, he’s not saying, “You’re common and cheap,” but rather, “You are valuable, even precious!”

            It’s quite a dense metaphor, salt! So how about light? At first, this one seems more straightforward. We are the light of the world, so we should let our light and our gifts shine, right? But this one actually confuses me a bit, because you remember back at Christmas when we all stood around with lit candles and heard from John’s Gospel about how Jesus is the light of the world, shining in the darkness? But now here in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus is saying that we are the light of the world. So which is it – Jesus, or us?

            I think both can be true. When it comes down to it, Christ is our light, shining in the darkness. But we are what God uses to shine that light into the world. We are the lamp, or the flashlight, or the candle, shining the light of Christ upon all whom we encounter. So then when Jesus says, “Don’t put that light under a bushel,” he is saying, “Don’t hide me from your neighbors!” As Christians, we let the light of Christ burst out into the world unabashedly. Often, this becomes apparent through our good works, as Jesus says. It is in our good deeds and our service to others. It is in our kindness. It is in our willingness to pray with and for one another, even outside of Sunday morning. It is in our generosity, and our seeking reconciliation and forgiveness and all those other things we already talked about that “salty” Christians do. And in all of these works, all of these ways of living, we can be confident that these are not for our own glory, but for the glory of God. As Jesus says, “Let your light so shine before others so that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

            This all sounds well and good. But even though I began this sermon by pointing out that these words from Jesus are blessing and not commandment, declaring what we already are and not what we should be, I still find myself thinking, “Gosh, that’s an awful lot that Jesus is expecting of me.” Preserve the faith, keep the world from spoiling, bring out life’s flavors, melt the iciness of hearts, seek healing and reconciliation even when it hurts… These are hard things! How can Jesus be so sure when he says, “You already are the salt of the earth and the light of the world”? I’m certainly not sure!

            But look at whom Jesus is talking to – do you remember the Beatitudes from last week? Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who mourn… That’s whom Jesus is talking to – to them, and to us. You see, even when you don’t feel much like salt or light – when you feel instead like grieving, or when you feel weak, or poor in spirit – Jesus tells us that we still are salt of the earth and light of the world.

            And we are, because God made us that way. God created us in our mother’s wombs and created us good. Then in our baptism God claims us as the salty, light-filled children of God that we are. In fact, we often quote this passage at baptisms, telling the newly baptized and reminding all those present of what God can do in us, through us, and for us. Brothers and sisters in Christ, no matter how ill-equipped, unqualified, sad or unloved you may feel, know that you are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. Thanks be to God.

            Let us pray… Lord of Light, you have loved us and filled us with so many good things. Help us to live into the identity that you have claimed for us, to be the salty, light-filled children of God you created us to be. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The "fun" part of treatment

I saw the plastic surgeon again on Monday. The purpose of this visit was to see how my skin was doing after the last expansion, and to report on how I feel about my current size, if I really want that to have been my last expansion.

The skin looks good. And I have felt good about the size. It feels normal, and I don't feel any need to go any bigger. (Although in the musical Michael and I are doing, I am "the sexy maid," so an extra cup size would suit my character! Dedicated as I am to the show, however, I'm not sure I'm dedicated enough to change my breast size for it.)

So all that's left is setting a date for what will, God willing, be my last surgery for a while. We've gone through all the pros and cons, and it looks like the week to do it is the week after Easter. I don't want to deal with it during Lent, because it isn't just the few days of recovery I'm dealing with, but the lingering anesthesia in my system and the weight/lifting and exercise restriction that follows for a few weeks after. Who wants to deal with that as Holy Week approaches? And, we want it done as soon as possible so we can get on with our lives and the possibility of creating more little lives (aka children.... okay, I know that was a weird way to say that). The week after Easter tends to be a down week anyway in the life of a pastor, so I won't be missing too much, which makes me happy because I'm seriously so sick of being gone. It's a week during which I likely would have been wanting to rest anyway, so this gives me a great reason to do so. And for continuity's sake, the week after Easter was when the second occurrence of breast cancer was diagnosed, which led to the mastectomy in the first place, so there's something delightfully full circle about having my last surgery that week, too. All in all, it seems like a really good option.

So... then why haven't I called to schedule it yet? I'm having all those same feelings of fear I was having before, namely, what if I don't like the new ones? Dr. Langstein has assured me that this is the "fun" part of my treatments, the part where he gets to be an artist and start to make these boobies look less "foobie" (fake boobie) and more realsies. (These are obviously my words, not his.) The new implants will feel softer and more natural. They will look more natural and less like water balloons sewn into my chest. He can make the scar look better. He will be able to fine tune and make them as even as possible, though he reminded me again that even God doesn't make two identical breasts, and so to get them exactly the same would look entirely unnatural. He used the word "robotic."

