If we could have coffee together…

Dec 7, 2020 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power

If you and I were sitting across from each other, sipping coffee, it would be inevitable that eventually I would tell you stories.

Stories of ancient, sacred women who have miraculously stepped into my life, who have spoken into it, who have gifted me with the honor of speaking on their behalf.

I would tell you the story of Hagar, the Woman at the Well, and the nothing-short-of-glorious Woman of Revelation 12. I would tell you of Eve – of course! And Mary Magdalene and Hagar and the Persistent Widow and Jairus’ Daughter and Lot’s Wife and Noah’s Wife and Job’s Wife. (Yes, I wish they had names, too.)

I would recite an infinite list, filled with the ways in which each of them have been a transformational part of my story; about all that happened when I allowed myself to imagine their voices, their experiences, and their wisdom. 

I would tell you about how all of these stories and so many more, have been buried under centuries of patriarchy and religion’s doctrine and dogma (in which I don’t conspire).

I would tell you about how all of this has silenced their voices, often shamed them, left them misunderstood and frequently maligned, and worst of all, forgotten. And this is hardly unique to them – but the VERY thing that has happened to us. It’s a direct correlation: our stories, our voices have been buried, silenced, and filled with shame. We’ve been misunderstood and often maligned. 

Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t remember who we are or why we are here. ~ Sue Monk Kidd

I’d tell you what they’d tell you: “Your story is NOT to be mine! No more silence, shame, or misunderstanding. Live the story that we long for on your behalf – one filled with voice, courage, beauty, brilliance, and grace!”

And I’d tell you how I’ve been about this work for nearly 20 years now – curating these women’s stories, remembering them, reimagining and redeeming them, letting them speak. First, for them. It’s what they deserve. Second, for me – for my own story and my insatiable hunger for women’s wisdom – spoken on my behalf. And third, for you – because your story, your reality, your life deserves to be companioned, accompanied, supported, and strengthened by these stories; by women who know exactly what you feel, who know exactly who you have the capacity to be, when you remember, reimagine, and redeem your story.  

I write because there are stories that people have forgotten to tell, because I am a woman trying to stand up in my life. ~ Natalie Goldberg

This would be the stuff of more than just one cup of coffee, to be sure…

So, I do all of this through Readings: one woman’s story that will come alongside you in the New Year and offer you all of what you deserve to hear and know – the story you deserve to live!

The process of storytelling is itself a healing process, partly because you have someone there who is taking the time to tell you a story that has great meaning to them. They’re taking the time to do this because your life could use some help, but they don’t want to come over and just give advice. They want to give it to you in a form that becomes inseparable from your whole self. That’s what stories do. Stories differ from advice in that, once you get them, they become a fabric of your whole soul. That is why they heal you. ~ Alice Walker

These stories, the women within them, and every bit of their wisdom – honored in 2021 Readings are 50% off for a limited time – because I want you to have the healing they’ve given me.

*****

[In lieu of the gift of time and generous conversation over coffee, please reach out to me with any questions that come up for you about Readings – for yourself or as gift for someone else. I so want you to know why, with everything that’s in me, I believe in their power. [email protected]]

Photo by Brigitte Tohm on Unsplash

She was a voice

Nov 16, 2020 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

I ordered and read The Book of Longings last week. Written by Sue Monk Kidd, author of The Secret Life of Bees and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter (required reading for any woman who grew up in the church), it is the imagined story of Ana – wife of Jesus.

I won’t give the plot away, nor is that what this post is about; rather, the prayer Ana recites, cherishes, and lives into:

…Bless the largeness inside me, no matter how I fear it. Bless my reed pens and my inks. Bless the words I write. May they be beautiful in your sight. May they be visible to eyes not yet born. When I am dust, sing these words over my bones: she was a voice.

She was a voice.

She was a voice.

This nearly takes my breath away. 

But not before I inhale deeply – and then exhale an inexhaustible stream of words and emotions about how profoundly I long for this to be true. For me, to be sure. For my daughters. For my friends. For you. For countless women of the past who were not given voice (and about whom I write).

