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Do the Next Thing

Jul 2, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty

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.

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 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 (not the king), 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 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 matters, which makes a difference, and, when all is said and done, is legendary.

Because you are. You just don’t know it yet.

May it be so.

As 2018 begins…

Dec 26, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

Rebecca Solnit has written a book called, The Mother of All Questions: Further Reports from the Feminist Revolutions – now in my Amazon cart. One quote, read just this morning, convinced me I needed it as part of my library:

The task of calling things by their true names, of telling the truth to the best of our abilities, of knowing how we got here, of listening particularly to those who have been silenced in the past, of seeing how the myriad stories fit together and break apart, of using any privilege we may have been handed to undo privilege or expand its scope is each of our tasks. It’s how we make the world.

I read these words and immediately acknowledge that no truer or better work could be done or hoped for as we step into 2018.

At the risk of sounding redundant, here is Solnit’s quote in list form along with some questions I’m asking myself…maybe you:

Tell the truth to the best of our abilities.
What is the truth that I have been resisting, that deserves to be heard, that WILL change my world and potentially/probably others’?

Know how we got here.
What are the stories I have lived that have compelled and shaped who I am today? What of these need my attention, my affirmation, my intentional healing and change?

Listen to those who have been silenced in the past (a la Harvey Weinstein, not to mention an entire freight train of stories throughout history).
What are the specific ways in which I can create invitation and space for stories not heard, for women who still feel unheard, even for myself?

See how our stories fit together and break apart.
Will I recognize that my story is both the same and different from others’? Will I allow the complexity, the both/and, the dissonance, in order to expand my heart on my own behalf and far, far beyond?

Use our (acknowledged and expansive) privilege to undo such and expand its scope.
What steps am I willing to take to ever-admit and name my own privilege? What will I do to utilize such (and let go of such) on behalf of those who need and deserve it?

I won’t presume to write your New Year’s Resolutions for you, but these might just serve as prompt or verbatim; a way to “make the world” we long for, hope for, and so desperately need.

May it be so.

To hope is to gamble. It’s to bet on your futures, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, and yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk. ~ Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark

The deep and ever-present wisdom…

Nov 11, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

HEARING VOICES

We all have at least one – often a legion of them. They speak when we least want them to. They show up when we most wish they would disappear. They whispers into our ear when we venture into new (and necessary and powerful) territory. They shout when we start to speak the words that need to be said, must be said, that we can’t not speak.

Not one bit of what those inner voices have to say comes as a surprise. Not remotely novel or unique. An old, old saw that still cuts.

So, those of us who continue to grow and transform, seek to name them for what they are and move past their reach.

  • We hear the negative statements and reframe them positively.  “You’re so stupid!” becomes “I may make mistakes, but more times than not, I make the right choice.”
  • We recognize the voices – and their power – but choose to not respond to their incessant harping.  We separate from the destructive thought and (hopefully) become stronger.
  • We look at what we are hearing with acuteness and specificity – acknowledging what just is NOT true: “I’ll never be successful” just isn’t an accurate statement.
  • We pay attention to what the voice is saying, identify the “who” it most closely represents, and choose to learn from it.

It’s this last one that I want to speak to, that I utilize (with far more success than the other three), that I want to invite and encourage in and for you.

LISTENING TO THE VOICES

Instead of just disregarding them, reframing what we hear, or even naming them as inaccurate and untrue, we gain immeasurable wisdom from paying attention to what they are actually saying. And maybe it’s just me, but immeasurable wisdom is what I want.

IMMEASURABLE WISDOM IS WHAT I ALREADY HAVE!

As do you…

When you listen – closely, carefully, and with great attention – to the voices within that whisper, speak, and shout, you will discover an even deeper truth – the one that has been evading you but which has been present for decades, the one that offers you the very healing you long for most.

And underneath that deep truth? Well, that is where we want to go.

Underneath, deeper down, deeper still, is a far wiser truth, the you who always has and always will exist, a far wiser voice that has always been there and never leaves.

What is this voice? Where does it come from? How can you trust that it is there, that it operates within you, that it still speaks?

I’m so glad you asked.

