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Yes, yesterday. Now what?

Nov 10, 2016 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Yesterday, November 9, 2016, I did all the things I always do:

I made coffee. I journaled. I gave my daughter a hug before she left for school. I made my bed. I took a shower. I blow-dried my hair. I put on makeup. I got dressed. I spritzed perfume. I donned earrings, necklace, bracelets, ring. I cooked oatmeal and added berries. I perused and posted on Facebook. I answered a few emails. I prepared for and talked with my clients.

You’d think it was just another day.

Which it was, of course.

Which it was not – in any way, shape, or form.

In the midst of doing all the things I always do, my heart was strong-but-heavy. I could not, nor can I yet today, escape the permeating awareness of the days-ago election or tomorrow’s unknown.

But as I did all the things I always do, as I sought to incorporate reality into my psyche, as my day went on and I listened to my daughters, talked with friends, answered more emails, fixed dinner, and prepared for a night of sleep, I found myself thinking of other women.

Centuries of them – who survived atrocities, hatred, violence, genocide, slavery, silencing, shame, and yes, misogyny. Who made the bed and hugged their children and got dressed and cooked breakfast. Who lived and lived and lived.

The more I thought about them, the more I thought about the particular women within the stories I tell. Somehow, despite all the silencing and shame they’ve known, the atrocities of their time, the layers of theology and dogma (and misogyny) under which they’ve been buried, they have survived. And that gives me hope. They give me hope.

Where there’s hope, there’s life. It fills us with fresh courage and makes us strong again. ~ Anne Frank

Yes. Hope is what we need. And hope is what women offer us. Centuries of them. As far back as the stories I tell, even further, and every age since. They rally on our behalf. They rise up and remind us that we are to do the same, that we will do the same.They come alongside us, even still, even today, especially today, in solidarity and strength. They catch our tears, soothe our tired brows, mend our broken hearts, and whisper – call – sing us back into strength.

Can you hear them? Listen closer. They are chanting, drumming, thundering the words they most want us to remember, most want us to believe, most want us to embody:

“Live and live and live!”

There are moments when I feel like giving up or giving in, but I soon rally again and do my duty as I see it: to keep the spark of life inside me ablaze. ~ Etty Hillesum

This is what we will do: live and live and live.

So, my friends, let us have faith in each other. Let us not grow weary. Let us not lose heart, for there are more seasons to come, and there is more work to do. ~ Hillary Clinton (from yesterday’s concession speech)

These are the things we always do – day-in, day-out: we hope, we persevere, we have faith in each other, we do not lose heart, we work, we love, and we live and we live and we live.

So, I’ve written a book…

Oct 19, 2016 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

The subtitle is “A Braided Essay on Women and Silence and Shame.” And it’s published, printed, physical, able to be held in my (and your) hands. All for a VERY particular reason. Well, far more than one, actually.

I wrote this in the context of my writing group. Just another piece to be offered in the safety and vulnerability of that sacred circle of four. And in truth, I didn’t think all that much about it. It was crafted. It was edited. It was strong, yes. But something happened when I read it out loud, when I told a story I’d nearly forgotten about, and then experienced it seen, heard, and honored. Something happened, yes; and something changed. With MUCH encouragement, it was clear that more had to be done.

So I (mostly) overcame my every fear, every internal caveat and objection, every reason to not make it available, every conceivable excuse, and now here.it.is.

I hope you will buy it. NOT for any money it might make for me (which will be a VERY small percentage, believe me), but for the following five reasons:

  1. Women need their voices heard and stories told. ANY form that encourages such, no matter how unconventional, needs to be encouraged, supported, and then replicated – again and again.
  2. The story I am telling is mine, to be sure, AND you will find your own story in the midst. It is a story that all of us have known in one way or another – that is too often unspoken, but in-the-water; that needs to be told, acknowledged, and yes, seen, heard, and honored.
  3. Once you’ve read this for yourself, it is my deepest hope that you will buy more copies – for your sisters, your daughters, your friends; that it will provide women the courage to no longer remain in silence or shame, but to speak and be seen.
  4. Something powerful happens when we allow ourselves to actually and finally birth that which has been gestating within for months (if not years); to move that which has stayed sheltered and ostensibly “safe” into the wider and visible world. And it is the celebration of such that welcomes and blesses. I’m inviting you to be part of that with and for me.
  5. It is only in naming what is true – no matter how hard – that we can hope for change. And so, that is what I have done.