All good things, so pick up the phone already, Johanna!

Oh, one other piece of bad news. I asked the nurse if I could still get away without wearing a bra, and she said, "I never advocate not wearing a bra, even if you feel you don't need to. These are still fairly heavy, and gravity will run its course. So if you want to keep your youthful breasts, you need to wear a bra." Drat! Well at least I can get something new and pretty. My first Valentine's Day as a married woman is coming up, after all. ;)

Sermon: "Walking humbly with God" (Epiphany 4)

Epiphany 4A

February 2

Micah 6:1-8

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            I was a young and idealistic recent college graduate. I had in my hand a Bachelor’s degree in music and religion, having graduated magna cum laude. I had completed a thesis on the topic of costly grace, exploring what it means in Lutheran theology to love and serve your neighbor. I had wept over Luther’s powerful words, and had pored over the poignant words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I had grappled so deeply with their insights that I couldn’t see myself doing anything after college but being God’s hands in the world. And so I applied to several volunteer organizations. I finally decided on the Young Adults in Global Mission program, a one-year mission abroad for adults ages 19-29. After interviewing with several country coordinators, I was assigned to spend my year of global mission in a village in Slovakia.

            I was thrilled. The program suited me and my interests very well. The description I received for my site included working with youth, and building a youth group in the village, and working with the choir, and developing programing. All of the things I loved and would be so good at with my particular skill set. I couldn’t wait to begin.

            The week after I arrived with the five other Americans spending the year in Slovakia, Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast. We six Americans huddled around a computer, watching footage and reading reports of what was happening at home. We were devastated, and riddled with guilt. Here we thought we were going to serve some people in need, but instead we were watching the struggles of people in our own country. Why weren’t we there helping them? My conviction about being in Slovakia to serve the Lord started to wane.

            A few weeks later, I arrived in my village. I met the pastor, a Slovak and German speaking Elvis Presley look-alike. Between my little bit of German knowledge, and even less Slovak, Pastor Miroslav told me what I would be doing that year for them: I would be teaching English to middle schoolers.

            What? Are you sure? I wasn’t prepared for teaching English in any way – I had no experience, no education classes, no materials, not really any desire. There was, after all, already an English teacher in the village. I would merely be following her around and correcting the students’ grammar and pronunciation. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind for my year of global mission. And especially once I saw how apathetic the kids were about learning English at all, any desire I might have had disappeared. In my mind, I had no purpose there at all – I would just be doing something they already had someone to do, that I wasn’t even any good at, that no one seemed to really want me doing anyway. I was good at so many things. I had so many skills and talents – why weren’t they utilizing those, so I could feel good about my contribution?

            All of that wisdom and knowledge I had acquired through my years of schooling suddenly meant nothing. All of those talents and skills I was so proud of didn’t really help at all with the work God had called me to in that village. I was desperately lonely. Even though I had many things in my life there that were worthy of deep and heartfelt gratitude, I felt emptied of many of the things that I loved about life. All year long, I doubted why I was even there, what God could possibly have had in mind sending me to this place.

            Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. It wasn’t until well through the year and after I returned that I began to make some sense of that time. I had gone to Slovakia with a list of skills and gifts I thought I should use. Notice the pronouns there – I thought that I should use them. I had an agenda. I had a vision of what that year was going to be like. It was not until I was stripped of the comfort and familiarity of that, that I saw what God needed me to see: it was there, in Slovakia, you see, out of my comfort zone, that I discerned a call to be a pastor.

            In our reading today from Micah, God is calling out Israel for their infidelity and injustice. Israel responds, “With what shall I come before the Lord?” What can I do to make it up to you, God? They proceed to list several outrageous offerings – thousands of rams, rivers full of oil, even a firstborn child, presumably acting under the assumption that these physical gifts would make God happy.

            But God will not have any of it: “What do I require of you but these three things,” God says. “Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.” I get the first two. Doing justice and loving kindness – that is what I was trying to do when I volunteered to spend the year in a Slovak village. That is what we as the church are always striving to do – to be God’s hands and God’s love in the world. But walking humbly with our God… that is something altogether different.

            What does that look like, to walk humbly with our God? Apparently it does not look like me bringing my fancy degree and skill set to Slovakia to offer what I think Slovakia needs. It does not look like a thousand rams or rivers full of oil. I suspect it doesn’t look like a lot of things we try to do on our own. So what does it look like?