It is the voice of every woman who has lived before you – and who dwells within – in your memory, in your subconscious, in your lineage, in your very DNA. It is in the air that you breathe and the unknowable-unnamable water in which you swim. It is embedded within every archetypal story that has ever offered you strength. It is speaking through every “mysterious-but-undeniable” experience you’ve ever had…but might have never talked about. It is present in every glimmer and glimpse of The Feminine Herself that does not, will not abandon you, no matter how many stories, circumstances, emotions, and core-beliefs cause you to think or feel otherwise. It just is. Because you are you.

Beautiful. Resplendent. Glorious. Wise. Amazing. Sovereign.

‘Don’t feel any of these things? ‘KNOW that they are somehow true, but cannot, for the life of you, step into them with any consistency or compelling commitment?

I get it.

AND this is what needs to happen, what must happen, and what you most long to have happen, yes? You: stepping into and standing in the you you truly are, always have been, and long to be.

May it be so.

My Inner Critic = The Patriarchy

Sep 5, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I was recently organizing files on my computer (something I do when I intend to write, but instead find busy work…) and came across a piece I wrote just over a year ago. Why I didn’t post it then, why I didn’t work with it more, I do not know…Well, I have a hunch, but I’ll get to that at the end. First, the writing I found…

 

*****

 

Perhaps this isn’t news to you, but I just realized this morning that the voice of the inner critic inside of me is the patriarchy; even more specifically, the patriarchal god.

This actually came as a shock to me – one I am still sitting with and trying to make sense of. But the second I wrote the words (which I will share in a moment), I knew this was true. And now that I know this is true, I have a clarity and certainty about some other things that I didn’t before (which I’ll also share in a moment).

First, how I got to this realization:

As is my normal routine, I journal in the morning. I set the alarm and, with the best of intentions, try my hardest to not look at the emails that have accumulated overnight on my phone. I go to the kitchen, fill the teakettle with water, get coffee measured into my French press, and then open up my 3-ring binder and take out two sheets of college-ruled paper. I take the cap off my very favorite pen and write the date in neat script on the top line.

By then the water is hot enough to pour into the press. I wait the four interminable minutes it takes for the coffee to steep, gratefully pour it into my waiting mug, then return to my chair, my notebook, the paper, my pen.

This morning I was recounting details of my previous day, reflecting on what was ahead in the hours to come, scribing a litany of words and questions and feelings. Nothing monumental. Nothing transformational. Just the practice of pen on paper, page after page, day after day.

In the midst of these musings, I began to write about my writing – this writing – this practice of pen on paper, page after page, day after day. As often happens, I dropped down a level – from information to reflection – and then, not surprisingly, to critique.

Why am I writing any of this? What is the point? What is its value?

And only because I have gotten just slightly wiser to its ways over the years, I began to write out exactly what my inner critic had to say:

What a ridiculous waste of time! How arrogant of you to think that your writing has the capacity to impact anyone. Are you kidding? Just because you’ve filled pages and pages over the years, doesn’t make you some kind of expert. And clearly, it’s not made any difference in your life. After all, you’re still listening to me, aren’t you? Why you don’t finally and once-and-for-all give up fighting me and trying to hear any other voice than mine? You know I’m going to endure, defeat, and conquer. I mean, really! What other voice has this much staying power, this much resolve, this much potency, this much influence? I am undefeatable! I am impossible to silence. I am all-powerful. I am God!

What? What? Wait! Go back. What did I just write?

A smile spread over my face and I immediately knew two things: 1) my daily writing practice which often, admittedly, seems trivial at times, actually matters – made obvious through three small words that are now out in the open and exposed; and 2) that “God” comment needs a LOT more attention!

My writing continued:

There. That’s the bottom line. The critic within me is God. Which is crazy – and not. This IS the God I’ve learned of, at least in part: the God I must fear, the God that keeps me in my place and silent, the God of the patriarchy.

More wheels turn as I speedily scribe and watch myself write these words:

Could it be that the inner critic IS the patriarchy, is the patriarchal God?

So, there you have it. That’s how I got to this realization and awareness. Now, as promised, the clarity and certainty about some other things.