I still feel afraid about putting it out into the world. My heart is racing, my hands are a bit sweaty, and I can compile a list a mile long of all the reasons I shouldn’t – which is exactly why I must. But here’s the thing: no matter my trepidation, my inner-critic (or even/especially the external ones), something has already been profoundly healed in my writing of this story and even more, in the publishing of it. I can’t begin to know the outcome of such in its entirety, but on some level it doesn’t matter. I’ve honored the story, the creative process, and my very self. And your purchase, far more, your reading and sharing of this work, confirms all of this AND reminds me (and all of us) just how powerful a woman’s story truly is; just how important it is that it be told.

Thank you for witnessing this with and for me; for participating; for seeing, hearing, and honoring – me.

Click here to buy Throwing Stones

You can read more about Throwing Stones by clicking on the image of the book above. There you’ll see more of my words and the words of those who have already read and heard it. Of course, once you have read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts, as well.

Bloodline

Sep 9, 2016 | Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

What if you claimed your legacy, your inheritance, your very bloodline?

As a daughter of Eve – the best Eve, the glorious Eve, my Eve. Made in the image of the gods, full of desire, and called good. Pursue your desire no matter what. Eat luscious fruit. Talk to snakes. Leave the garden you were always meant to depart. Listen to and follow what you hear, what you know to be true. Your heart cannot possibly lead you astray.

As a daughter of Hagar – who summons the made-manifest presence of the Divine into the hardest and most desert-like of times. You are seen, heard, and honored by that God, no matter what. You are blessed beyond compare.

As a daughter of the Woman of the Well – witty, wise, and worth hearing. Not shamed, but seen. Not harmed, but held in love, respect, and strength. You have a voice and a story that changes everything.

As a daughter of the Woman of Revelation 12 – birthing redemption into this world and worthy of the Divine’s most intimate care. Beautiful. Radiant. Gorgeous. Protected. Fierce. You are destined to reign.

As a daughter of countless ancient, sacred women who surround, support, and sing you into your truest, bravest, most glorious self. You are not alone.

Let me ask again: What if you claimed your legacy, your inheritance, your very bloodline?

What if, indeed.

May it be so.

Living an Ordinary Life

Aug 17, 2016 | Sacred Stories, Women's Wisdom

The desire, temptation, and lure to live an extraordinary life is strong; to figure out our “one thing;” to do – create – be – achieve – rise up – astonish – accomplish – shine.

It’s exhausting, really.

And it’s a relatively new phenomenon. Far before pressing existential questions like “what is my life’s purpose,” everyday choices were shaped by survival and perseverance, seasons and hours, shelter and sustenance, tribe and family. Ordinary life took precedence. And somehow, in the midst of such, extraordinary lives were lived.

A few examples from my lineage of stories:

  • Hagar: a slave who was forced to bear the child of her master and then banished to the desert with her young son, Ishmael – the eventual patriarch of Islam.
  • Ruth: a too-young widow who took care of a bitter mother-in-law. Hungry, she stole
    gathered wheat left behind by the harvesters. Eventually found out by the wealthy owner of that land, he married her. Their great-grandson was King David.
  • Mary: an engaged girl trying to make sense of an unexpected pregnancy became the
    mother of Jesus.

Their stories (and so many more) are of ordinary life lived. Like us, they were wives and mothers, daughters and cousins, sisters and friends. They knew desire and choice, tears and trauma. They birthed and nurtured, fed and cleaned. They spoke and sang, laughed and loved. They were fertile and barren, healthy and ill, strong and less-than, brave and afraid, named and unnamed. Ordinary lives that changed the entire world.

