Baby, It's Me

 

Don't label people.

 

I don't know how else to begin except by jumping into this. Although the problem of "beauty in baldness" is my reason for this blog, I want to write about the problem that is really closest to my heart:

 

Mental illness.

 

If you suffer from a mental illness, you will be labeled. People will look at you and see nothing but your illness.

Everything will go through that filter. If you get angry, which you often will because any emotion you feel is attributed to your ill brain rather than your heart-felt experience, any action you take based on that anger will be seen as exaggerated, and if you really lose your temper as many people do, those actions will be seen as dangerous, threatening, possibly psychotic. Never mind that many people lose their temper; yours is to be feared.

If you cry, you are over-emotional. If you lose your temper with your child, who by the way is physically attacking you in a temper tantrum out of his or her control due to another illness, you are not to be trusted to care for your child.

No doubt, a mental illness (depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder) really does change how you view the world and your power within it. But people struggling bravely with mental illness have as much right to express emotion as people struggling with mere "normal life". In fact, I would argue that we "crazy" people are more in tune with ourselves than those who have no idea what mental illness feels like.

But labelling us and predicting that we will lose control? That gets into our psyche and tells us that we will, in fact, lose control. That we can't, in fact, be trusted.

I really have a hard time believing caring people who tell me that the struggles in my life and family are not all my fault. Instead, I keep trying to find new therapies, workbooks, projects and prayers that will finally "work" to get me well so that peace can be restored to my chaotic home and love to my dysfunctional relationships. But I've tried it all--individual counseling of all kinds, group therapy, prayer groups, girl's nights out, pills and more pills...and I still lose my temper and cry when I feel sad. Go figure.

So what else can I do? I don't know how else to make people see me and not my illness. Or my baldness. Or my teaching. Or any other one part of me. I am a whole. And my experience of life is real.

I feel like the tree in the picture up there. I am standing alone, looking at a world filled with life, activity, excitement, and potential for love. But I can't move from my spot, stuck by my roots. I will bloom and be beautiful, but then I will droop again when the season calls for it. And people will walk by, assuming I am bound by my nature.

This is how I'm feeling today, reeling after recent days of difficult circumstances and hurtful words carelessly thrown around by me and others. I have other days when I'm feeling like my spot near the city is sacred ground, where I have my shape and my purpose and my beautiful view, and that I provide a place where people can see beauty and gather and feel inspiration.

Both of those experiences are valid and part of me. Not to be feared, not to be labeled, not to be walled off. I, like everyone, want to be loved. I am learning to understand how I am loved by God. Understanding how to love myself so I can love others? Well, that's much harder.

But I will get there. We all can. That's the beauty of life--we are constantly blooming and maturing and changing. Even when the leaves fall to the ground, the process of creation is playing out how it should.





You're Perfect

Being totally vulnerable here. I have been on anti-depressants for years. As long as I can remember, anxiety and negativity have been my shadows. The meds never quite got me to where I wanted to be, so a couple weeks ago my doctor recommended a new tactic: a mood stabilizer. With bipolar disorder in the family history, I decided to try it. (By the way, the decision to go on meds came after and has been accompanied by years of therapy, prayer, and attempts at lifestyle changes.)

The last week has been a nightmare. Yelling, crying, throwing things, traumatized children, the works. Yesterday, after another yelling match and mild physical tussle with my wonderfully strong-willed daughter (whose life companion is ADHD) and my increasingly assertive son, I started crying and apologizing, yet again. I started into a lengthy explanation of how my brain is not well and I am waiting for my special medicine to start working so I don't get upset so easily, etc.

My daughter stopped, looked at me with a look in her eyes I don't think I've ever seen before, and said "You're perfect."

I looked at her, and I must have had a question in my eyes because she went on: "I mean, sometimes you're not perfect but mostly you look perfect to me."

