"Barge Cement" a is a type of glue apparently used to bond the soles to the lasts of Birkenstocks. That keeps the cover on the support. My writing instructor used the phrase to help his class divine bonding agents, things that hold in place or hold together. I wrestled with the concept, thinking of glue and tape and twine and other things sticky and tough. Like the bubble gum on the bottom of my shoe holding me to the pavement or the "used to be" hard candy in my son's overall pocket when I pulled it from the dryer . . . the pocket that now has a three-dimensional quality of its own, is bonded eternally and will no longer be the repository for rocks and worms and other things of value.

          But holding together goes deeper than the slightly silly and superficial, the obvious and concrete. Holding together is a plan for our lives. So how do we cope and hold it together? How do we manage this miracle of being when around us are so many who obviously have given up trying or weren't any good at it in the first place? Is there some secret for living or must we become masters at just "holding it together?"

          Essential to our egos is a strong sense of who we are personally. Me? I recently discovered that I am a writer. That is not to say that I am great or even might be great but I AM a writer. The funny thing with such a determination, though, is that it does not produce confidence that my writing will be accepted and acknowledged or that I might make a living at it. What is a writer today? We have had ample evidence recently of the worlds' view in the media circus surrounding Joan Collins who has been "finally acknowledged as a writer," (in her own words). I adamantly reject the notion that Joan Collins is a writer!

          So, if I AM a writer and Joan Collins is not, why is it that she was awarded $3.5 million for NOT writing a book and I get a bill for $34.95 for a box of paper on which to print what I have written? Here are grounds for wondering how we manage to hold things together. How do we deny the reality of what's happening around us in favor of the world we have created for ourselves? That's the trick. We must appreciate the talents that God has given us irrespective of what He has given to others and certainly irrespective of what the "world" has conferred on others.

          I watched Ms. Collins in the courthouse twitching and wiggling as nervously as some four-year-old. She is not a writer. She can't be if she has to wait for validation from some courtroom. And it couldn't possibly have cost her $3.5 million to put on paper whatever it is she put there. For $34.95 I can write an entire book. For under $20 I can produce a book of printable poetry. Do you want to read it? Whether you do or not is not the measure of whether or not I am a writer and a poet. I do not need vindication or validation from some judge in order to hold who I am together. Without twitching. I find it sad, however, when I consider how many fine writers could be in print for $3.5 million.

          Next, I scrutinized pictures of Ms. Collins in the newspaper. There she was, in all of her Hollywood beauty. I know how she holds it together. With plastic surgery, tummy tucks, lipo-suction, hair dye and a myriad of personal attendants to make sure every cell and every hair is perfectly made-up and coiffed. But did you notice her hands? YOU FORGOT YOUR HANDS, JOAN! So, posed carefully with just a slight tilt to her chin and in semi-profile to best show off the Barbie-doll tip of her nose, there were those hands. The hands of someone at least 50 years old. Hands like mine.

          Now I have a clue about how I hold it together. I'm not all of the things a woman is somehow supposed to be. I don't "bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan." I don't want to. I am a wife and mother and writer. I may also be a teacher. Everything else is what I do and not what I am. I have hands that match my face and THAT, folks is part of what holds it together for me. The wrinkles and imperfections gained with living and loving. The scars and moles and undetermined spots (heaven forbid they should be age spots!). I have not sculpted myself to some unrealistic ideal; I have learned to bend. Through the years I have changed and as I have learned to accept the changes in myself, I have of necessity learned to accept changes in others. And differences. As they happen rather than when it becomes fashionable or politically correct. I do not have to wait for someone else to declare what I am. I do not have to be nervous about another's judgement. It is only an opinion and has no power over me. It cannot tear apart what I am holding together.

          I feel sorry for the Joan Collins's of the world who are not allowed to grow old. They will never reach their potential. They can tell you all about having to wait in a surgeon's office and the suffering they experienced there in terms of self-doubt. They can write scintillating novels about lust and short-lived love affairs. They cannot tell you WHO they are, though, because few have had the courage to look inside to find out. The ability to hold things together is being able to know yourself . . . your body, your mind, your soul . . . and letting each portion have space for its own expression. At the same time, we must be able to accept the ugliness within ourselves without condemnation. We need not let it rule, mind you, but it needs recognition. We are less than whole individuals and cannot reach our full potential if we do not acknowledge our true depths.

          Commitment is also a key to holding things together. It carries us through times of doubt and uncertainty just as commitment and faithfulness carry us through troubling times in a relationship. Without commitment, marriages fall apart. Without commitment to ourselves, we fall apart. That is not to say we must be selfish, but rather that we believe in our own personal, intrinsic value as human beings. God made us in His image for a reason and that image is one of a whole being and not just a single aspect of it. Not physical perfection granted by a surgeon's scalpel, but perfection in the balance of our selves physically, intellectually and spiritually.

          I am committed to who I am. I am also faithful to who I am in much the same way that I am committed and faithful to my husband and family. I do not define the parameters of who they are but rather accept them as they are. My commitment to who I am does not define who I am but rather accepts it. In all its wrinkles. In all its internal ugliness. With a certain amount of grace and humor.

          Many other things have contributed to the ease and joy with which I stay cohesive. A sense of future since I am, after all, enrolled in community college at 48. My husband's love which provided strength when, along with other trials, our third child died. A supportive family when I receive rejection notices. None of these, however, is essential. Helpful, yes, but not necessary. All the love and support in the world will not make up for a lack of self worth. We cannot convince others that they have value. That who they are is inherently important. People cease to be important when their perceived value depends upon the judgement of others.

          Here, then, is the true glue that holds me together: a strong sense of who I am, the ability to accept imperfection and to change and a commitment to my personal integrity. I guess it's not a trick after all.