If They Only Knew (Song for Polly)
These are the lyrics to a song I wrote after the passing of Polly Williams. If you've seen Lauren Greenfield's HBO documentary, Thin, you may remember Polly as the patient who was asked to leave after the team deemed her "a bad seed." This bothers me, to this day. Polly was not a bad seed. She was not a bad person. She was sick, confused, disillusioned, and she needed further help -- period.
After leaving Florida's Renfrew Center involuntarily, Polly relapsed for some time and then seemed to get her life back on track. I suspect that those around her believed she was doing well, and maybe they forgot to check in. Maybe they got a little lazy about it. Maybe they were tired of it all, and just hoped she had finally gotten over her silly little eating disorder.
And maybe we all need to be a little more diligent about checking in with one another, keeping one another on track. This song is something of a reminder.
IF THEY ONLY KNEW (Song for Polly)
Walks past the storefront window
Sees her reflection in the glass
She doesn’t really know that girl
Might have met her in the past
Seems to have it all together
Must just sail right through life
Probably someone’s mother
Someone’s lover, someone’s wife
(chorus)But oh, if they only knew
The confusion and the lies
If they could see the struggle
That she snuggles with at night
If they could see behind the smile
To where the worries lie
They’d nevermore believe her
When she says “I’m doing fine”
Goes to church on Sunday
They’d notice if she didn’t show
She’s a familiar face
A name that everybody knows
She teaches little children
How to love and serve their Lord
And all that know her love her
But there’s a shadow they ignore
(chorus)Because oh, if they only knew
How she cries herself to sleep
If they could see her weariness
And the secrets that she keeps
If they could look beyond her mask
To the tenderness inside
They’d dig a little deeper
When she says “I’m doing fine”
(bridge)And when the sun sets in the evening
And when her telephone stops ringing
She’s needing something to believe in
And wishing somebody would call
Oh, anyone at all
And oh, if they only knew
All the questions in her heart
If they could know the emptiness
Of how they echo in the dark
If they could see her hidden tears
And hear her silent, stifled cry
They’d never let her get away
She’d never go another day
They simply wouldn’t let her say“I’m doing fine”
Polly Williams (1974-2008)
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
To My Beautiful Girlfriends (Read: ALL of you!) -- posted on Facebook in 02/09
Yesterday marked a little milestone in my short little life. In support of a great lady out in Tennessee who is making a difference in the war against twisted cultural ideals of beauty and self-image, I posted a picture of a nude-faced Jena. The woman, Constance, has challenged herself to go sans makeup for one month (and yes, she picked the shortest month of the year, but it's also eating disorder awareness month, so we won't hold that against her, will we?). Well, a few days ago, Constance was getting a little tired of posting "scary pictures" of herself on Facebook, so I offered to do the same, as a gesture of support and encouragement. She said she would appreciate that, so I uploaded the nude-faced pic and tagged her in it as proof of my (notably admirable) loyalty. But she took it a step further and challenged me to make the pic my PROFILE pic for a day. Now THAT, I gotta say, I wasn't so enthusiastic about. Of course, all anyone has to do is challenge me or dare me, and I'm stirred. Hence the "naked" profile pic of Jena.
I wasn't prepared for the response I got from so many of you. My inbox was full throughout the day. Some of you shared things with me that I would never have expected, and I want you to know how much I appreciate your honesty. It made me feel pretty warm to realize that you felt comfortable enough (or, at least, compelled) to respond as you did. But it also made me realize just how far-reaching the damage of our western beauty myths has extended. I was shocked to learn how many of my (beautiful!) friends are at war with their own reflections. (Please note: I have tagged many more people here than just those who sent me messages, so don't try to figure out who responded. You'll never know, and that's how it should be!)
Last night around midnight, figuring I had fulfilled my duty, I changed my profile picture. I was all too happy to do so. Then I woke up this morning to more messages from you, and I felt convicted to put the naked-faced shot back up for another day. I had NO IDEA such a teeny little act of "protest" would spur such a reaction. Things are all a-buzz in my little corner of the Facebook world. I never thought disturbing the peace would be so fulfilling.
Enjoy your day, my pretties. You are God's masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10)...
Jena
I wasn't prepared for the response I got from so many of you. My inbox was full throughout the day. Some of you shared things with me that I would never have expected, and I want you to know how much I appreciate your honesty. It made me feel pretty warm to realize that you felt comfortable enough (or, at least, compelled) to respond as you did. But it also made me realize just how far-reaching the damage of our western beauty myths has extended. I was shocked to learn how many of my (beautiful!) friends are at war with their own reflections. (Please note: I have tagged many more people here than just those who sent me messages, so don't try to figure out who responded. You'll never know, and that's how it should be!)