I have understood the voice of the inner critic to come from, well, the inner-me. I have seen it as the collective voice of all those spoken to me throughout the years – negative messages I’ve heard, taken in, and believed. But even more, I have convinced myself that its volume and tenacity is because I have fed and fueled those messages, because I have not had the will or fortitude to disavow them. I have seen the inner critic itself as something inherently within me, as part of me.

And because of such, it is something to be exorcised out of me, something aberrant or wrong about me, something I must be blamed for and ultimately responsible for. The inner critic is clearly and resolutely my character flaw.

The problems with this are so prolific, I don’t even know where to start. Stories flood my mind – each one sticky with shame. And, truth-be-told, shame that has been self-inflicted: I should have done better. I should have tried harder. I should have stopped sooner. I should have said yes. I should have said no. I should have known.

Let me intentionally stop this tirade and go back to my earlier revelation: the inner critic is the patriarchy and even more specifically, the patriarchal god.

This is a big deal. A huge deal. A game-changer.

It’s like the great eye in Lord of the Rings (my VERY favorite movie, by the way). It turns, the focus shifts, and I recognize that the force that has controlled me for far too long and for which I have blamed myself, is something that is not me, something I could have no more stopped or controlled than been able to fly. And this not-of-me external force has allowed my shame because in so doing it has remained undiscovered, off the hook, and fancy free to wreak as much havoc as it likes.

As long as the patriarchy can keep me thinking that I am the one to blame, it has accomplished its greatest feat and highest aspiration.

And oh, how successful it has been.

I write some more.

Now you have revealed your cards. Now I know what I’m dealing with here. And now I know exactly what is needed to soother the beast, to tame this savage, to calm my very soul.

I need the God who speaks just the opposite, who reminds me who I am, who blesses and honors, who loves. I need the God of the women I know and the stories I tell. I need the God who speaks wisdom and grace. I need the God who is mother. I need the God who is feminine. I need the God who is far more fierce and powerful and all-consuming than the little god who isn’t one at all, but has somehow become confused.

And this God, though not often enough named as such, is alive and well and waiting within.

She rises still – and strong. She will yet roar.

Me too.

*****

Do you have a hunch as to why I didn’t post this piece until now, until just happening to stumble across it almost a year later?

Well, there’s this: the patriarchy (and/or the inner critic, and/or the Imposter Complex, call it what you will) is still alive and well – within me. The subconscious messaging that tells me to keep such things to myself, to only say what’s acceptable, to not expose it…ever.

Well, until now.

Maybe you, too?

God on a Woman’s Terms

Jul 31, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Spirituality

For most of us, the word “sacred” conjures some thought of God.

Perhaps you associate this with a positive set of adjectives, ideas, beliefs, experiences, and memories.

Perhaps not.

  • Perhaps your experience or understanding of God is one you’ve worked hard to redefine and redeem (on your own terms).
  • Perhaps you’ve walked away from all you were taught and have chosen to not reconstruct anything in its place.
  • Perhaps you’ve never learned of God in any formal way, but have always known that some greater power or force or energy existed; you just knew, no one had to tell you.
  • Perhaps you’ve known God by another name, by many names.

Whichever “perhaps” is yours or combination thereof, we can agree that it’s a complicated word, a complicated concept, and highly diverse.

As I grew up, in the way that I grew up, a diversity of understanding or experience was suspect. There was only one God and only one way in which “He” was to be understood and all others were misguided, at best, dangerous, at worst. We could only hope and pray that any who followed anything (or anyone) other would someday find their way to the truth.

As I grew up, my understanding of God changed. It continues to – for which I am profoundly grateful. The sacred (on my terms) is hardly static, but ever-evolving, ever-shifting, ever-growing, ever-transforming itself…and me.

  • My grown-up understanding of God allows, welcomes, and encourages a diversity of experience, naming, theology, and expression.
  • My grown up understanding of God recognizes that any attempt to define the Divine is mere folly and in and of itself delimits the very God I might try to comprehend.
  • My grown-up understanding of God encourages any form and comprehension of such because it realizes that if God is real, if God exists, if God actually is, then God’s very self is quite capable of managing a myriad of forms, thank you very much, and hardly needs my opinion or dogmatic stance.
  • My grown up understanding of God has let go of a Deity that deals in judgment, retribution, or shame.
  • My grown-up understanding of God realizes increasingly that God cannot be understood at all, only experienced, trusted, believed in, doubted, denied, and sometimes all of the above simultaneously!
  • And my grown-up understanding of God doesn’t have to be anything like yours.