            Some of you were able to attend Stephen Bouman’s workshop a couple of weeks ago in which he talked about the three great listenings: listening to God, listening to each other, and listening to the world. He talks about the kitchen table as the place where values are passed on, where the faith is learned. He told stories about what he learned at his own kitchen table, and encouraged us to share our own kitchen table stories. And then he suggested a model of mission in which we go to the kitchen tables of others, bringing no agenda, in fact bringing nothing at all but ears to hear and eyes to see what that other person has to offer. As he described this scenario, I felt exhilarated – but also terribly vulnerable in the same way I had felt vulnerable when I discovered that nothing about my time in Slovakia would be as I had envisioned it. It takes a lot of courage to go into something with no expectation or preparation, to leave behind the idea that we must do something, and instead simply to be open to what God might do or say to us in that situation.

            It seems to me that this is getting a lot closer to what it means to “walk humbly with your God.” To enter into prayer, yes, but into everything we do simply ready to receive what is offered. To empty ourselves of what we think we should offer, and instead to hear what God has to offer. It is counter-cultural. It is scary. But putting aside the possibility of contributing something important or fixing something, and instead simply being open to receive – is this not what grace is like, the very grace on which our faith is built? For when we are able to put aside our frantic and overly extravagant offerings, and stop talking for just a moment and instead listen and hear, we will discover what God is giving us. We will find the hand of God reaching out to us to offer the body and blood of Christ, and we will hear those words, “given for you.” Given for you, not because of your credentials or your talents, but simply because God is God, and grace and unmerited love are what God is about.

            Let us pray… Gracious God, we are always so eager to do, do, do. Help us remember also to listen to your will and your promise of grace, so that we might not only know how to do justice and love kindness, but also to walk humbly with you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My first day as a godmother

As you may have read in my last post, I had the distinct privilege this weekend to become the godmother to my best friend Noelle’s beautiful daughter, Temperance. This is my first time being a godmother, and I am taking the responsibility very seriously. I have baptized several children in my two and a half years in ministry, and I generally meet beforehand with the parents and sponsors. When I do, I always ask the sponsors what that role means to them, and how they plan to carry it out. So it seemed only right to ask myself the same question.

I did a few things to prepare for my new role (see below if you are interested). As many baptisms as I have done, none of those experiences could really compare to participating in this new role. There were two other godparents, but both got snowed in in Indiana, so I was it. This left me with the job of holding sweet girl throughout the baptism, with all the various rituals that lead up to and follow it, and most importantly, of holding her over the font while the deacon poured water on her head three times, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Though Tem’s beautiful, satin, voluminous gown made this a bit tricky, especially for someone with very little experience holding babies (almost all of my baby-holding experience, in fact, has taken place at baptisms), I held her and didn’t drop her or make her cry once.

All throughout the baptism, as the deacon spoke and performed each step of the Sacrament, I whispered in Temperance’s ear what was happening. “That’s the cross of Christ… He’s talking about you now… Are you ready? We’re going to the font now… Welcome, child of God! God loves you so, so much!... That smelly oil is so you will remember!... That’s the light of Christ your daddy is holding – it’s in you, too!” It was the infant, real time version of what I usually do with parents in my pre-baptism visits.

This was my first experience with a Catholic baptism, and while I rather liked some of the steps that Lutherans have, over the years, either done away with or combined, the most striking moment of all was still that moment I held her over the font. As I leaned her back, her face scrunched up, and her chubby little arms flung out to the sides. There, in her long, white gown, arms outstretched, Temperance made the shape of a cross.

All my study of baptismal theology came flooding back.* “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6:3) This beautiful child, cross-shaped, with her brow furrowed was being baptized into Christ’s very death, but just as the water touched her head the first time, the scowl went away, and was replaced with a face full of wonder. “Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a into a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” (Rom. 6:4-5)

Is Temperance's reaction not a perfect metaphor of our faith? Our faces and lives become contorted, worried, concerned as we try to come to grips with the brokenness that surrounds us. We live in a fallen and sinful world, a world that may feel at times like the cross. But just as we experience so much death, we also encounter so much resurrection – and as we are touched with the cleansing, healing waters of baptism, and hear of God's grace, our faces are transformed into faces full of wonder. And we come up out of that water looking a bit baffled, relieved, and knowing that we have encountered grace and love beyond our comprehension. That's the power of the gospel!