Take this from my story and others I've written about my children's perspective on my hair loss and life in general: If you're going to listen to anyone and take to heart what any other person says about you, let it be a child. We all know how innocently brutal children can be with their honest perceptions, but even with the flaws they see, they can name perfection when they see it. Their definition of perfection is so different from ours. Maybe I'm generalizing when really my moment with my daughter was unique--but I'm getting the feeling that kids are our best mirrors. Yes, we see the worst in ourselves reflected back through their hurts and shame. But that's something we all have to accept as-is. Because we also see reflected in their eyes a wonder at the capacity for love we all carry. We see a reflection of ourselves at our most carefree, our most dependent, and our most undiluted lovely.

Worth 1,000 words

"You're so beautiful."

"You can really pull off the bald look."

"Bald girls are sexy."

All of these lines and more have been told to me at some point since the onset of my alopecia. You'd think by now that they would have sunk in.

The problem is, a picture is worth a thousand words. And my identity and definition of beauty have been shaped by millions of images that don't reflect the truth of the words people tell me. I don't think in words; I think in pictures.

Pictures like this:



The princess with the long, golden locks shining in the sunlight. The dashing rogue kissing her in all her feminine loveliness. Well, if that had been a bald princess, the "man in black" would probably have fallen off the tower as his hand slipped off her smooth scalp...

Or this:


The mother of all hot kissing scenes. Sadly, kissing in the rain is not sexy when you're a bald woman. If you're wearing a scarf, it turns into a sopping rag plastered on your head. You can't brush that away from a lady's face. If you're wearing a wig, you turn into a wet dog--PLUS, the netting underneath shows through. If you happen to be sans headcover in the rain, then a wet mack session would turn into a manual slip 'n' slide for your partner. Maybe that would be sexy...but it's unlikely.

Ah yes, this one:



It goes without saying that this is an impossible look for a bald woman to pull off. And a scarf or wig in the wind? Too precarious.

Countless, endless images that do not represent me, yet continue to define what I want my life to look like. When I kiss my husband, I look at us from the outside and I cringe. Can you imagine a man kissing a bald woman and it looking even remotely romantic? Probably not. That's because there are no images of that to get into our psyche.

So, I'm on a search for some new pictures. Here are a few I found:


Rosanna Savone, bald bride and author of liv.luhv.rahyt (See it and love it here).


Kylie, another beautiful bald bride (read her story here).




Stefania Ferrario, model (check out her page here).


Sandra Dubose-Gibson, Mrs. Black North Carolina 2011 (See the full story here).


The only image I could find of a man kissing a bald girl...we need to work on that.

And, finally, I will add what I can to this growing bank of images:

A bald woman and a mirror. Not usually seen together.

So--if you find anymore for me, send them to redefinelabelleza@gmail.com or post them to my Facebook page!

Emergence of a Mean Girl?

I am terrified of my daughter becoming a “mean girl”. Her dad and I have blatantly tried to impose our values upon her, ceaselessly providing opportunities and challenges to appreciate beauty from non-traditional sources. This used to work just fine.

Now, at age seven, our voices are not the only ones she takes in. The voices on the playground are, sadly, louder at the moment. I have been watching this transformation in her, from a believer in the Veggie Tales gospel that “God made you special” to an impressionable social seeker rapidly moving toward the lemming-like tween years. I see her trying to reconcile messages she gets from the trusted adults in her life with messages from friends whose approval means everything right now.
I thought I would have a few more years to prepare for this.

But, here we are. Her behavior is very unpredictable at the moment. One day I catch her speaking with openness and affirmation to girls in a park about her mom, who “has alopecia and that’s why she has no hair”, and the next day I find out that she has made hurtful comments to a dear friend about her appearance. One day she is genuinely befriending a girl with severe facial deformities at her school, and the next day she is playing the “that girl’s scary so let’s run up to her, scream, and then run away" game at the same girl’s expense.

