You’re Allowed to Run

Aug 7, 2018 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

It is excruciating to be the victim of someone’s scorn, passive-aggressive behavior, or blatant harm. All of us have heard so many of these stories over the years. And…we’ve experienced the same. I doubt any of us are immune.

It is also excruciating to hear the voice within that tells us not one bit of this is ok and not respond in kind. We hear the voice that tells us to run, flee, get the heck out of dodge, but we don’t trust it; we don’t trust ourselves. Instead, we quickly see and tabulate the costs and consequences – and stand completely still. We don’t believe we have the strength to act, the capacity to survive, or the permission to consider anything other than persevering, staying put, grinning and bearing it. Believe me, I get it.

I hope you’ll also believe me when I say, You’re allowed to run!

I don’t necessarily mean this literally (though sometimes that’s exactly the right thing to do).

I do necessarily mean that you are wise-wise-wise to listen to your brilliance within that says “enough,” that stands up, that knows to walk-if-not-speed away – even if “only” emotionally and energetically – from places and persons that don’t serve you, don’t honor all you offer, don’t recognize all of who you are.

You’re allowed to run!

No matter how high the costs, vast the risks, or massive the consequences, you’re still allowed. I DO understand that you may very well choose not to. (Believe me, I get it.) But it matters that you know you have the right, the capacity, the strength, the permission, and most of  all, the desire.

Here’s what’s true: when you speak your inalienable “yes” or “no,” when you honor your intuition, when you trust your integrity-filled heart, and then run – no matter what that looks like for you, the Divine shows up – profoundly, miraculously, magically, overwhelmingly – because you do!

I am speaking from personal experience, to be sure. Even more, I am speaking on behalf of another woman – an ancient, sacred one – who lived EXACTLY this story. She was marginalized, abused, misunderstood, unheard, and unseen; still, she gave herself permission to run. And she did. Straight into the desert. (Not a spa-like, Palm Springs desert, mind you; a desolate desert. In some ways, she had to feel that things got worse instead of better. (Sound familiar?) But because she listened to the voice within that said “no more,” and because she acted, she was saved – in every possible way. She was seen/heard/met by the Divine. She was blessed immeasurably.

She walks (and runs) alongside you even now. You are, after all, her daughter, her lineage, her kin.

*****

This post is inspired by the ancient, sacred story of Hagar, the story that saved me in my darkest of times and hardest of seasons – in my own desolate desert. She is, undoubtedly, my favorite – and – I have believed, clung to, and remained certain that I am hers, as well. As are you. Did I mention? You are her daughter, her lineage, her kin.

3 Verses and a Refrain

Jul 31, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power

Verse #1: There is good news.

Nothing about you is broken. Nothing about you is wrong. Nothing about you needs fixing or undoing or redoing. Nothing about you requires that you look over your shoulder, wonder how someone else feels, or worry what others will say. Nothing about what you long for, want, or desire is bad.

Verse #2: There is more good news (or, Verse #1 stated in reverse).

You are whole. You are right. You are together and strong and ready. You can look forward, pay attention to the head on your own shoulders and the heart between. You can state your truth no matter what. Everything you long for, want, and desire is good.

Verse #3: Since Verses 1 and 2 are true, then this is, as well:

Risk boldly. Reach beyond. Drink deep. Step up. Speak out. Press on. Lean in. Dare greatly. Love deeply. Sing loudly. Dance wildly. Express passion. Create with abandon. Leave things behind. Explore new territory. You’re not alone. Expect the sacred. Hold nothing back. Nothing and no one can stop you.

The Refrain: May it be so.

*****

I wrote this post back in 2014. It’s just as applicable now, yes? At least it is for me!!)

4 Takeaways that Matter

Jul 17, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

I spend countless hours in the midst of the ancient, sacred stories of women – wanting and wondering how to tell them, believing they matter, oft’ overwhelmed, admittedly, by the sneaky voice that tells me my readers won’t “get” their significance, their beauty, their relevance, their wisdom.

Regardless of the voice, my heart cannot let that happen. And so I press on.

We need these stories. We need these women. Why? Because we need muses, mentors, companions, even, midwives who call us forth and birth us into the lives that are ours to claim, to live, to love.

This is what these stories do. This is what these women do – over and over and over again.

The more value and worth we give to any woman’s story, the more value and worth we give to our own. And that, it seems to me, is worth any effort, any risk, decrying any voices within or without. (For me AND for you.)

So, all that said, here’s one of those stories (along with 4 takeaways that matter):

*****

Once upon a time there were two midwives who worked for a king. In an attempt to control the population of his slaves (who he feared would one day become his enemies), he told the midwives to kill every boy-child they birthed. They didn’t like this idea and so, chose to do nothing of the kind. Not soon after, the king called them on the carpet, demanding to know why they had not obeyed him. They said, “The Hebrew women are much too strong and fast! They have the child before we can even get there!” The ancient text tells us they did this because they respected and honored the Hebrew God (of whom they would have known little-to-nothing) more than they feared the king. And because of this, that same God blessed them with children of their own.

