Have you joined Suzanne’s national campaign over at BlogHer? There’s still time! Maybe it’s a valentine, or maybe it’s a memo from your inner drill sargent. Either way, don’t you think it’s about time you just sit right down and right yourself a letter? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…

Dear Body,

It’s been nearly a year since I promised to be nicer to you. A year since I gave up saying mean things. A year since I stopped overriding your system with stress hormones. A year since I gave up dieting for good. A year since I decided to recognize that you are, in fact, me—that I am, in fact, my body.

I am so proud of you! In that year you’ve eaten mostly what you needed, and only a little of what you did not. I managed to not freak out on your ass every time you put something that actually tastes good in your mouth. You’ve enjoyed food more and felt guilty less. You’ve lost most of the bad language about how you function and how you feel. And you’ve regulated yourself down to your happy, healthy weight. (Bye bye to those 20 freeloading pounds.)

I hope you’ve like your treats of new jeans, shirts that cling a little, and a not unsmall amount of truly awesome lingerie. I’m so glad you’ve welcomed back your libido and embraced your newly recognized MILF status. Oh, and by the way, I really like your new motto: “Cleavage: It’s not just for weekends anymore.”

You’ve had some grand renewing adventures this year, and I’m planning on more in the future. Already you seem to be enjoying the Danish requirement for frisk luft (fresh air) every single day, and those boots you bought that were made for walkin’? Well I’m pretty damned proud that you’ve already worn out the heels.

In a few weeks your new bike will be here and you’ll be streaming along, your red hair standing out amongst the Danish blondes. And soon enough you’ll find yourself a new yoga class and be a dancing goddess once again.

I’m sorry it took me so long to finally appreciate you, but baby, look at you now! Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Yours (literally),

Rachelle

Are you going to sit right down and write yourself a letter? Let us know in the comments below (don’t forget to link!)

Way back in January, I began a list of Wednesday Reviews focusing on books that have changed my life–and which just might change yours. I started with the Artist’s List, moved on to the Feel Better List, then got waylaid just after the Budding Feminist List. Now I’m back to offer you the last two installments: Religious Awakening and Survival Parenting (next Wednesday). Thanks for hanging in there with me…and remember, any purchases made by clicking on the embeded links help support this website. Here’s to brave new worlds!
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Shortly after being ordained as an evangelical minister, I became almost entirely disenchanted with the world of church. The church wanted me to debate people into conversion; I want to dialogue with people about life. The church wanted me to de-bunk all other religions; I wanted to learn from their holy stories. The church wanted me to entertain people on Sunday morning; I wanted to host a banqueting table heavy on the bread, wine, and storytelling. The church wanted a water-tight system of belief; I wanted a way of living that recognized everyday moments as holy.

I spent a lot of time at staff meetings blathering on about these things while my co-workers looked at me with concern. Then I read these books, held the hand of their authors, and gleefully jumped off the diving board and into the deep end of generous faith.

A New Kind of Christian

The Story We Find Ourselves In

The Last Word (and the Word after That)

Brian McLaren

If you are a traditional church-goer who has felt kind of squirmy at Sunday morning services lately, I strongly suggest dipping into this trilogy. McLaren presents emerging/post-modern theology in the form of a fictional conversation between two friends—a pastor and a science teacher/philosopher. McLaren doesn’t claim to be an accomplished fiction writer, but his technique here makes these books easier to read than most religious texts.

were the unofficial required reading for the spiritual growth community I used to host. They’ve been a life line to the many ‘recovering evangelicals’ who have walked through our door. A New Kind of Christian breaks things open. The Story We Find Ourselves In ourselves In re-defines the Bible as a descriptive family story (as opposed to a prescriptive rule book). The Last Word (and the Word after That) tackles the concept of hell.

I would consider McLaren’s approach to be gently progressive; fundamentalists will hate it, but it’s great for the Jesus-y person who is deconstructing their faith in the hope of finding something at the center that’s worth holding on to. Read bravely. Today’s Flavor: Scratches where it itches.

