Abortion, actually.

Yep, you read that right. This week, we're talking about abortion.

A few weeks ago, Papa Francesco had this to say about abortion and the Catholic church. Much of it wrong.

Last week, the #GOPdebate had a lot to say about abortion. Much of it wrong.

I'm tired.

I am 27 years old, and for my entire life, the Roe v. Wade decision has been the law of the land. I am only 27 years old, and I am already tired of fighting against those who have spent my entire life (as well as the decade before my birth) trying to undo the protections that decision provides.

I'm tired of the terms "pro-life" and "pro-choice" as the only options. I'm tired of feigning apology for where I stand. I'm tired of resorting to compromise for the case of rape, incest, or the dubious phrase "threat to the life of the mother." Who determines what is and is not threatening to our lives?

I'm tired of men who have systematically threatened, oppressed, and injured women (for decades, centuries, millennia) through legislation, regulation, and theology.

Papa Francesco has been such a breath of fresh air in the ecumenical community on so many issues, and I'm so disappointed that he has reminded me of his Catholicism so harshly with this announcement.

Holy Father, women who have had abortions do not need your forgiveness. Declaring the upcoming church year a "Year of Mercy" is laughable. What year is not a year of mercy, in your line of work? How embarrassing.

And as far as the Republican candidates...boy, am I tired. During the debate on Wednesday I was in tears just from the premise that one of these people could be the President of the United States. These men bragged--honestly, bragged!--about how many years their states have gone without providing funding to Planned Parenthood, and probably other important healthcare providers in the process.

They--and the one woman on the stage, too--grossly (and grotesquely) misrepresented the struggle for reproductive freedom in this country. They--particularly the one woman on the stage--grossly (and grotesquely) misrepresented Planned Parenthood.

Here's the thing. I stand with Planned Parenthood. You may, also. I think I know what you mean when you say that, but in case you don't know what I mean when I say that, here's what I mean.

Women should have safe access to the health care that we need.
Women should have safe access to preventive care.
Women should have safe access to contraception, free of charge.
Men should have safe access to contraception, free of charge.
Women should have safe access to abortion on demand.

That's right. Planned Parenthood does so much for the people, y'all. They can be your primary care provider, and so many women I know rely on them for excellent care. Every Planned Parenthood employee or volunteer I have ever encountered has been professional and kind. They do an enormous amount of work, because millions of women in this country do not have safe access to the health care they need--or to enough of it. But even if PP didn't do all that other stuff--cancer screenings, annual exams, STD screenings, sex education, the list goes on!--I would stand with them. Even if Planned Parenthood was first and foremost an abortion provider, I would stand with them. 

I stand with every woman who is considering, has considered, will consider, is choosing, has chosen, or will choose abortion.

Not in spite of my education, not in spite of my Christianity but--straight up--because of those privileges and commitments, I stand with women. I stand with Planned Parenthood.

As my main man Martin Luther is famously quoted as saying: Here I stand, I can do no other. God help me.

Spinning Clumsiness into Sunshine

I fell off my bike again yesterday.

As a newly minted Davis bike commuter--hold your applause, it's a 3-mile round trip--I have been figuring out the details of gear shifting and hand signals and unabashed helmet-wearing (I am an OVERWHELMING minority).

I'm not proud of my ineptitude--shouldn't I be adult enough to stay upright on a bicycle?--but I'm not totally embarrassed of it, either. Failing at riding my bike some of the time means I'm succeeding at riding my bike the rest of the time--and the simple fact is, I'm riding my bike to work instead of driving my car, and that's saving me money on gas as well as adding cardio to an otherwise sedentary day.

And each morning/afternoon I've ridden through the park and down B Street to the Belfry, and each afternoon/evening I've ridden home, I've noticed that I'm smiling. I can't help it. The sun is shining (sometimes the moon) and it's been pretty warm either way and sometimes there's a nice breeze...and other people are riding their bikes, too, or walking their dogs or whatever. Somehow the small act of riding my bike to work spins an otherwise harried few minutes in the car into a carefree jaunt through a park.