Lately, I have been fixated on the idea of living an ordinary life.

Parenting. Paying bills. Grocery shopping. Brewing coffee. Fixing meals. Cleaning. Driving. Writing. Working. Having conversations. Drinking wine. Sleeping. Waking. Laughing. Grieving. Being alone. Being together. Living life.

Still, underneath and throughout it all, I feel the incessant and insipid pressure to do more, be more, achieve more, accomplish more. Those internal and external messages have the wily ability to take front-and-center stage in my mind and heart. And when that happens, all the day-to-day aspects of my life get shoved into the shadows; the ordinary becomes drudgery in the illusive pursuit of the extraordinary.

BUT THAT’S NOT HOW IT (actually) WORKS!

It is in living an ordinary life that we are (actually) extraordinary. Not because we are trying. Not because we are striving. But because we are surviving and persevering – day-in, day-out. Good and bad. Easy and hard. Joyful and excruciating. Wins and losses. Gifts and hassles. People and places. Normal, everyday stuff.

Our choice to be ordinary, to simply be awake and present to what is happening around us, is what enables an extraordinary life. Nothing more. And certainly nothing less.

If, in the mix of all that we write a book, or stand on a stage, or build a successful business (and maybe all three!), it will only be because we have – in obvious and ordinary ways – taken the next step, done the next thing, walked through the next door, lived through the next day. NOT because we have pushed and prodded and persuaded ourselves to be more
amazing and incredible than we already are.

Follow the lead of Hagar and Ruth and Mary. Of Louisa May Alcott and Sojourner Truth and Audre Lorde. Of Golda Meir and Mother Teresa and ___________ (fill in the blank of your favorite extraordinary woman). They did not spend one moment trying to figure out how to be amazing and larger-than-life and phenomenal and extraordinary. They lived ordinary lives – one day at a time – focused on what mattered most, on the things about which they could not remain silent, on the work they could not not do.

Believe that you are enough…and not too much. And then just live your ordinary life. That is extraordinary. And so are you – already!

May it be so.

 

[A version of this post appeared on my blog just over 3 years ago. It feels just as true today…]

Where the Women Gather (and why)

Jul 25, 2016 | Mothers and Daughters, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

How might your life have been different if there had been a place for you? A place for you to go … a place of women, to help you learn the ways of a woman…a place where you were nurtured from an ancient flow sustaining you and steadying you as you sought to become yourself. A place of women to help you find and trust the ancient flow already there within yourself…waiting to be released…

A place of women…

How might your life be different?

I won’t speak for you, but I feeeeeeeeeel the longing within me as I read these words, as I let them soak into my pores, enter my imagination and bloodstream, and transmute my deepest hopes and strongest desires.

These emotions are being prompted, at least in part, by my ongoing awareness of just how much I think…and think…and think. Trying to make sense of things, figure it all out, reason my way through, find an answer. But in this place, where the women gather, all this thinking and reasoning and processing, though allowed and understood, is not the native tongue.

In this place, where the women gather, we feeeeeeeeeel. We trust. We know. Tears flow. Laughter abounds. No words at all need be spoken. And here, the truest, deepest part of us is honored and made whole.

In this place, where the women gather, we are surrounded and nurtured and loved.  Balm for the wounded soul. Comfort for the most tender of hearts. Strength for the weary and worn.

This place, where the women gather, is why I return to the ancient, sacred stories of women, stories worth telling. Because I desperately long for (and find) a gathering of women who serve as mothers, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers, great- and great-great-great grandmothers, the closest of friends. As I reimagine and redeem their stories, I reimagine and redeem my own. As I stay with them, and they with me, I slowly-but-surely let go of my thinking and reasoning and processing. They invite me in, offer me shelter and solace, courage and strength, and give me permission to just rest, just wait, just be, just feeeeeeeeeel.

They invite you in, as well.

Can you imagine?

How might your life have been different if there had been a place for you…a place of women, where you were received and affrmed? A place where, after the fires were lighted, and the drumming, and the silence, there would be a hush of expectancy…a knowing that each woman there was leaving old conformity to find her self…a sense that all womanhood stood on a threshold.