Last night around midnight, figuring I had fulfilled my duty, I changed my profile picture. I was all too happy to do so. Then I woke up this morning to more messages from you, and I felt convicted to put the naked-faced shot back up for another day. I had NO IDEA such a teeny little act of "protest" would spur such a reaction. Things are all a-buzz in my little corner of the Facebook world. I never thought disturbing the peace would be so fulfilling.
Enjoy your day, my pretties. You are God's masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10)...
Jena
Wishin' and Prayin'
I'm not an especially assertive person. A few of you have sent me Facebook messages telling me that I seem so much bolder than you remember me in middle school, high school, college, prison, wherever we saw one another last. (Okay, not prison. Just making sure you pay attention.) I appreciate your messages, but as I read them they cause me to giggle through my coffee, because I'm only bold in my "virtual" world. My friend has a magnet on her fridge that says "I wish I were the person my dog thinks I am." I think I need one that says, "I wish I were the person my Facebook friends think I've become."
But wishing only gets us so far. I could wish for a lot of things. I used to make quite a habit of wishing. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I had finished school. I wish I had eyes like my friend Bonnie's, hair like my friend Kris' and a body like Ellen Pompeo's. I wish I were less neurotic, and didn't care so much about things that don't matter. I wish I could be a stay-at-home mom, I wish I could get a multi-book contract, I wish I were more proficient on piano. I wish, I wish, I wish. Wishing gets singularly dull after a while. I wish I could stop wishing.
Wish granted! I've decided to trade wishing for hoping. The key, of course, is to know the difference. You have to sort out the changeable from the unchangeable. Reciting the serenity prayer helps, if you can get through it without feeling like Stuart Smalley. If you can do that, then you might be able to eventually trade the hoping for praying and mingle the prayer with action.
My son Jaden's kindergarten teacher last year taught the kids an invaluable little mantra: "'Ya git whatcha git and you don't throw a fit." Maybe that's a magnet I need on my fridge. It's true, after all; we "git" what we "git." What we're responsible for is what we do with what we "git." And all the wishing in the world won't change that.
I think I'm starting to get it. It has taken 32 years, but I'm starting to understand. And who knows? If I continue to listen to the wisdom of kindergarten teachers, I may just become the person my Facebook friends think I am.
But wishing only gets us so far. I could wish for a lot of things. I used to make quite a habit of wishing. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I had finished school. I wish I had eyes like my friend Bonnie's, hair like my friend Kris' and a body like Ellen Pompeo's. I wish I were less neurotic, and didn't care so much about things that don't matter. I wish I could be a stay-at-home mom, I wish I could get a multi-book contract, I wish I were more proficient on piano. I wish, I wish, I wish. Wishing gets singularly dull after a while. I wish I could stop wishing.
Wish granted! I've decided to trade wishing for hoping. The key, of course, is to know the difference. You have to sort out the changeable from the unchangeable. Reciting the serenity prayer helps, if you can get through it without feeling like Stuart Smalley. If you can do that, then you might be able to eventually trade the hoping for praying and mingle the prayer with action.
My son Jaden's kindergarten teacher last year taught the kids an invaluable little mantra: "'Ya git whatcha git and you don't throw a fit." Maybe that's a magnet I need on my fridge. It's true, after all; we "git" what we "git." What we're responsible for is what we do with what we "git." And all the wishing in the world won't change that.
I think I'm starting to get it. It has taken 32 years, but I'm starting to understand. And who knows? If I continue to listen to the wisdom of kindergarten teachers, I may just become the person my Facebook friends think I am.
Busted! (Or, to use a churchy term, convicted!)
Have you ever sensed God speaking to you in such a way that you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was His voice? More specifically, have you ever sensed the conviction of His spirit so profoundly - and so precisely - that you felt compelled to fall to your knees, right where you stood? Yeah, me too. This morning, in fact.
So I'm in church early this morning for sound check and practice, and I'm hearing my own voice in my monitor, singing words like "Take my heart and form it / Take my mind, transform it" and suddenly a mental image flashes into my brain: my prom picture. How spiritual, right? Chris had posted it on his profile yesterday, and we laughed and reminisced about it, and then I added it to my own photos, along with some disparaging comments about my pasty skin and fat face. I didn't think about, you understand. I just did it. It was an automatic, almost unconscious, response. Luke 6:45 tells us that "out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks" (or the fingers type, as it were). I guess I might have a little darkness in my heart, to put it mildly.