It’s hard to know how her sorting out process is going. Which messages will stick with her? Which will define how she acts and views people around her? She has a kind heart, but she is also desperate to be a normal kid with friends who accept her. What is my role right now as a parent? Do I keep trying to impose a set of values on her as a foundation for the choices she will make later in life? Or do I take a deep breath and a few steps back, allowing her to glean her own wisdom as she witnesses the consequences of her own actions?

This little incident with our friend happened just the other night. Apparently, Esther said something hurtful, and then my friend addressed it by explaining that the comment hurt her feelings. Fine. This is to be expected at my daughter’s age, and I’m glad my friend was able to talk about how the comment made her feel and why it’s not appropriate to repeat.

What is absolutely not fine is that my daughter did, in fact, repeat the comment again, immediately after hearing how it had affected this friend. Maybe she was trying to see how far she could push; maybe she was more interested in watching and learning about our friend’s reaction than in the actual content of the messages; or, maybe she really couldn’t really identify with the fact that her comment had hurt this friend, whom she loves.

After hearing about this, I got my “I can’t believe you did this, because I know you are not this kind of girl” face on, and I let her know, without a doubt, that what she said was not okay. If the conversation had ended after the first comment, I would take a different approach—something like sitting down, asking questions, explaining why the comment was not something we would want to say again, etc. The fact that she said it again after our friend talked to her about it is what concerns me. So, after the lecture, the “mommy’s mad” eyes and the finger wagging, I decided I had better engage her in a different way. I want her to know the seriousness of verbal insults, but I also want to make sure she is developing a worldview in line with the ideals of compassion and justice.

So, I made her draw a picture of our friend. I told her to draw this friend exactly how she (my daughter) sees her. Then I asked her to write “(Name) is beautiful”. Drawing on notes I have taken in therapy sessions, I figured a picture would help to make concrete the abstract notion of using words to build people up rather than tear them down. I wanted her to create an image that she labeled as “beautiful”, not only to associate it with our friend, but also to own the feeling of being able to be a definer of beauty instead of just a judge of it.

This journey is just beginning, I know. The years to come will be filled with similar instances of reconciling two different sets of standards. I have hope in the solid foundation we as parents, along with family and community reinforcement, have given our daughter—and our three-year-old son. I must also look on my daughter with as much compassion as I am asking her to show others. And there’s the rub—because having compassion on my daughter’s emergent “mean girl” tendencies, real or imagined, requires me to have more compassion on the corners of my own self/heart wherein lie similar tendencies.

I haven’t decided whether or not to give the picture my daughter drew to my friend. That forced apology thing (“Now, say you’re sorry, and tell her she’s beautiful”) has never sat well with me. I do want my friend to know what I’m working on with my daughter, but I would like to wait until my daughter draws a picture of our beautiful friend without prompting before giving anything to her.

Raising daughters. Raising little women. Lord, help us.

The Creature Behind the Wall

This is what my life has looked like recently:



Literally, I had to re-caulk the tub in one of our bathrooms. I think I did an okay job, considering who I am. Not good with my hands, always rushing to do things without reading the directions carefully, easily frustrated, etc. But I managed to apply what I believe to be a nice seal around the tub. Not a perfectly straight line, but a nice seal.

Here's the problem:



This is the shower in my other bathroom. The one I use everyday. I took off the old caulk and found cracks in the stone around the base of the shower. So I stuck my blow dryer in there in an attempt to dry any excess water before I applied the new caulk.

After leaving the stall alone for two days, there is still water. Seeping out ever so slowly from behind that wall, insidiously wetting the very area I am trying to cover and protect. And, I'm afraid, ominously but quietly revealing a much bigger problem behind the wall. Can you say toxic black mold?

Who knows, maybe the problem is not as serious as I'm fearing. But...maybe it is. And I'm just waiting for the sealant in that first bathroom to come off as the water that's probably behind that wall makes its escape too.

Now that this is beginning to sound like a sermon illustration, you can probably guess that I'm not just talking about caulking. (Hee hee...)

