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For now. Not forever.

Feb 4, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I have felt more like a passive observer, than riled-up revolutionary since Donald Trump became president. Yes, I blogged the day of the election and the day after that. I have shared others’ videos and posts on Facebook. I participated in the women’s march. And I have engaged in deep and difficult conversations with clients, family, and friends. It’s hardly as though my head has been buried in the sand.

But somehow, it feels like it. No, that’s not quite it. It feels like that’s what you will think, that you will judge my reserved presence and restrained voice as willful, entitled, and privileged withdrawal, that I will not be seen and understood for who I am: a strong woman with passionate opinions, a good heart, and a powerful voice who chooses to not act and not
speak. For now. Not forever.

I am deeply distressed by Trump’s election, his rhetoric, his actions. But I am also deeply distressed by the social-media induced demand that I rise up and speak out; that if I do not, implicit and explicit shame is amply applied.

Believe me, I am all for rising up and speaking out! Rising up and speaking out have enabled the most significant aspects of my own change and transformation.

Rising up and speaking out are what I long for and invite in the lives of my readers, my clients, my friends, and my
daughters in every aspect of life – relationally, emotionally, professionally, creatively, physically, spiritually.

Rising up and speaking out are what women, in principal and by birthright deserve to do without fear of reprisal or consequence.

Rising up and speaking out are manifestations of the feminine at its
strongest and most fierce.

But so are standing still and being silent. In strike. In solace. In sadness. In solidarity. In the wake of all this election has threatened – the potential loss of freedoms, rights, and dignities that so many have fought so long to secure and uphold – may no collateral loss occur because we lose sight of that which cannot be taken from us, that which cannot be legislated, disavowed, or signed away by executive order: our strength and fierceness for one another – in all our complexity, difference, diversity, expression and sometimes even lack thereof.

I am not a passive observer. Whether I rise up like you, or don’t, speak out like you, or don’t, I am actively, tirelessly, and endlessly standing steadily and (for now) silently by your side – in advocacy, in loyalty, in hope, in love.

Forever. For you.

Goodbye, Twitter

Jan 9, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I cancelled and closed my Twitter account last week. 

I’m almost hesitant to mention it; it was so undramatic But maybe it deserves an epitaph or memorial of some kind… 

Maybe not. 

Years and years ago, Twitter was the place to be and I, like all just-beginning bloggers/entrepreneurs, knew I had to be there too. Yes, it was a marketing tool that served; a place to meet and greet, post and promote, respond and affirm. But far more, unwittingly and unknowingly, it was the platform through which I met some of my now dearest colleagues and friends. Relationships were sparked and started with 140-character tweets. Their sustenance beckoned and invited far more: hours-long conversations on Skype, later Google Hangouts, and thankfully, face-to-face in dear-deep-ongoing gift. 

I’m grateful: I got far more than intended or imagined from Twitter and now, beautiful relationships in hand-and-heart, I can leave it behind. 

No strategic business decision. No pros and cons. No second thoughts. No thought at all, other than, “I’m done.” With little fanfare and only a couple of simple steps (along with a frantic and almost instantaneous are you sure? email from Twitter itself), I clicked, “Yes, I mean it.” 

I’m wondering how this small and simple decision – and its implementation – speaks to more; how many opportunities exist in a day, week, month, and certainly year-and-life to say, “I’m done” and “Yes, I am sure;” how many things/realities/practices/pathologies/beliefs I maintain because they served at one time, but I’ve not looked at closely enough to determine if that is still the case. 

And I’m wondering what it means to (seemingly) risk not being seen or heard – whether that’s even true, whether it really matters, whether I care. 

So I ask myself: Is my strongly-felt desire to say “I’m done,” and “Yes, I’m sure,” to pull back – via leaving Twitter and a myriad of other micro and macro decisions – an attempt to escape my own demons, my fear and insecurity? Does being smaller (or at least quieter) somehow protect me from being misunderstood, disagreed with, rejected, not mattering at all? Is there something else going on here that I’m not looking at closely enough? 

I may change my mind, but for now my answer to all these questions is “no.”

I am not pulling back; I am standing still and strong. 

I am not attempting to escape my demons or avert fear and insecurity; I am naming them, looking them straight in the eye, and not backing down. 

I am not being smaller or quieter; I am choosing when and what I want to say – even (and especially) if it’s less. If I am misunderstood, disagreed with, rejected, or don’t matter, well, there’s little I can do about that and far more risk in thinking I can. 

And yes, there is something else going on here that, in truth, I’m looking at very closely and carefully. 

Believe me, leaving Twitter has nothing to do with any of this and it has compelled me to ask good questions and consider what matters more/most, to pay attention to what’s really happening in my head, heart, and life. 

Did you know that Twitter’s tagline is “it’s what’s happening”? No…It isn’t. 