The Spiral Staircase
Karen Armstrong

From her life as a young nun to her current role as an interfaith expert, academic Karen Armstrong The Spiral Staircase tells her story of journeying through faith and reason. Her tale spirals through faith, disillusionment, enlightenment, and back again, with each turn bringing her new understanding and depth. Most known for the popular texts A History of God and The Battle for God, in Spiral Staircase Armstrong uses a different voice to tell her own complex and very personal story. I’ve already marked up one copy, given it away, and started re-reading another. A well written memoir from one of today’s top scholars. Today’s Flavor: Find yourself on every tread.

The Power of Myth
Joseph Campbell

Okay, so it’s not a book, but he has written plenty of them. The Power of Myth DVD series, Joseph Campbell’s theories on comparative religious studies are broken into bite sized bits for those of us who aren’t pursuing an advanced degree. I’ve only begun watching this amazing collection of lectures, quotes, and images – but already I know it will be a pivotal item in my transformational tool kit. The late Joseph Campbell was one of the most respected scholars in his field, and his work is amplifying this voice in my head that’s telling me “All truth is God’s Truth”—no matter what package it comes wrapped in. Today’s Flavor: Expand you mind without over straining your brain.

Find more great reads and other stuff I like at Magpie Suggests.

cate and pelt at the dog park

sometimes, simple moments seem sacred.
savor them at sacred life sunday.
namaste.

Hello my passtionate neighbors! Have you been wondering what happened to the Small is Beautiful Saturday posts? Since our overseas move has thrown me off a bit, my partner in crime Jen Lemen has taken over for a few weeks. Pop over there to see last week’s Top 7 of 07 and she might even be posting something else this weekend from Portland, where she is spending time with my some of my very favorite northwesterners. (Give everyone kisses for me Jen!)

Have a lovely Saturday admiring the small but precious moments of your life.

Yours,

Rachelle

It’s official, every single thing in our pre-furnished temporary digs was purchased at IKEA. Some of the mugs even have stickers on them still. I feel like we are living in one of the show rooms!

This morning dawned grey and homesick. I still don’t have internet at the house, so I can’t email, Skype, or IM any one. The boy still has not dropped us a single line of email. And in the past few days I’ve managed to:

-hold up an entire line of after-work shoppers at the grocery store while the cashier walked all the way across the store to weigh my produce. Apparently the process is weigh, sticker, then check out.

-step up to the bakery counter to be served without realizing that people were milling around in there because they were on a take-a-number system, which I had completely circumvented.

-spend thirty minutes in front of the self check-out machine at the library while I looked up every word on every function key in my Danish-English pocket dictionary. (Eden then came to my rescue and figured it out in about ten seconds.)

-get stopped by a young man wearing camo and carrying a rifle because I tried to tour the Rosenberg Slot (palace) by entering the “military only” gate.

I know these are small infractions, and that one is expected to make many silly mistakes when moving across cultures. Still, it wore me down a bit, and the kids and I were ready for one day when we didn’t have to feel like Mr. Bean.

So, I called Jen, who immediately made me feel better by telling me how she once bought a lovely green table cloth in Japan, only to get home and find out that she was the proud owner of a very large piece of nori. Then I holed up and spent the day listening to This American Life (here’s the most hilarious opening story ever); making one of our precious boxes of Annie’s macaroni and cheese; and watching the kids make crafts out of all our empty produce cartons. (I’m only buying the pre-packaged produce because I still can’t figure out the weighing-and-sticker machine!) Here’s to a little slice of home….

While we are in our temporary housing in Copenhagen, we don’t have any of our spices, cookbooks, or kitchen gadgets. Coming up with dinner each night is a bit of a challenge. (I can’t even use my faithful standby, epicurious.com because our internet access is so shoddy!)

Last night, I created this dish, and it turned out so yummy I thought I’d share it. Using the prosciutto eliminates the need for multiple spices.(Ours was leftover from making pizza.) It only took twenty minutes to get the thing simmering and it’s kind about how much of this or that you might have on hand. A satisfying winter meal.