This blog sometimes feels like the first picture: a nice patch job. A do-it-yourself remedy for feeling down about my looks. A feel-good sealant that gives me the illusion of wholeness and health, and looks pretty on the outside. I feel like I have done something productive, something that will stop mold from growing.

But what's really behind it? When everything gets stripped away and I am faced with that second picture, I have to admit that this is not a quick fix. It's not even something I can do by myself, no matter how many "how to" books I read or tools I buy at the hardware store. The problem is not on the surface, though that certainly needs to be cleaned up. The problem is deep. That flow of water doesn't need to be dried with a hair dryer just enough for me to cover it with sealant. It needs to be completely evaporated from inside the wall, and I may even need to have someone come in and take whole sections out, replacing them with new and toxin-free material.

I started this blog as a way to process my self-image issues. But after all thus time, I still have deep-seated insecurities and sadness about myself as a person. And I have to admit that the problem is significant enough to require more help than I was prepared to ask for.

I was recently diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. Moderate, they're calling it. "Moderate" is just one level down from "severe". I balked at this diagnosis at first. Depression? Me? I know I have anxiety, but I don't sit around and cry all the time.

It turns out that depression can look different in different people. Who knew? For me, apparently it looks like constantly feeling inadequate, guilty, and deserving of punishment just for being myself. I see myself as a failure. This goes beyond self-image issues. This is something that requires doctors, medication, therapy...and prayer.

But I feel hopeful. This is like the good feeling I have when I peel away moldy caulk that I know is polluting my environment, even in a small way. It's disgusting, but it feels so good to strip it off and watch it get tossed into the garbage. It feels so good to rinse mold and mildew down the drain forever. It feels so good to wipe my kid's nose and know that he can breathe better. As gross as it is.

So I cringe at having to face this inner toxic mold, but I also know that I didn't cause it. We live in a world where mold grows and brain chemistry gets out of balance. It can be treated and often remedied, but it can't just be patched up.

Labels

This Sunday I had a 31 party at my house.

Nope, not my birthday. Sadly, I have already crossed that bridge.

No, Thirty-One Gifts is a company that sells bags, totes, wallets and other fun organizational packs. One way to get these products is through a product party. You know, where your friends come over and eat your food and watch a presentation about the products...and then, hopefully, they buy from the catalog so you can get some free stuff as a hostess!

That's not really what it's all about, of course. I especially like this company because it's Christian-owned, female-owned, practical, and supportive of business-minded women. And the consultant who did my party is fabulous. (If you're in the Chicago area, give this woman a call to do a party in your home!)

Just so you know, I have not been paid by Thirty-One Gifts to do an endorsement. I didn't mean to do a commercial for them. I'm just trying to give you a context for the really sweet activity we did at the party, which is very fitting for this blog.

The consultant called it "Labels". She had heard of my blog and asked me to share a little at my party. Since her company's motto is "Celebrating, encouraging, and rewarding others for who they are", she led us in an activity that had absolutely nothing to do with buying products and everything to do with encouraging my friends and I to celebrate true, inner beauty.

Each of my friends was given a label and asked to write one word on it that they felt described me. Here are some they came up with:



Then, one by one they had to come up and stick their label on me, sharing their word and why they chose to label me that way.



The goal, of course, is to redeem the concept of labels. We give others labels all the time that trap them in wrong and ridiculous ideas about their worth as people. Through an exercise like this, we remember to create uplifting and true labels about the parts of our character that shine through to others.

That's exactly what was so hard for me about this activity. The labels people came up with for me supposedly represent how they see me. But they are SO far from how I see myself. How can a person who is so insecure, irritable, guilty and troubled be seen by others as strong, cheerful, giving and soulful? I tend to think of myself as the person I think I am, but what if I'm really the person others think I am? What if my outward projections matter more than my inner struggles?

