An un-made-up face and religion

I've sworn off face makeup for awhile.

At home anyway. I can't quite go public without war paint yet.

One reason is that my husband says he loves my natural face and skin and that I am beautiful to him the way God made me.

I tuck away his compliment with wariness because of an observation made years ago by my then-young children who said that I "look like Uncle Les" without makeup. My handsome, strapping, manly brother 18 months younger than me is not feminine in any sense of the word.

But beside the fact that it's my husband's desire for me to go makeup-less at home, I acquiesce because I want to please him. But some days it doesn't stay on anyway. So why bother?

Confined as I am recently while the lumbar portion of my spine heals out of the acute pain stage into the "let's see how we can manage this" stage, I have lots of time and things to ponder, and to read responses to my Ponderings blogs.

The tears just come. I can't help it. Not scrunched-up face bawling. Silent, hot tears course out the corners of my eyes and down my face. My fingers rub off any mascara and eyeliner and eyeshadow and blush anyway.

Why? Oh so many reasons: (If you don't want to hear me whine, just skip this blog entry, but you'll miss the parable at the end.)

Because I miss my loved ones...friends of 15 years and a handful of more years than that, and family of 46 years.

Because I miss the places where I felt I belonged.

Because I miss the way my life was as a highly respected businesswoman and newspaperwoman.

Because I miss all that was familiar and am living in a place that is so foreign in so many ways, (Australia is not a mini-America after all) and people are different and life is different and living with a new husband who is so different from me in personality and culture is sometimes really difficult and at times nearly suffocating and extremely maddening.

Because being a step-mom to three children is harder than I thought it would be. I'll leave it at that except to say that two of them are are teenage girls (18 and 16) and play their dad like a finely strung violin. The oldest child is a nearly 22-year-old son. We get along great and I have really come to love Luke as my own. He is really special and kindhearted.

Because I miss my own children, (Jason 25, Kim, 22,) my new daughter-in-law of just over a year, and my first grandchild that I've only met twice who is just beginning to crawl at nearly eight months old.

Because I miss snow, and the Cascade mountains, and the Lewis River teeming with steelhead jumping the rocky crags of Lucia Falls on their way upriver.

Because I miss my favorite places on the Washington and Oregon coasts like Klipsan Beach, Astoria, and Cannon Beach.

Because I miss Timberline Lodge, nestled high on Mount Hood and the days I spent near a roaring gigantic fireplace while looking out the massive windows at snow-covered or wildflower covered fields beyond. I broke the pinky on my right hand there. It's crooked forever I think.

Because I miss seeing steam from Mount St. Helens on cold mornings on my way to work, puffing skyward from the massive heat meeting frost or snow or just cold air on the new dome forming in the active volcano.

Because I miss the Canadian geese foraging in farmers' fields and flying north or south in V-shaped formations, depending on the time of year.

Because I miss a lot of people: Cheri and her children Anna and Anthony, Cindy and Mike, Kelly and John, Karen and Bill, Bill and Barbara, Lisa and Dave, and so many more who were my refuge friends who opened their homes and hearts when I was so worn out from working 50-hour weeks. They fed me, listened to me, made me laugh, and sometimes got me a little tipsy with fine wine or a good martini.

Because I miss eating out with my girlfriends at the Prairie Tavern (we called it the PT) and eating the yummy Ying/Yang pizza with lots of flavor along with pitchers of Hefeweizen with lemon and "Duck Farts" for dessert; then other times there was Billygan's Road House, Beaches, El Rancho Viejo, Irby's, The Silver Dragon, the River Cafe on the Willamette River, McCormick and Schmick's, Who Song and Larry's, McMenamin's, The Greek Cuisina in downtown Portland for my 40th birthday party and so many other places to dine. I'll never forget dancing with the owner of the Cuisina and smashing plates while yelling "WHOOPA!" when I turned 40 and having way to much Ouzo in a contest, and watching Karen's husband Bill stand on our table and dance while a belly dancer encouraged him from the aisle and someone put money in his belt. Godly behavior? Nope. But at that time in my life with all the hypocrites I'd known for years and the way they had treated me after my divorce...it didn't matter. It was just plain fun, and I was out to have fun from my long days at work surrounded in a world of information of crime, politics, and cats stuck in trees. I spent a few years trying to find my way "back home" to my childlike faith. But that's another blog altogether. Or maybe a book.

Anyway, with all this going on, I am jumping into the fray again.

I'm working on a book about spousal abuse, and child abuse and how "the Church" turns a blind eye and actually abuses the victims and chastises them for not keeping the family intact.

I remember a line from the Anne of Green Gables series where Gilbert tells Anne to write about what she knows rather than the unrealistic romances she was prone to write.

I am writing about what I know. And it's taking some time, because it's hard to relive things that I have experienced, and to hear stories from people I love, and people they love, and from women in general.

It seems to me, and to those I have interviewed, and those I have not met but want to interview that an "intact family" and "keeping marriage vows" is more important to church pastors and elders and deacons and other leaders than the people who have been hurt and continue to be hurt. The "leaders" hear what goes on behind closed doors from those brave enough to come forward, but what seems to matter most to them is what the "letter of the law" says, not seeing beyond that to God's tender heart.

Shame on them.

That makes me weep. So there have been lots of tears.

And so...no more makeup at home anyway. Why bother?

Makeup just covers blemishes and makes a face look pretty. As does "religion." In real life, it just gets washed away, with flaws always underneath.