At the LEVN retreat in February, we watched a TED talk about a mapping app that found alternative routes--not just fastest, but greenest, quietest, and happiest. It crowdsourced this data from beta users, who looked at photographs of the routes and tagged those photos with adjectives, positive and negative. The app only exists in Barcelona and London, but it changed the presenter's life. He said he'd been biking (which is already better but still wasn't good enough) down these main streets in London that took him the miles from his home to his office. One day, there were road closures or construction or something and so he made a quick turn and went up the next block, discovering that his entire route bordered a public park, and he'd never even seen it. It took a handful more minutes to go that route each day (the path is curved and/or indirect) but as far as happiness is concerned, it revolutionized the mood with which he traveled to and from work.

Though I've only been biking to work for two weeks, and have to drive some days because I'm schlepping a crock pot of soup, it has already changed the way I think about where I live. For every day I fall off my bike, there are several days on which I do not. The Casey of a few years ago would never have even considered riding her bike every day, and certainly wouldn't have believed she was capable. The Casey of yesterday is tempted to side with the Casey of a few years ago, given the bruise on her knee and ego. But the Casey of today rode her bike to work, anyway, somehow spinning clumsiness into sunshine.

Lost and found and lost and...

This is me, fourish years ago, during my first year of seminary:

I'm at the Albatross--our walkable bar--with my friend and classmate Sara. I weighed 233 pounds the week this photograph was taken. Look at that face. If you can tear yourself away from the fact that my tank top will not contain that torso (those boobs). Did I say that out loud? Technically I typed it.

This is me, a yearish ago, about to start my fourth year of seminary:

We're at the wedding of our dear friends Gretchen and Jill. I weighed 171 pounds the week this photograph was taken. We're looking at adorable baby Gabe, but you're looking at my surprisingly small waist and great shoulders, am I right? 

This is me, a few months ago, just before graduating from seminary:

We're celebrating/lamenting everything that comes with graduating and moving and getting jobs (or not). I've weighed between 176 and 184 pounds in the weeks since this photograph was taken. A couple of weeks ago it was 177, this week it was 181. Most weeks I don't weigh in. The weight is going to go and come and go and come. That's life.

Why am I posting about this now? I hit the 50lb loss mark almost 18 months ago, and I've been hovering in the vicinity of that pretty much since then. Some weeks, I go to the gym every other day and I kick ass and take names and love myself and everyone else. Other weeks, I drink a lot of wine and bake more than one batch of cookies and think more about the blob (that's what I call my fat, because I'm hilarious and terrible). My mom made her world-famous (people who moved to other nations have eaten it, so, technically!) macaroni and cheese a few nights ago, at my request, because it is so freaking delicious. In the leftovers that I've had each day since then (that's what's up) I've cut up some kale and thrown it in there, so I can feel better about consuming it. 

It was tonight, as I was pouring a glass of wine and looking at the cookie jar, that I thought UGH Kloehn you haven't been to the gym enough this week what are you doing? Do you really think throwing some kale in that mac and cheese makes it okay? 

But then I though about Kelsey and Jocelyn. Kelsey and Jocelyn are two (out of three) women I'd identify as my best friends on the planet. When it comes to health and happiness, these two are bursting with both. They run marathons, bike centuries, verb triathlons, mix margaritas, bake cookies, inhale avocados, and love me to death. Their moral support was unmatched during my "I JUST WANT TO EAT ALL THE OREOS" phase(s). They also helped me tremendously when I needed stretches for my newly sore muscles and opinions on the new dresses I could fit in. They're the best.

Before them, before this whole adventure, I would have believed that you could lose weight by eating one salad, and gain weight by eating one cupcake. I would never have considered throwing a handful of kale into my mac and cheese--although living in Berkeley may have as much to do with that as being friends with Kels and Joce. I would have believed that it wasn't possible to feel beautiful and fun and full and healthy and energetic and thin and awesome all in one moment! There are many moments where I don't feel great. I'm writing this post because right now is one of those days, and I need this reminder. I need to look at those photographs to see where I've been and know where I am and see where I can still go. 

I have love and support from Kelsey and Jocelyn and all the other loves of my life. I have parents who schedule dinners around Zumba classes; and a boyfriend who loves to eat cookies for breakfast before a hike; and a brother who's a dietitian; and friends who walk to the gym with me, then meet up for a pitcher of beer after dinner; and you, all of you, who love me all the while. Thank you, for who you've been. Thank you, for who you've made me.