I ran a quick search on Amazon in the “books” category with the word God. 481,502 entries exist – which is just the tip of the iceberg, given that the number is merely reflective of those with “God” in the title. I point this out because what I have articulated above is hardly exhaustive, hardly conclusive, hardly anything at all in the context of the Divine. As it should be.

Defining God is a paradox.

Any God worth believing in far-exceeds definition. So I prefer to remain confused, lost in mystery, ever-asking questions, pushing boundaries, risking sacrilege (which I don’t actually worry about at all), being dangerous (which I am completely fine with), and leaning- leaning-leaning into my desire.

Because the God I want to believe in is the God who believes in me. And when I encounter that God, I have come full circle – back to the myself which, if you’ve been following along, is the sacred.

Believe me: your experience and expression of the sacred on your own terms will be profoundly enhanced and exponentially more expansive when you decide for you what, how, and even who the Divine is – and isn’t.

The decision is yours. The choice is yours. And you can change your mind as you wish. You have permission!

So…do exactly this!

Carve out some time to create a couple of lists. No pressure. Nothing taxing or difficult or even required. Again, just curiosity and grace and kindness. On the first list write out everything that comes to mind when you hear the word God. No editing. No censoring. No holding back. On the second list write out every good quality, characteristic, and/or experience that you most deeply respect, even desire. Again, no holding back. Where do the two lists overlap? (It’s possible that your answer is “nowhere!”) Where do they diverge?

Now, consider a God who looks and feels far more like the second list than the first. If that list described God, what would your belief look like? What would your faith feel like? How would your trust be strengthened and made manifest? What would the sacred now mean? Who would you now be? Mmmmm. Exactly.

May you always remember the Beloved is your divine and sacred self. ~ Earthschool Harmony

My invitation and endless desire on your behalf:

Reclaim the sacred for yourself – on your own terms, in your own ways, through your own lens, on behalf of your own experience. Because you can. Because you must. Because the sacred is you, you know. The real, holy you. And you matter. A lot.

Somewhere between Kali and Jesus

Mar 1, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power

I am Kali Ma.
I stick my tongue out of my once silent lips.
These eyes, no longer mild,
Are furious daggers of fire.
~ a portion of a poem by Tanya Geisler

These words do not describe me. At least not as much as I wish they did and want them to.

My tongue is restrained behind my lower front teeth, afraid to breathe in too quickly for fear of the icy-cold pain that hits nerve endings and makes me wish I’d never opened my mouth. And my eyes? I wouldn’t say they are mild, particularly. I watch. I observe. I see – a lot. But fire? No. Any furious daggers thrown would more likely be at me than at you, others, or this world. In other words, I’m no Kali Ma.

I can still clearly picture various pieces of art that hung on the walls of rooms I frequented – my bedroom, throughout our home, at church. Two come to mind – both of Jesus. In the first he is holding a small lamb in his arms. In the second, he is standing on a flowered hillside, surrounded by small children – all different skin colors, shapes, and sizes. (Red, brown, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, went the accompanying song.) Both images are gentle. Both show the weak cared for by the Divine, the Divine as male.

And both intentionally served to remind me who I was – the lost sheep, the doting child; to remind me of my place in the scheme of things – silent lips, mild eyes. Hardly Kali Ma.

As I’ve reminisced, I’ve added more images to the queue – not framed and hung, but planted firmly in my mind. Yes, Jesus gentle-and-mild, but also women relegated to the shadows, who “belonged” on the margins, who were subservient and obedient and shamed if not. Added to these, the 60’s and 70’s plethora of happy moms, twig-thin models, and doting secretaries on billboards, in magazines, on TV. Unexposed to Gloria Steinem and 1st-wave feminism (not to mention goddesses of any kind), this infant, then girl-adolescent-young woman didn’t see much – if anything or anyone – who embodied or even considered Kali-like strength. Her antithesis, in many ways, has been my learned ideal.