For too many women, yet today, who are still silenced – because of patriarchy, political realities, racism, bigotry, abusive marriages, fear, oppressive corporate structures, a predominant culture that blatantly prefers us quiet and compliant. The list goes on. 

Still, she was a voice.

More powerful than all that holds us down and back, within and without, is exactly that for which Ana prays:

sing these words over my bones: she was a voice.

A woman’s voice heralds wisdom.

A woman’s voice offers truth.

A woman’s voice brings justice.

A woman’s voice articulates desire.

A woman’s voice invites hope.

 

And without a woman’s voice? Well, that explains everything, yes? The lack of wisdom, truth, justice, desire, and hope. The list goes on.

If we want a world defined by wisdom, truth, justice, desire, and hope, then we must be a voice.

 

We are the ones who speak into being the life and reality we long for. This is the largeness within us…

No matter how we fear it.

Be the voice. The voice that you alone can express and embody. The voice that whispers and shouts within. The voice all of us long to hear – and already know dwells within you. Beautiful. Powerful. True.

She was a voice. May it be so.

My voice comes forth, at least in part, by reimagining and recreating the voices of other women – some you’ve heard of, many you have not. I do this through Readings – the personalized and powerful voice of one woman who speaks into your story in bold and winsome ways – who is already choosing you. 

I’m days away from making 2021 New Year Readings available (with an amazing discount!) All the wisdom, truth, justice, desire, and hope you desire and deserve as you (finally) put 2020 behind you and step boldly, courageously, and beautifully into all that is ahead – including your voice! SIGN UP to be the first to hear.

[Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash]  

Militancy + Hope + Desire

Oct 15, 2020 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

(A Sunday Sermon, of sorts – even though it’s not a Sunday…)

To refuse to participate in the shaping of our future is to give it up…Each of us must find our work and do it. Militancy no longer means guns at high noon, if it ever did. It means actively working for change, sometimes in the absence of any surety that change is coming. (Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider)

Mmmmm. This is relevant, yes?

It is far too easy – and tempting – to not be militant; to let minutes, hours, and days pass with a wish and a prayer that things will get better. But to intentionally choose to shape our future? Militancy, indeed, is required. 

Militancy PLUS every bit of the courage, strength, heart, wisdom, passion, and tenacity we possess. 

Here’s the good news: we have every bit of these things in endless supply! It’s what, and who, we are at core as women. (Don’t let anyone – especially yourself – tell you otherwise!)

And because we possess all of this and then some, there is hope.

Hope for change.
Hope for justice.
Hope, period.

I’ve had acquaintances over the years who have critiqued me for holding on to hope – as if it’s somehow too whispy and whimsical, not practical enough. I completely disagree. Clinging to hope is what turns our eyes and heart toward what can be, what must be, and everything that we desire. And desire? Don’t get me started…

Well, ok, just this: if I know anything it is that a woman’s desire has the capacity to change the trajectory of the entire human race! It’s that powerful. You are.

So pursue desire (no matter who you upset along the way).

Choose hope (and defy anything that would influence you otherwise).

And be militant (on behalf of the change, the future, the world we long for and deserve).

 

Practically speaking, in the very near term, this means voting, advocating, speaking out, showing up, and doing everything in our immense-and-unstoppable power to actively work for change, yes, “sometimes in the absence of any surety that change is coming.”

And just because: one more worth-repeating quote of Audre Lorde:

When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.

May it be so.

The shadows are not our home

Sep 27, 2020 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons

We wake up each morning and watch the world around us burn. We see corruption, scandal, and the decimation of democracy. We see sickness and intentional disregard for collective healing and health. We see injustice, racism, violence, and willful perpetration of all three. It is heartbreaking, infuriating, and exhausting. So it’s not surprising that we sometimes prefer to pull the covers over our head, cross our fingers that things will get better, and go back to an unsettled and restless sleep.

The shadows seduce, to be sure. But they are not our home.