What if those closest to me--my husband and kids--could see me the way my friends, students and coworkers see me? What if I lived into these labels rather than my own?

I kept the sheet of labels. Now and again I hope I come across them and remember to treat myself the way others see me.

Beauty Redefined?

A couple months ago I told a friend about my blog. When I told him what it was called, he said "I don't know if you can really redefine beauty". I defended myself by saying that technically you can't, but culturally speaking we need to do away with the connotations attached to the word "beauty".

But it did get me thinking.

If you look up the word "beauty" in the Merriam Webster dictionary, it reads: "the quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit".

So no, in that sense you cannot redefine beauty. As the adage goes, it takes a different form in the eye of every beholder.

But then you look down and see this: "a beautiful person or thing; especially : a beautiful woman". So in the dictionary, "beauty" is essentially connected to women.

If you do a Google image search for "beautiful women", which I don't recommend, you will see hundreds of light-skinned women in sexy poses with body parts bursting out of their skimpy clothes. For real. That's how beauty has been defined based on how people in society have refined the search database.

Then you add modifiers, like beautiful black women, or beautiful Asian women, and you see basically the same thing. Mostly light-skinned women in sexy poses and skimpy (or no) clothes.

It's really, really sad. It makes my heart hurt for young girls.

And when you do a search for images of beautiful men, you get lots and lots of muscled nakedness. Really gross.

Why does a search for beauty lead to sex? It's pretty horrifying that the word "beautiful" can only link to one kind of image on a Google search. Boobs on women, muscles on men. Nudity in both cases.

We need to start tagging the words "beauty" and "beautiful" onto other kinds of images so the Google landscape can change. Images like these:


(http://madamenoire.com/)


(http://oldhamproject.blogspot.com)


(http://everydayfeminism.com)


(http://www.tcdailyplanet.net/news/2010/12/12/mujeres-en-liderazgo-latina-women-learn-lead)


(http://www.itsjusthair.com)


(www.hel-looks.com)


(http://sfvault.blogspot.com)

Young, old, man, woman, flat, dirty, dark, round, stringy, kinky...it's all beautiful by definition to someone. It's all God's creation, having been called "good" by God, therefore fitting the definition of beauty.

Start tagging pictures of everyday people living life with the "beauty" label, and let's see if we can redefine beauty for a world obviously searching for it.

Shading

One thing I love about photography is the way one object can look like many, depending on variable factors such as lighting, background, contrast, and hue. You can see two different pictures of a bridge and not know you're looking at the same bridge in each.

I love creating moods in the pictures I take and edit. The same place can take on varying emotional shading just because the light is different. Or, more to the point, the filter is different.





I took these within minutes of each other on a single path, but they could easily have been taken at two different times of year, at totally different times of day. Which picture makes you feel more relaxed? Which is warmer?

I also love seeing photos of the same place from two different perspectives. I took this picture...



...and then I turned around and took this one:



Looking at the first one, you might expect a different sort of structure to be in place behind the camera lens (or, if you've been to the Gaylord Resort at the National Harbor in D.C., you would have already known what was standing behind).

Feelings can often be attributed to angles or filters. We only see one perspective, one shading, and we base what we think we know off of that view. What if we could see places, moments and people through multiple filters all at once? Would it help in achieving balanced understanding, or would it overwhelm and mute unique experiences?

My self-image is wrapped up in filters. I see myself in one mirror (literally) and I think "Okay, I am a competent woman, ready to go out and smile at people and get things done". But I look in a different mirror with different lighting and I think "Wow. I'm haggard and tired, and I want to curl up in a hole and eat chocolate because I can't face anyone".

My whole day can be spent in one mood, and then I look in a mirror and get a shock: "This is what I've looked like all day?!" Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad.

But the face I see in these mirrors does not accurately reflect my while story. Just like the pictures of the tree-lined path above both capture the essence of the scene, externally-imposed edits changed the way we interpret that scene.