What’s happening is the normal and ordinary and extraordinary and amazing and heartbreaking and challenging and courageous stories we live every day. What’s happening is the choices we make. What’s happening is the emotions we feel and trust and express (which include fear and insecurity, grief and sadness, hope and joy, desire and anticipation, contempt and disappointment, all of them). What’s happening is the conversations we have. What’s happening is the questions we ask. What’s happening is the work we do. What’s happening is the things we create. What’s happening is the homes we tend. What’s happening is the pets we care for (and who care for us). What’s happening is the people we love. What’s happening is the real world, exactly-as-it-is, in which we live – which might include the virtual one, but denitely doesn’t revolve around such. 

I have no witty or pithy ending to this post – which, ironically, feels appropriate in the context of “I’m done” and “Yes, I’m sure.”  And I only need 13 characters to say what I almost always do: May it be so.

January 1, 2017

Jan 1, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons

What dreams lie dormant hidden in the womb of your soul, quietly waiting, incubating seeking opportunity to come forth? Like the female cycle that comes every 28 days, over and over again, dreams come to rest in the soil of your mind. They compel you. They disturb you. They haunt you with visions of possibility. They prompt you to walk restlessly through life knowing that you may someday stop, listen and decide to nourish them with faith and action. Yield to the silent urging. Listen. Hear. Receive. Let the dream speak. For it will burst forth from the womb of your spirit. It frees into existence something that lives, brooding in the corner of your mind. Hold the seed. Grow the seed. Birth the seed. And life will begin anew. ~ Stella Payton 

May it be so.

Boom-Boom, Boom-Boom

Jan 18, 2016 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

I often listen to podcasts in the morning. Out of the shower, getting ready for my day. Today’s didn’t really offer anything all that new. But apparently I need to hear the same thing – spoken a million different ways and a million different times by a million different people – before I actually hear it. Today was that day.

The guy was talking about his career. Well, his previous career, actually. He’d been the pastor of a huge church, thousands upon thousands attending every Sunday. The role required that he wear two predominant hats: one as leader, the other as teacher. He loved the teaching hat – the writing, the reading, the research, the crafting of new and innovate ways to communicate all that he held in his head and his heart. And though he didn’t often say it out loud, he saw this aspect of his work as “art.” The leadership part? That drug him down and made him crazy. So, he did what any person might do in a similar bind: he asked for advice. The “wisdom” he received? “Maybe your art needs to be sacrificed for the greater good, on behalf of your larger and more important responsibilities” (my paraphrase).

When seeking guidance, don’t ever listen to the tiny-hearted. Be kind to them, heap them with blessing, cajole them, but do not follow their advice. ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes

He did not, thankfully. He eventually walked away and crafted an entirely different (and un-advised) life for himself that didn’t turn out all that badly, (He was recently on tour with Oprah).

Back to the podcast: there was more of his story, what happened after he walked away, etc., and then the part I’ve heard at least 999,999 times:

“You know that thing you just keep hearing inside, like a big kick-drum that just keeps going boom-boom, boom-boom in your chest? That thing? That’s the thing you’ve gotta do! No matter what! That’s your art. That’s your passion. You’re on the planet to pursue that beat!”

Yep. Got it. But this time, apparently the millionth time, here’s where I went:

What if Eve heard this podcast? What if having an interesting conversation with a snake and bucking the system and breaking the rules and reaching for the fruit and eating it and giving it to Adam and leaving the Garden and venturing out in the world and creating and living was the boom-boom, boom-boom in her chest?

Still a leap beyond-imagining? OK. How about this?

Once upon a time there was a woman who lived what appeared to be an idyllic life. Still, she felt like something was missing, like there was more to be seen and experienced, like something was calling her to a world beyond that one she currently knew. She could almost taste the opportunity to step into her truest self, to seal her destiny, to create her legacy. It was a HUGE decision, no question about it. There would be consequences to be sure. Still, how could she not reach out and grab all that she’d been imagining and dreaming and planning and hoping for so very long?

If she were my client here’s what I’d tell her:

That boom-boom, boom-boom? That’s the spark-of-the-Divine beating within you! Trust-trust, trust-trust that when you listen to and follow that beat, the life you will live will defy all stories ever told, will surpass anything you’ve imagined, will create legacy and impact beyond belief! In fact, your story, one of these days, will probably be one that is told until the end of time! How can you not reach for what you want?!? Yes, it will be hard. Yes, people may disagree with your decision. And yes, it’s highly possible there will be hell to pay (some would say, literally). But the story that is yours to tell and live? Epic stuff, truly!

That may be what I’d tell her (and you and certainly myself), but it’s hardly what we’ve been told about her. Instead, we (well, the collective, cultural “we”) have used her story as perfect example of what not to do, as irrefutable evidence that listening to and trusting the drum that beats within is just asking for trouble.

The stories we are told create the ways in which we make sense of the one in which we live. The way those same stories are interpreted define the rights and wrongs by which we live.

Eve’s story has determined how we understand right choices and wrong ones, risky choices and safe ones, wise choices and foolish ones. So instead of honoring her boom-boom, boom-boom, we have learned to listen to a familiar hiss that sounds a little something like this:

“Don’t follow that beat. Disaster and destruction surely await the entire planet (or at least your corner of the world) if you take that chance, state what’s true, write that post (or book), leave that job (or marriage), make that choice, eat that fruit, follow that beat. Don’t do it!”