And if, during the hush, the other women, slightly older, had helped you to trust your own becoming…to trust it and quietly and prayerfully to nurture it…How might your life be different?

Imagine it. And then…just ask.

(Both quotes from A Circle of Stones: Woman’s Journey to Herself by Judith Duerk)

Not seeing the forest for the trees (yet)

Jul 5, 2016 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

I don’t know about you, but when I read or hear the stories of amazing women (which is ALL the time), I have the tendency to compare myself to them. And that never goes well.

I convince myself that I will not be one about whom amazing stories are told. Because I’m not her. I’m just me.

And every bit of this is totally wrong.

Here’s a story to prove my point:

Queen Esther. Ostensibly sex-trafficked as a young girl, she is corralled into the king’s palace, lives with the eunuchs, and is then trained for a full year to be able and ready to please the king (sexually, of course) if called. She lives as a potential consort right alongside all the other girls of her town and every surrounding town, right alongside all the king’s previous and current wives. And all under the dark cloud of awareness that the last queen, who dared to say “no” to this same king, was deposed and discarded. In the midst of all this, she becomes the chosen one, is named the king’s favorite, is heralded as Queen, and then uncovers a massive plot to destroy her entire people – the Jews. She manages to merit the king’s favor, trick the villain (who was not the king himself), usurp his wicked plans, and save thousands of people from genocide. And now, thousands of years later, she is still honored, her amazing story still told, still celebrated through the Feast of Purim, a festival within the Jewish tradition that honors the redemption she ushered into the world.

Who am I to think that my story could possibly be anything like hers?

And in truth, isn’t it just pouring salt on a wound to hear it in the first place and then be left feeling like there is SO MUCH to live up to? It’s impossible. I don’t begin to compare. Why bother even trying?

Again, every bit of this is totally wrong.

Here’s why.

Esther lived her life one day at a time. She faced the (often horrific) circumstances of her life in the best way she could in the moment. She took in distressing news and then acted as best she knew how in the moment.

She risked but not always. She spoke up but not always. She stepped forward but not always.

And when all was said and done – over years of time (not days, as the story so often sounds) – she became legend.

She could not possibly have seen the forest for the trees. She could not have seen the huge and sweeping plot that was taking place around her. She could not have seen the bigger narrative of which her seemingly-small life was a part. And she could not have seen how significant her life and story truly were.

Take heart, dear one; the same is true for you (and me).

Here is all that’s required:

  • Do the next thing.
  • Face your circumstances in the best way you can in the moment.
  • Take in distressing and dangerous news, then act in the moment.
  • Risk and speak up and step forward as often as you can, even if not always.

And consider this:

Maybe, definitely, it is best that you can’t see just how and important and significant your life truly is.

Just like Queen Esther. (Yes, you: just like her. Amazing!)

The most famous and well-known portion of her story is what her uncle Mordecai says
when she expresses her fear:

Don’t think for a moment that because you’re in the palace you will escape when all other Jews are killed. If you keep quiet at a time like this, deliverance and relief for the Jews will arise from some other place, but you and your relatives will die. Who knows if perhaps you were made queen for just such a time as this?

Yes, hugely significant and dramatic. I’ll give you (and her) that. But here is what matters:

“For such a time as this” meant (and still means) one moment at a time, one conversation at a time, one choice at a time, one risk at a time, one day at a time. Nothing more. And certainly nothing less.

Yes, be the queen. I’m all about that. Kick ass and take names and speak up and be bold. And know that the things that seem minor and insignificant and seemingly just the opposite of the amazing stories you read and hear are the stuff of “for such a time as this,” are the stuff of legend.

Paying the bills and having yet another conversation with your kids and telling your spouse or lover how you really feel and not pouring another glass of wine and not allowing fear to distract you from the writing that calls, or telling the truth, and all of the above and then some.

These are the details of your life – which matter, which make a difference, and, when all is said and done, are legendary. Because you are. You just don’t know it yet.

May it be so.