I impose positive or negative "edits" onto my reflection when I look in a mirror. The essence of who I am, or what I look like, doesn't change, but the way I interpret my worth changes. I need to see worth in that essence--the defining contours that do not change or waver. Me, free of edits. Or maybe me with all possible edits superimposed at once. A well-rounded view of me in all my various shadings.

What would that look like?

Can't Leave Home Without It

I didn't buy myself a new Easter outfit this year. In fact, I can't remember the last time I did. Do thirty-year-olds still get to buy new Easter dresses?

I guess Easter outfits have become one of the "non-essentials". I don't really need one. I put together what I thought was a nice outfit for church yesterday, and thankfully I attend a church where clothes really don't matter. I love it.

But clothes do matter to me in general. I have tried to say they don't, but I am feeling more and more that clothes really do change how I see myself and act toward others. If I wear loafers to work, I feel like I make more mistakes in my teaching. I feel frumpy and embarrassed. But my feet are comfortable.

If I wear heeled boots to work, or heels anywhere, I have a more confident walk. I literally strut. Therefore, by some twisted logic in my head, I am able to teach and speak with more confidence.

Yesterday at church I was standing up on "stage" with the band, doing lead vocals for our Easter service. As I said, I had put together a nice outfit. Light slacks, a pretty navy peasant-style blouse, a springtime scarf, and a pearl necklace and earrings. And...my most comfortable pair of loafers. Heels just seemed too dangerous. I mean, who wants to fall up the stairs on Easter Sunday?! The problem was, I saw my reflection in a window and felt like a frump. It was hard to find a good standing posture that made me feel confident. Good thing that's not what worship is all about.

So I do have my preferred ways of dressing--I just don't want to label myself as a woman who cares about how she looks. That's not who I was up until a couple years ago. Well, that's not true--I cared a great deal about how I looked, I just didn't know how to change it. Late bloomers often don't learn the "tricks of the trade" (ie how to wear makeup or coordinate outfits and accessories) until, well, late in life.

I realized a few weeks ago how dependent I have become on my fashion choices, especially those concerning my face and head, when I rushed out of my house without earrings. I don't remember the last time I had done that before this fateful day. I ended up going all day without earrings. I felt as if I had walked out in my pajamas or something.

How is it possible for little pieces of cheap metal to have such an effect on my self-image? I don't know how. All I know is that I don't feel like a woman if I'm not wearing earrings. I'm sure it's because I have no hair. Earrings are how I prove my femininity to the world.



I will not make that mistake again.

I wish I could be free of the trappings of this world. They literally trap me. But I figure God made women complex and sensitive and yearning for beauty, so maybe it's okay that I have to wear earrings every day. They don't take a lot of my time, they really have nothing to do with modesty, and they make me feel a little better about myself in terms of relating to other people. I know earrings don't increase my value as a person, or even as a woman. They just give me enough of a boost to get out into the world and get things done.

What are your "essentials"? Is there anything you just can't leave home without?

Let's Talk About Moms, Baby

Yes, let's talk about moms.


(Picture taken from Viking Jenn's blog--check it out!)

We know them all.

There is the mom who curls her daughter's hair, never goes out without makeup, knows all the rules of football and makes an amazing lemon tart.

There is the mom who homeschools her kids, sews her own clothes, only buys organic foods and meditates every morning.

There is the mom who hauls three kids back and forth on the bus all day, goes the laundromat twice a week, works two jobs and feeds her kids McDonald's.

There is the mom who brings her kids to school in pajamas, has the TV on all night, and leans out the window to smoke her cigarettes.

I mean, we know them all, right?!

Wrong. We don't know sh--. (Sorry for almost swearing, granny...)

Do we know anything about these women's lives? Not unless we live a day in their shoes. "Judge not, lest you yourselves be judged."