But here’s the thing: Eve’s story is just a story…just like yours!

And because that’s true, I have total permission to tell her story as I wish (my boom-boom, boom-boom) and you have total permission to write, tell, and live brand new ones for yourself! Boom-boom, boom-boom!

Even if you don’t tell her story differently, I’m hopeful that hearing it for the millionth time will help you see it (and Eve) a new way; more importantly, that it will help you see your story a new way.

What story would you imagine, write, tell, and live if you could?

That, that is your boom-boom, boom-boom!

I’m right about this.

Boom-boom, boom-boom…May it be so.

Letting Go and Holding On

Jan 4, 2016 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Wisdom

Living through years of infertility taught me an invaluable lesson. And truth-be-told, I continue to learn it just as, if not more profoundly as a parent:

Much that happens (or doesn’t) is not in my control.

The strength of my desire does not alter this reality one iota. The endless spinning in my brain to understand the “why” does not change what’s true. My dissociation and/or denial does not mitigate surrender’s incessant demand. But still I fuss and fight! I desire more. I visualize and dream and plot and plan. I think harder. I analyze everything. I labor and strain.

Nothing moves. Nothing changes. At least not in the way I want.

I am required to loosen my grip, to let go.

 

Not of my dreams or desire and never of hope, but of the outcome, the timing, the particulars, my certainty, my dogmatism, my stubborn belief that I am in control.

This is the challenge, yes? To do good work without guarantee of impact (or income). To write without demand of publication (or perfection). To be creative without fear of critique. To love without requirement of its return. To dream and dream and dream without promise of its waking-fulfillment. Yes, this is the challenge…and… it’s also our deepest calling.

We must let go and hold on at the same time. It is the tension between the two that is the nature of our journey, that does – endlessly and always – compel our growth and transformation, that is the incontrovertible evidence of the sacred in our midst.

How else are we to understand our capacity to hope in the midst of despair, to find light in darkness, to get out of bed despite overwhelming grief, to see beauty and hear music and feel wind and drink coffee and eat chocolate and ever, ever laugh? How else are we to explain the fact that we have survived, that our hearts have continued to beat, that still we continue to dream and desire and yes, love?

In admitting that there is much over which we have no control, we do let go. And in letting go we realize that there is much worth holding on to, even more, that we are worth holding onto.

It is in letting go that we are able to hold on to ourselves. And that, amazingly enough, we can control!

May it be so.

Permission Granted: the God YOU choose

Aug 1, 2015 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality

It used to be, when lost in places of confusion, hurt, or pain, I would turn to the God of whom I’d been told and taught – completely certain that if I just looked hard enough, had faith enough, believed enough, everything would make sense. There had to be an answer, a template, a rubric, a principle to apply.

It never occurred to me that there were no answers. It never occurred to me that perhaps my plight was not because I was doing something wrong (not being good enough, devoted enough, disciplined enough, obedient enough). It never occurred to me that sometimes, oftentimes, things have no rhyme or reason to them at all.

There came a time, not all at once, but over many years, in which I stopped looking to God (at least the one of whom I’d been told and taught). I began to allow questions instead of seeking pat answers. Graciously, maybe even miraculously, I began to look within.

What do I know? What do I feel. What do I desire? What do I believe? What if the God of whom I’d been told and taught isn’t the only one, the only way? What if there is something more? What if I am something more? (Wouldn’t that be something?!?)

As my questions rose, so did my voice. I rejected (at least for a time) an entire interpretive, exegetical history. I articulated my rage at the patriarchy. I swirled and screamed and shouted to whoever would listen and even those who would not. I asked more questions: What of the women? Where is her voice, her perspective, her lens? And if Hers is silenced, missing, ignored, what about mine? These questions did have answers. And I knew them – inherently and intuitively within.

These days, I find and treasure places of rest, overlap, and even healing in which the God(s) of my past and present merge, where the tension is soothed, where I can breathe, where I can imagine, where I can be.

I continue to listen and question and wonder – certain of and comforted by this:

There is no static God, no singular understanding, no immutable truth. This is grace and gift.

Every (attempt at) comprehension throughout the centuries has arisen from someone’s questions, musings, and imagination – their particular culture, philosophy, and way of being – which is ever-changing, ever-evolving. I’m a “someone.” So are you.

If there is an immutable truth, it is this: we have complete and unfettered permission to understand and experience God/the Sacred in ways that speak to, inform, and transform us – uniquely, individually, perfectly.

  • Who might the God/Sacred be that invites us to hear and trust our own brilliance, our own power, our own heart with complete confidence?
  • Who might the God/Sacred be that reminds us of our strength and worth?
  • Who might the God/Sacred be that already dwells within us – waiting, watching, loving, and longing for us to step up, speak out, say yes, say no, say “now”?
  • Who might we be if this was the God/Sacred in whom we believed, trusted, dwelled?

With so much hope that it may be so for you and me both . . .