I think I’m going to like being a godmother. J

Steps toward being a godmother:

Mostly basically, the role of the godparents or sponsors is to help to raise this child in the faith. How would I do this from a state away? One of the ways my parents helped me remember my baptism was on each anniversary of my baptism (Aug. 28) they lit my baptismal candle, which had my name on it and the date of my baptism. This was the candle that was first lit from the Paschal candle on the day of my baptism, symbolizing Christ’s resurrection. I still pull it out every year and light it and if possible, have a nice dinner to celebrate. So, step one of Operation: Godmother was to acquire such a candle for Temperance, a good one, more substantial than what the church provides, and it had to have her name on it. As a kid, the coolest part of that candle was that my name was on it. A trip to etsy.com, and my mission for a custom candle was accomplished.

A trip to the websites of various church publishers was my next step, to find some books to help Temperance remember what it means to be baptized. I found a couple good ones – one is a board book, where the text of the book ends up being a song you sing to her to the tune of “Go, My Children, With My Blessing.” The other is 101 ways to live baptismal promises in the home, with children infant to teenager. Both would do nicely to bridge the gap of that four-hour drive between us.

* Water pun intended!

Swim suit debut

Michael and I are in Cleveland this weekend so that I can serve as godmother to my best friend's daughter in her baptism tomorrow. I have been anticipating this day for about four years, since Noelle told me that they were going to start a family soon and they wanted me to be the godmother when they had a child. Tomorrow is the day, and I'm honored to be a part of it. Tomorrow will be a wet and wonderful day for Miss Temperance Holly Huddleston.

Tonight, I had my own important experience with water, in a very different way (and, I should add, not nearly as important as Temperance's will be!). I had looked on the website of the hotel we are staying in to see if they had a hot tub, and didn't see anything, but it turns out, they do! So tonight, when we checked in early after spending the afternoon with Noelle and her family, Michael and I went to a nearby Walmart to get cheap swimming suits that we could wear in that blessed pool of hot, bubbly water.

It didn't occur to me until we walked out of the store that this should have been a much more emotionally wrought occasion than it was. It was not only my first time wearing a swimming suit with my new rack, but also my first time buying a swimming suit with a totally new upper body. Perhaps the would-be anxiety about that was trumped by the anxiety that always surrounds buying a swim suit, especially in winter when Northeast bodies are not, shall we say, properly prepared for such exposure (*ahem*). So all I was thinking about was getting something with good coverage on the bottom (they had little shorts - yay!), and the fact that I didn't need something that would offer any support on top (since I now have self-supporting boobies - yay again!).

Of course, the cheapest suits were the little teeny-bopper type, and though support was not an issue, the first little top I tried on had some coverage issues - that little triangle of fabric was not nearly enough to cover the scars on my "sizeable" new breasts, and no amount of sparkles made it so. (Yes, it's true - although I would never consider getting a suit because it had sparkles on it, I did look at this option this time because I figured I'm probably only going to wear it once anyway, and the only person I know at the hotel is Michael so I didn't care who might judge me!) But then I found a top that was more of a band across the front and a little halter-top style tie, and it had enough fabric on the sides to cover my assortment of scars. Done!

So we went back to the hotel (and got stuck in a mess of snow in the parking lot - I pushed us out while Michael rocked back and forth, since the car is a manual and while I can manage in a manual in the best of conditions, this was not one of those times). Having thus earned our hot tub time, I put on my new suit, and realized I had not been at all traumatized by the experience of buying it. Michael was gracious enough to tell me I looked gorgeous (repeatedly), and to watch out for any scar slippage. I guess while nip-slip is no longer a concern, scar-slip now is. And we had a perfectly lovely time in the hot tub... and newbie boobies even looked good.

I know many women who get mastectomies need to get special swimming suits, so I'm grateful I'm not in that boat. I'm also grateful that, while I do still have a fair amount of self-consciousness about myself in a swimming suit (unfortunately, what woman doesn't?), I felt okay about it today. I guess I was just thinking about what my body went through to get to where it is today, and was so immensely grateful that not only am I here to tell the tale, but also that all things considered, I look pretty darn good. Suddenly my soccer thighs aren't quite as big a deal as they once were, and "a little extra" where I don't think there should be is just a sign of health and having enough, and lily white skin is because I take care of my skin and don't expose it to even more possibility cancer (that, and the fact that Rochesterians scarcely see the sun from October to April). The only person I really care what he thinks about how I look is the man who repeatedly tells me I look gorgeous when I feel the least gorgeous, and he really, truly means it. So what do I care beyond that? I certainly don't feel any need to defend this body - it has worked hard for its life, after all! So there, body image issues!


Oh, and just in case anyone was wondering... no, the implants don't float. :)