This morning I brought my son to school with no coat, no shoes or socks, and no hat. In the winter. I got some stares, for sure. But what these gapers don't know is that I dressed him three times, and each time he stripped everything off. I decided to let him feel the cold, so that tomorrow (hopefully) he will keep his winter gear on.

My neighbors have heard me yell at my kids many, many times. I threw my daughter's prized pink water bottle across the room the other day and broke it. I dumped an entire bottle of chocolate milk in the sink this morning. Then I sobbed in my room.

What "kind" of mom does that make me? Some would say, and have said to my face, that I am crazy. I have a mental illness and need to be on medication. I will end up hurting my kids if I don't get myself under control.

So that's the mom I am.

I have been put into a box and slapped with a label.


(Taken from http://www.clker.com/clipart-203947.html)

It's not fair. The label doesn't even begin to capture my essence. By looking at that label you would never know all the positive things I tried before simply losing my patience. You would never know the daily struggles I go through.

I confess, shamefully, that the moms I described above are stereotypes of my own making. I have labeled moms according to external appearances, and then I judge them according to my own limited experiences.

To you moms, I'm so terribly sorry. I'm in this with you.

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 27

Israel Idonije. Defensive lineman for the Chicago Bears. Nigerian-Canadian. Daycare teacher? Founder of a charitable organization that serves at-risk youth in Chicago and impoverished families in Africa? (Check out the Israel Idonije Foundation.)

I heard him on the radio today. I love hearing about people who surprise me. As much as I hate to admit it, I view the world and the people in it through stereotypes much of the time. I love being confronted by my assumptions and shown a different news reel, so to speak.

I have been listening to public radio a lot lately. I love hearing about people, places and events that are hidden from the mainstream. These stories open up whole new avenues for me. My city is taking on new dimensions now that I am hearing real stories from real people every day in my car. I have a list of places I want to explore and events I need to put on the calendar.

Here are just a few:
Louder Than a Bomb: Chicago Youth Poetry Festival
Peace on Earth Film Festival at the Chicago Cultural Center
On Being American and More: A community conversation

It's a beautiful thing to become invested in your city or your community. I am growing to love Chicago and all the amazing programs going on here. Now, I don't have time to become a local activist or anything. But I do have time to take a step back and appreciate the fact that Chicago is not always what I assume it to be based on my very limited experience.

What stereotypes have you recently been delighted to find are wrong?

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 18

Today I meditate on the beauty of grace. Of second (and third) chances.

I met a man named Pete today. Pete founded a company called Second Chance Coffee in Wheaton, IL. And it's not the coffee that needs a second chance--believe me, it's high quality. No, the "second chance" in the name refers to his employees. Pete hires, through a selective referral process, post-prison men and women to roast, package, sell and deliver his coffee.

The coffee has been branded "I Have a Bean". Without it, there would be seven more formerly incarcerated individuals trying to get back on their feet and reintegrate into productive society--and being barred at every turn.

The term "felon" probably evokes an image in your mind of a big, scary guy with tattoos and a scowl who is out to hurt you and your family--over and over again--unless we stop him by casting him out from our community.

But what if there were more to the story? What if this man, tattoos and all, made a mistake and had many valuable skills and a great personality?

In our society, certain mistakes carry longer-lasting consequences than others. I agree--obviously there are degrees to which people can get hurt, and there are corresponding degrees to which "offenders" need to be held responsible and make amends.

What I don't understand is why certain mistakes carry life-long sentences. Is there any mistake that one person should have to suffer with for the rest of their lives?

This is only the tip of the iceberg of this discussion. I know that. I'm not looking to spark any heated debates. I just want to introduce this unique organization as a model of grace and say that I think grace is absolutely beautiful.

I have made so many mistakes in life, some that have hurt others and some that have hurt only me. I depend on second, third, fourth (and on and on) chances all the time. I can't imagine trying to live my life if I had no access to those chances.

Check out www.ihaveabean.com and see how beautiful (and practical) redemption can actually be. And take a minute to meditate on the chances you have been given.