As I often like to do with conviction, I shook it off and re-focused myself on the music. During the second service, I heard my voice in the monitor again, singing back to me, "I'm captured by Your holy calling / Set me apart / I know You're drawing me to Yourself / Lead me, Lord, I pray." Such a beautiful song. I've sung it more times in my Christian life than I can count, and yet each time it means something different to me. And this morning, try as I did to shake off that nagging sense of conviction, I felt that God was reminding me that if I am to be truly "set apart" for Him, and if I really want Him to "lead me, Lord, I pray", I must make some changes, both in my heart and between my ears. No more dissing myself in photos, or in storefront windows, or in the mirror. It's JUST not cool with Him. Whether it bothers me or not, HE doesn't like it one bit. Ouch.
And I still wasn't off the hook. I looked out at all those beautiful teenagers in the first three rows, just fifteen feet in front of me, and watched them as Eric sang, "Who are the treasured and the prized / Who is the apple of God's eye / Who is" and then they sang along with me, "We are, we are, we are!" Their sweet little faces made me cry. These are kids I love very much. These are girls I want to teach to love themselves and respect themselves and see themselves as God sees them. In fact, should I ever go back to school, it would be with the goal and the hope of equipping myself to work in such a capacity. But it looks like I may have far more work to do than can be done in the classroom. Heart work. Work that no one else can do for me. Work that hurts, like re-setting a bone that's been broken for thirty years. Am I up for it?
I don't know, honestly. But if I want to help other women to build healthy self images, I had better be. Otherwise, I might as well stand before them and say, "Hi there, Pot. It's me kettle. Yeah, you're black."So, what to do? Well, for starters, I plan to sit on my hands if I have to each time someone posts a photo of me that I don't like, to keep myself from typing out of the overflow of my goopy, sludgy heart. You can call me out on that if I screw up. And, I'll continue to sing my songs of praise to the One who is far more forgiving toward me than I ever have been. I should try being a bit more like Him.
So I'm in church early this morning for sound check and practice, and I'm hearing my own voice in my monitor, singing words like "Take my heart and form it / Take my mind, transform it" and suddenly a mental image flashes into my brain: my prom picture. How spiritual, right? Chris had posted it on his profile yesterday, and we laughed and reminisced about it, and then I added it to my own photos, along with some disparaging comments about my pasty skin and fat face. I didn't think about, you understand. I just did it. It was an automatic, almost unconscious, response. Luke 6:45 tells us that "out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks" (or the fingers type, as it were). I guess I might have a little darkness in my heart, to put it mildly.
As I often like to do with conviction, I shook it off and re-focused myself on the music. During the second service, I heard my voice in the monitor again, singing back to me, "I'm captured by Your holy calling / Set me apart / I know You're drawing me to Yourself / Lead me, Lord, I pray." Such a beautiful song. I've sung it more times in my Christian life than I can count, and yet each time it means something different to me. And this morning, try as I did to shake off that nagging sense of conviction, I felt that God was reminding me that if I am to be truly "set apart" for Him, and if I really want Him to "lead me, Lord, I pray", I must make some changes, both in my heart and between my ears. No more dissing myself in photos, or in storefront windows, or in the mirror. It's JUST not cool with Him. Whether it bothers me or not, HE doesn't like it one bit. Ouch.
And I still wasn't off the hook. I looked out at all those beautiful teenagers in the first three rows, just fifteen feet in front of me, and watched them as Eric sang, "Who are the treasured and the prized / Who is the apple of God's eye / Who is" and then they sang along with me, "We are, we are, we are!" Their sweet little faces made me cry. These are kids I love very much. These are girls I want to teach to love themselves and respect themselves and see themselves as God sees them. In fact, should I ever go back to school, it would be with the goal and the hope of equipping myself to work in such a capacity. But it looks like I may have far more work to do than can be done in the classroom. Heart work. Work that no one else can do for me. Work that hurts, like re-setting a bone that's been broken for thirty years. Am I up for it?
I don't know, honestly. But if I want to help other women to build healthy self images, I had better be. Otherwise, I might as well stand before them and say, "Hi there, Pot. It's me kettle. Yeah, you're black."So, what to do? Well, for starters, I plan to sit on my hands if I have to each time someone posts a photo of me that I don't like, to keep myself from typing out of the overflow of my goopy, sludgy heart. You can call me out on that if I screw up. And, I'll continue to sing my songs of praise to the One who is far more forgiving toward me than I ever have been. I should try being a bit more like Him.
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