The Power to Act

I love the morning; I love those moments between waking and getting out of bed when I feel warm and cocooned.  Today as I opened my eyes, the first rays of morning sun filtered through the opened shutters and I was greeted by the expanse of the morning light filtered through the long, laden branches of old oaks that circle our backyard. A magical morning was unfolding. Fortunately there was no dire reason for me to jump out of bed, so I took a few more relaxing moments to let the beauty of nature nourish me. I was mesmerized by the interplay of sun light with the stately oaks set to the rhythm of a gentle breezes; the dance was graceful, playful and mesmerizing. As I watched I could feel my body come alive and a gentle smile made its way across my face. Bushy tailed gray squirrels were scampering from branch to branch with no real reason other than they could. The birds where chirping and cooing, involved in their own morning musical rituals. In front of me was a painter’s palate overflowing with shades of lush greens, yellows, and sky blues with sunlight twinkling through. As I took in the beauty around me I thought: Why is it that I can see beauty all around me and never have a thought about my own personal beauty? Why is it that I have eyes that can see beauty in others and yet never turn those same constructive and loving eyes upon myself? And what is deep beauty anyway?

I hear you all; she has a big head. It’s not healthy to be so self absorbed. But I know that I really don’t have to worry about that? Maybe there are people who fill that bill, but there is little likelihood that I could ever over tilt in that direction. My issue has been that I don’t take time to celebrate my own self, my own accomplishments, my own virtues, or my own inner or external beauty. Now if I were to write about my vices and my doubts, I’d easily be able to fill a notebook. When I sit and try to identify what it is in me that allows me to be able to see beauty in others or in the glories of nature but cringes at the thought of having to identify my own personal beautiful qualities; I’m totally at a loss. I might as well be the blue eyed bond I was in my youth trying to pass as a person of Middle Easterner decent. Truly that would be easier. Why is that?

I was born into a large Irish / French family whose focus was on the good of group not the celebration of the individual. It was the family that mattered most and there was nothing extrinsically wrong or bad with that. There certainly was a benefit to know the needs and desires of those within the family. It was from my Irish heritage that the axiom ‘don’t have a big head’ took generational root. It was foundational to how my paternal lineage raised their five sons. My father had two conflicting paradigms at play regarding his children. He was incredibly proud of each one of us and was totally unable to verbally affirm who we were as children. Over the years I came to understand that my Irish grandparents believed that it was important to toughen their children up so that they could make it in a world of famine and deprivation. But we didn’t live in the same world; we never went without food and our basic needs, including love, were taken care of. The consequence of focusing on the good of the family rather than the individual and the ‘toughening us up’ parenting model, was that none of us ever really understood our own personal brilliance. The generational and cultural scales of justice were heavily weighted on the side of precaution and preparation at the sake of individual possibility and personal promise! How did it play out? And what did it have to do with deep beauty?

All seven of my brothers excelled in sports, but the game that dominated their school years was football.  I recall like yesterday, my brother being named as the MVP (most valued player) in a high school game, and my father greeted him, not with a hug or with a high five for a game well played, but by asking him what happened in the 3rd quarter, 5th play when he missed an important block. In that moment I saw the broad cocky smile of a seventeen year old whose eyes twinkled with pride and animated his face, be shattered and replaced by anger and angst. What would it take to get a compliment out of him? It wasn’t like my father wasn’t proud of each of us; he was. You need only see a photo of him, with his children all around him, his chest puffed out and a smile as big as Texas on his face, to see how deeply he loved us.

My father came from a generation that never questioned ‘the way things were’ or gave thought about unattended adverse consequences of how he was parented. For us girls, it played out less dramatically with little expectation to go beyond marriage and motherhood. I understood early on that my parents didn’t see much of future for me, so I reflected their expectations. Being a female in a patriarchal culture, the bar, both educationally and physically has already been set so low that there was little need to ‘toughen us up’ because some husband would protect and provide for us in the world! As if that were a given!

I understand that my inability to take in my beauty has to do with how I was reared and not because there is something intrinsically wrong with me. Seeing that the scales were weighed against my being able to celebrate the positive or the beautiful, I’ve turned a big corner in shifting that luxury liner called Judith toward a new day. Since I learned that behavior as a child, I can replace the overused pattern of denying my worth or my beauty by practicing 100% positive self regard. Rather than berating myself, as my Irish heritage would have me do, today I choose to take on eyes that celebrate what I historically moved beyond without acknowledgment; my courage, fortitude, love of family, faithfulness and today a little more lightness of being.

Fortunately my mother’s family was Canadian French and did not share the same cultural paradigms regarding parenting. Once I found the courage to declare that I was going to college, my mother jumped in and soothed my father’s concern that I was wasting my time. In that unconscious decision to fashion a future of my choosing, I planted the seed of my own deep beauty. Deep beauty is a sureness of being in the world; of knowing that in your own special way, you matter. It’s a peaceful center that is anchored in who you are and desire to be. It shows up in feeling comfortable in your skin and allows the space to let others shine on their own merit. People who have found their own voice and learned to stand up for the values they chose; they emanate deep beauty. Deep beauty is everyone’s birth right but not everyone’s destiny. It is can be ours just because we are here on this earth, because we breathe, because we are part of God’s great creation, because we have a heart that cares and the courage to claim our destinies. It is grounded in deep peace and well earned wisdom. That is true deep beauty.

As I write, I let my tears flow. Tears from the child who never had her worth or her beauty reflected back to her. Tears from the child who internalized her own parent’s low expectations so that she would be loved, and in doing so, clung to patterns of behavior that kept her from manifesting her brilliance. And there are tears of celebration and gratefulness for the revelation that the scales of justice have been shifting without my ever realizing it. Every time I make the time to watch the sun rise or sun set, or watch in amusement as a squirrel scurry around his personal jungle gym; it’s my own nature that is looking back at me. Truth be known, there is only one nature and we are forever linked. What I see outside of myself is a reflection of what is inside. I cannot appreciate that which does not already exist deep with me. It is in my celebrating the beauty of nature that I can be reminded that the ‘apple I am does not fall far from its tree of life.” Today I hold the scales of generational justice. The sights and sounds of nature are a reflection of my own deep nature. Now how deep and beautiful is that!

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