I know this because of my own stories – lived experiences in which I’ve feebly-but-miraculously watched the darkness dissipate as I stepped into the light, into my own strength and voice and agency. I know this because of the countless stories of women I love, reimagine, retell, and take respite in – again and again. Overcoming centuries of maligned tellings, they are light personified and embodied; they are beacon and guide. And I know this because of so many other stories I cherish.

One of my favorites is The Lord of the Rings. I have read the book and watched the extended edition films almost as ritual. Throughout, Frodo, Sam, and those who aid their quest, are far more familiar with shadow than light. At times the pressing weight is more than they can bear; somehow, they persist and (barely) survive. This scene offers me both respite and invitation. Sam says,

“I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going, because they were holding on to something.”
“What are we holding on to, Sam?”
“That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo…and it’s worth fighting for.”

Indeed. When we step out of the shadows and into the light, when we hold on, when we keep fighting, we become the switch that’s flipped in a pitch black room. The cellphone flashlight that nearly blinds. The lone candle that warms an entire space. The campfire that glows. The bonfire that cleanses. The star that shines. The laser that burns.

Even as the world burns, an election looms, and systemic bigotry and hatred run rampant. Even as we lose jobs or struggle within them. Even as we internally debate about speaking up or staying silent. Even as we wrestle with compliance, compromise, and the cost of defiance. Even as we rage, ache, and weep. In every bit of it – always, all the time – the light endures. We do.

Further into the story and far from home, Sam reflects:

“For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing; there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.”

The shadows are not our home. We must trust that the light endures…and step into it.

And how? The answer is as unique as each of our stories. We speak up. We stand tall. We say no. We say yes. We step forward. We act. We choose. We vote. We rage. We love. We hold on. We fight. We blaze – brilliant, blinding, breathtaking.

When we do, the darkness has no choice. It must flee.

May it be so.

[I am not remotely confused: I write these words for my own sake, for my own encouragement, for my own clarity and compulsion and next steps. I’m hopeful they offer you even a taste of the same, a bit of light in the darkness, a Sunday sermon of-sorts.]

Photo by Chronis Yan on Unsplash

A shocking event (with some context)

Sep 20, 2020 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons

A Sunday sermon, of sorts, that I hadn’t planned to write…

You know those movies that start with a shocking event? After the scene is set up, the next 90 minutes take you back in time and slowly, bit-by-bit, carry you forward until you can see the event again – this time with comprehension and context.

That’s the way of life, isn’t it? Something shocking happens. We go back in our minds. We pour over every detail, every circumstance, every conversation in order to make sense of things. Simultaneously we are required to move forward, albeit haltingly; we put one foot in front of the other, almost surprised that we can do such a thing until, finally, we catch ourselves in a present moment, clear, awake, and aware.

My shocking event: I resigned from my job on Thursday.

Let’s go back…

Last week I wrote about crossroads, staring over the edge of a cliff, and knowing there will be consequences and costs no matter what decision we make. It was about saying ‘no,’ not compromising, and choosing self – always – no matter what. (And weirdly, wildly…or not…I wrote it before knowing what this week was yet to bring.)

How are we to know if our decision is the right one? How are we to rely on (or cling to) some level of confidence and surety, no matter the s**t storm that is about to descend?

My answer to these questions – for myself (and for you)? We listen to our soul.

I know. It sounds a little bit cheesy. Less-than-practical. “Where are the pro and con lists, Ronna? The Excel spreadsheets? Weighing all the options?” I’m not opposed to any of these; I’ve utilized them myself, believe me. Still…

First, last, always, the soul is where we turn. It’s our deepest knowing. The still, small voice. Or maybe not still and small at all: it’s the voice that screams within. We feel its press, its pulse, its presence. It stays.

Of course it stays. It’s our soul. It is the essence of who we are. It is endlessly intact. It cannot be shaken, shrunken, or silenced. It is our wisdom. Your wisdom. Not conventional wisdom, not objective wisdom, not book wisdom, not dogmatic or doctrinal wisdom. Not wisdom sanctioned by others. Yours. It’s what you know. Even (and maybe especially) if you can’t make sense of it for others, at times, yourself included.