Sloppy Split Pea Soup

4-6 thin slices of prosciutto

olive oil

4 med shallots, diced

2 stalks celery, chopped

4 med carrots, diced

1 thin skinned potato, sliced thin

4 cloves garlic, crushed

4 cups dried yellow split peas, sorted

8 cups stock plus enough water to bring the soup to desired consistency

balsamic vinegar

romano or parmesan cheese

Pour a pass of olive oil into a medium-ish sauce pan over med-high heat. Tear up the prosciutto and lightly sauté so that it wilts slightly and releases some flavor into the olive oil. Add about 50 ml of water (be careful – it will splatter) and stir occasionally to steam out more flavor from the meat. Add shallots, celery, carrots, potato and garlic. Cook for about 5 minutes. Add split peas and water. Bring to a boil, reduce and simmer for 30-40 minutes. (Longer if you like your split peas cooked down more.) About 10 minutes before serving, add several nice sloppy pours of balsamic vinegar or other red wine vinegar to the pot and adjust salt/pepper. Nice with some shaved romano or similar. Yum!

Did ‘cha know that I’m a contributing editor over at BlogHer? Find me every monday writing about things like this or this. See you there!

One year in college, a couple decades ago, my girlfriends and I decided to wear black on Valentines’ Day. We were all boyfriendless at the time, and Spring had hit early so couples were coming out the dorms like moths from a wardrobe.

Then, many years later, a professor of mine asked me my story. I told her all the basics: where I grew up, what my undergraduate degree was in, when I got married. When she asked me how old I was when I got married, and the age “23″ came out of my mouth, this wise woman nodded her head and said, “Oh, so you’ve never been single.”

No, I have never been single. I went straight from a small Methodist college, where (almost) everyone was not so much single as just not-married-yet; on to graduation; and then straight to “Here Comes the Bride.” I never lived a day in the life as a single gal.

But she had, my 50-something thesis advisor, and many of my girlfriends have as well–either as women who have not married, or who have married and are single again. And aside from marriage, there’s also the reality of girlfriends who have had long-term partners and common law unions, and then found themselves by choice or by circumstance on the single side of the chart once again.

These women do not live lives of bereavement. They are not bereft. And whether they are single by choice or by circumstance, all of them have built lives that are as full and rich as any woman with a ring on her left hand and someone else’s clothes in her closet.

So every year, on Valentine’s Day, I remember that year in protest black, and that a-ha moment with my professor, and it prompts me to post this blessing. I wrote it out of love for St. Lucy, for my single friends, and for the passionate heart of St. Valentine. If you are single, I hope it is a gift to you today. Thank you for living lives of admiration, and for putting up with all of us who go all gooey under the influence of paper hearts.

With Love and Respect,

Rachelle

I’m padding around in my mukluks and French apron, wiping off the Danish-modern dinette set and generally feeling pretty at home. (Of course, this after I’d once again sobbed my heart out over leaving one of our own behind.)

In spite of the propensity to break out into occasional tears, we are actually happy to have arrived here six hours ago with eight duffle bags, two children, and one silly dog in tow. We are here for at least three years, surrounding ourselves with words we do not know, cobblestone streets which insist on tying themselves in un-navigable knots, and not a small amount of pickled fish.

Oh, and pastries. Don’t forget the pastries.

Paul has a new job at Microsoft in Vaedbeck, just north of the city. All the fun ex-pats work there and his boss Clara is carefully headhunting more. We will be surrounded by intelligence, wit, and people with a variety of lovely accents—basically graduate school revisited. (Oh, how we keep trying to grasp at our youth!) We have a few days to muck about together, and then Paul takes the train to work, where he will eat warm bread and Danish butter everyday at staff breakfast. I believe there is something called “Cake Thursday” as well, so obviously it’s a very hard life. Meanwhile the girls and I will figure out the multiple train systems on our own and complete our most important tour of Danish bakeries. (Vil du ha caffe, ou vil du ha tae?)
We came to this country to live deliberately: to shop less, to own less, to leave a smaller footprint. We want to stop being unilingual. (Q: What do you call someone who only speaks one language? A: An American) We want to give our children a global perspective—even if it is all still Western—and to let our own adult selves be shaped by things we do not know.

Well, that, and the six weeks of vacation.

While we are here we will live in an urban flat that costs roughly the equivalent our six bedrooms Seattle mortgage. With this price, we secure a third room–for writing, and hosting, and maybe, someday, even for our lost boy. So if you have a yearning for pickled herring, windmills, and baked goods involving almond paste– you should come see us. After all, this is a nation where people believe in spreading chocolate on their morning toasts and drinking beer by noon. No wonder it’s considered “the happiest place on earth.” Go on…buy your ticket. We’ll be waiting.