I can see a gazillion take-away’s from this story, but here are just four…for now:

  1. Do what you can’t not do – even before you feel ready. You are.
  2. Neither the voices within, nor those of “power” without have the final say. You do.
  3. Trust that life is yours to bring forth on your own and others’ behalf, no matter the risk. It is.
  4. Stand alongside other women – always and in all things. It matters.

The midwives (and countless others) stand alongside you…and me. And that’s the takeaway that matters most.

I’m right about this…

Jun 25, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

Chances are pretty high that if your desire is strong enough, acute enough, and impossible to dissuade, others will think you a bit crazy and probably way too much.

That’s the strongest indication that you’re on the right track.

Chances are pretty high that even if you get what you most desire, that more loss will yet come, that heartbreak will still occur, and that you will somehow yet endure.

That’s the strongest indication that you are amazing, strong, and more than enough.

Chances are pretty high that holding on to hope and letting go of control seem like complete contradictions and that you have the capacity to allow them both.

That’s the strongest indication that you are other-worldly and powerful beyond-compare.

Chances are pretty high that you will be called to stand your ground and defend that which you know-that-you-know-that-you-know is right and true and worthy.

That’s the strongest indication that you are oh-so-wise and most-definitely not to be triffled with.

Chances are pretty high that you need not listen to one voice / person / god / demon / cultural message / internal hiss that tells you anything other. And when you don’t?

That’s the strongest indication that you are listening to that know-that-you-know-that-you-know voice within; you believe you are worth being heard.

Chances are pretty high that I’m right about all of this. Not because I’m so amazing, but because you are.

No additional indication needed.

May it be so.

When Things Don’t Go as Planned

Feb 22, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I’ve been thinking a lot, even more than I normally do, about my daughters. About the trials and tribulations that, by necessity it would seem, visit every life. About how each and every one of these pains feel insurmountable to them right now. They are not. But neither of them know that yet.

So this: an open letter to my girls (and maybe to you, as well).

Sweet girl:

I know you hold a picture in your mind as to how your story “should” go, at the very least, how you want it to go. It might be one you began to create when you were so very young (which doesn’t seem all that long ago to me) – nurtured and nuanced over these past years: you’ll be safe, you’ll b  nurtured, you’ll be protected, you’ll be loved. It might be more specific: the white picket fence, the 2.5 kids, the perfect job-body-marriage-bank account. And it might be all of these and then some – including a strong-and-sustained sense of what, quite frankly, just seems right and fair: happiness, ease, satisfaction, fun, and a lack of struggle and pain. There’s nothing wrong with these pictures. They are beautiful manifestations of your desire, your longing for all that’s possible, your hope.

But reality doesn’t always (if often) comply. Life doesn’t always (if often) go as planned,
dreamed, or even pictured.

And when that dissonance arrives? I know, sweet girl: it hurts.

“So?” you ask. “Now what?”

Maybe, for now, allowing the hurt is what matters most. It’s completely acceptable: feeling sad and forlorn, lost and confused, discombobulated by the curves thrown your way. Yes, for now.

“For how long?”

I wish I knew.

But here’s what I do know:

You let go, or at least loosen your grip on how it all “should” be. Even more, you hold on – with all the conviction and determination you can muster. Yes, this I
know for sure: you hold on to you.

That is enough. Because you are.

You are strong enough to weather any set-back – including this one. You are brave enough to manage every emotion – whether fleeting or seeming to take up roost. You are tenacious enough to grab onto the tail end of hope and wrangle it back into its rightful place in your psyche, your perspective, your present tense. You are tender enough to make room for grief while trusting its healing power. You are bold enough to get up again tomorrow, to stand tall, to face all that awaits (within and without), and to step forward – no matter how tentatively – into the life that is yours, the one that spreads out before you in all its unknown, in all its possibility, and yes, right now, in all its poignant ache.

I know you aren’t buying most of this, that you don’t quite believe me. Not yet. That’s
OK.

In the meantime, you can hold on to me. Because I do know a few things that I’ll hold in trust and reserve until you are ready to try them on and take them in:

  • Things don’t always go as planned and they do get better. I promise.
  • What feels like forever, isn’t. I promise.
  • What seems a mess, might very well be, but it will turn into beauty. I promise.
  • Every bit of this is part of your story, a chapter you’ll look back on fondly (eventually) – aware that it formed you in profound and powerful ways. I promise.
  • It won’t always hurt as much as it does right now. I promise.
  • Though you doubt me in this moment, I’m right about this: you are more than enough. I promise.

Little consolation, I get it. Still, my heart on your behalf. Still and again, hold on, sweet girl. When things don’t go as planned you can rest assured that you are yet to live into a picture, a story, and a life beyond imagining.

How can I say such a thing with any degree of con dence, let alone sanity? Well, almost exclusively because of you.

When I was your age, I could not have possibly imagined a picture, story, or life that was big enough, vast enough, amazing enough to include you. I could not have
dreamed this big or believed I could love this deeply. And I could not have known that I was enough to bear my own disappointments, shattered dreams, mislaid plans, and broken hearts. But I was. And I am.

As are you.

So hold on, sweet girl. I promise: it’s all going to be OK.

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