Along with the pictures were stories told – almost all of Jesus. I rarely think of them these days, but they remain deeply embedded in my psyche. Sometimes for good, to be sure; but often in ways that have kept me sheep-like, childlike, beholding, and in need. In need of a God, a shepherd, a man. After all, he’s the one with the strength; he’s the one with the voice, the knowing, the wisdom; he’s the one with power. Not me. I need to be found, loved, embraced, and saved. (I don’t believe this anymore – the sheep, the child, the need – but that doesn’t mean the roots of such don’t remain and even reveal themselves in ways I’d rather they did not. In ways that are shockingly un-Kali-like – even now, even today, even all these years later.)

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like, what I would be like, if a picture of Kali Ma had hung on those same walls, if hers was the tale I was told.

What if hers was the image I displayed in my college dorm room then in first and subsequent apartments? What if she was the painting I’d kept ever-present in my many homes throughout the years? What if she was the face my daughters grew up seeing, asking me to tell them her story until they knew it by heart, until she was the one who dwelled within theirs?

What if, indeed.

Kali Ma conjures something far different than what I saw modeled, what I was taught.

Aggressive and unapologetic, her eyes gleam and spark. Her red tongue protrudes – ready to hungrily lick anyone who dares to draw near. The skulls that hang around her neck are hardly comforting, but reveal her fearlessness, even of death. All illusion is sliced away. Any wish for greener pastures or nurturing companionship is erased. Though a fierce, mother-like goddess, she does not abide a childlike state. Instead, she compels my strength. She demands my voice, my knowing, my wisdom. She exudes power and insists that it is mine.

She calls me to find, love, embrace, and save myself – and my world.

Oh, that I would.

And of course, I do. But not as much as I wish and want. Especially right now. It feels as though there is no time to lose, no time to waste, seemingly no time at all. As I ponder and muse about my past, all hell breaks loose in my present.

Xenophobia, violence, greed, racism and evil run rampant. Contempt and complete
disregard seem to reign. We desperately need Kali Ma. We desperately need Kali-like women.

Even so, something in me holds back – uncertain, unsure, unable to rise up and speak out.

Maybe the why of it doesn’t matter. Maybe all my attempts to unpack and unravel and understand are distractions from doing and choosing and acting. Maybe there’s nothing to inculcate or imbibe where Kali Ma is concerned. Maybe all I need do is live as if she is already inherent within me. Trusting until I believe. Having faith.

I’ve heard that before.

Do not misunderstand. I am angry. I am resolute and firm on so much that is just not acceptable. I am hardly docile, meek, or mild when it comes to my opinions about the destruction that is imminent, if not already at hand. Still, I feel more like sheep than wolf, girl than goddess, patriarchal-bound woman than pussy-hat wearing siren and seer. I unwittingly reside in this middle place – between contradictory beliefs and ideals, between conflicting principles and values, between faith and doubt, between hope and despair, between keeping my tongue tucked tightly behind my teeth or sticking it out and swallowing whole the ignorance and evil that pervades.

Stuck here, at least for now, I have no eloquent ending or tight conclusion to this piece. No passionate benediction that rallies the troops and calls us to arms. Not even some deeper self-awareness that offers me solace or strength. Which feels right somehow, though uncomfortable.

Kind of like faith.

So even if I can’t come up with a catchy ending, I can keep working on sticking out my tongue and letting my eyes be furious daggers of fire and opening my arms and protecting the weak and loving the children and believing in justice and somehow, somehow holding on to hope – that words will come and courage will sustain and love will conquer all.

In the meantime, I gaze at the pictures that now hang in my home.

Afraid yet fearless. Wise yet playful. Brave yet tender. Imperfect yet loved.
~ Kellie Rae Roberts

It is in the midst of misery that so much becomes clear. The one who said nothing good came of this, is not yet listening.
~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes

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.
~ Audre Lorde

Maybe the message is getting through…

And there’s still plenty of wall space – and time – to find and display a print of Kali Ma; maybe even Jesus.