It’s a life’s effort, of course. I have countless stories in which I couldn’t acknowledge my soul’s accuracy and trustworthiness until after-the-fact. I didn’t make the decision I knew I should, but inevitably looked back and said, “I knew. I knew. I knew!” And in that reflection, I learned. I have other stores (fewer of them) in which I took the tiniest, bravest steps forward. It was (and is) scary, foggy, unknown. But with each movement, no matter how tentative, I felt the ground beneath my feet get firmer. I looked around and ahead and said, “I do know. I can do this. I am right.” (My soul was right.)

I’ve been rewinding so many of these stories in past days. In the midst, I have deliberated, crafted pro-and-con lists, and even constructed an Excel spreadsheet or two. I’ve had countless conversations with myself and others. And I have heard my soul speak with impossible-to-ignore clarity. I’m still free-falling a bit, to be honest. But I’m also completely confident the ground will rise up to meet me.

I can hear my soul breathe, ‘yes.’

I could not have done this were it not for so many of my own lived stories – the ones in which I did NOT listen and, thankfully, a few in which I DID. I could not have done this were it not for the beautiful and brilliant tribe of women who support, advocate, and cheer me on. (Thank you: you know who you are.) I could not have done this were it not for the generations of women who have gone before – a chorus of wisdom that dwells within and says, “We are here. We know. We see. We understand. You can trust your soul. You can trust yourself. Hear our ‘yes.’”

And now, one more soul has joined that chorus: Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Shocking. Heartbreaking. Incalculable loss.

But when we rewind, her wisdom and legacy remain and sustain. Her soul speaks to mine (and I’m guessing yours) in ways more powerful and undeniable than ever:

“So often in life, things that you regard as an impediment turn out to be great, good fortune.”

Confirmation. Affirmation. Advocacy. Yes, another ‘yes.’

So, movie over. Popcorn gone. A Monday on the way. And if the film was any good, lots to keep thinking about, feeling into, reflecting on. That’s my plan – accompanied by the wisdom of RBG, so many other women, and what I’ve learned to rely on in myself, my very soul. Hearing ‘yes’ everywhere. Letting it compel the next, tiniest, most hesitant of steps forward…Hopefully for you, as well.

May it be so.

‘Yes.’

[Photo by Charles Deluvio on Unsplash]

The you you know best

Jan 28, 2019 | Hope & Encouragement, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Who would you be if you didn’t hold back?

If all your power, compassion, love, and strength roared into any room, any conversation, any relationship? If you glided through earth and sky and sea, nothing able to hold you down, hold you under, hold you captive? If you rode upon the back of a lion, blazing across the surface of the sun? If you danced in the light of the fire with abandon; no hint of restraint? If you spoke at a nearly guttural level, bringing words, ideas, and emotions to the surface that surprised even you? If you conjured up the most powerful and potent wisdom then dispersed it into the darkest of spaces, the hardest of hearts, the saddest of souls, the hopeless, the helpless?

You would be you.

The woman who is set-loose, impossible to contain, and a carrier of the Divine. The woman you see in your dreams and get glimpses of when you’re angry, ecstatic, passionate, heartbroken. The woman who knows what to do and what to say. The woman who would eradicate all injustice with a single flick of her wrist. The woman who would heal all hurts in one huge embrace. The woman who would sing her kin into strength like a Pied Piper-ess.

The woman who, with one inhale, would gather the galaxy into her very soul and with one exhale, restore our wounded planet to wholeness once again. The woman who dances and dances and dances the world into joy and fullness and passion and truth.

Within you dwell all the women who have gone before – your direct lineage, to be sure, and that of every woman whose story was ever told and especially those that weren’t. Within you sing the voices of thousands who have lain silent for generations but who are, even now, gathering their strength, their force, their shared wisdom to cry out, to proclaim, to weep, to laugh, to transform. Within you flows royal, sacred blood that is yours to own, yours to take nourishment from, yours to transfuse into all and everything you love. You know that this is true; that this is you.

You’ve been feeling it more and more. And truth-be-told, it scares you a bit (though not all that much). This you is powerful.

Ahhh yes, you know her!

May it be so.