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A Woman’s Story

There is an ancient, sacred story told of a woman who was prophetess and judge. No other story like hers exists in all of Hebrew scripture. No other woman led in such bold and blatant ways. Her very name means “fiery woman” and as anagram “she spoke.”

It would have been impossible for her not to lead as she did – given this naming, this
inherent power.

But few have heard of her.

I’ve written of her before, but here’s the gist of why she’s so worth hearing and honoring:

As the story opens in the book of Judges, Deborah is a judge, settling disputes brought to her while she sits under a palm tree upon a hill. She summons a man named Barak to be her general and take 10,000 men into battle against their enemy, Sisera. He refuses to go without her and so the two of them ride into battle  together. They destroy all the Canaanites except for Sisera, who flees from the battle and seeks refuge with a woman named Jael, who ultimately kills him (another story I’ve written of before). The text then records a song (thought sung by Deborah and Barak together) that proclaims their victory, and honors the two women who made it possible.

Imagine what it would have been like if you had grown up hearing her story? If she had been revered throughout the ages as an aspirational model for your inherent capacity and worth? It would have changed everything, yes?

I’m not the only one who has every imagined such things:

We never hear sermons pointing women to the heroic virtues of Deborah as worthy of their imitation. Nothing is said in the pulpit to rouse them from the apathy of ages, to inspire them to do and dare great things, to intellectual and spiritual achievements… ~ Elizabeth Cady Stanton

It’s not too late.

When Deborah’s story is heard and honored, women are seen (and see themselves) as holders of deep truth and divine perspective.

When Deborah’s story is heard and honored, women are listened to with acute attention.

When Deborah’s story is heard and honored, women are acknowledged for who they are: wise, discerning, and courageous.

When Deborah’s story is heard and honored our stories are heard and honored.

We are!

We need her story (and countless others) heard and honored to remind us of who we have the capacity and calling to be. We need her story (and countless others) heard and honored to remind ourselves and our world that she has not been silenced, nor will we. We need her story (and countless  others) heard and honored to remind us that like her, we are worthy to speak, worthy to lead, worthy to rise, worthy of song – worthy, period. And we need her story (and countless others) heard and honored because we need and actually want everything to change, yes?

That’s why I tell it (and countless others).

Hear her heart (and mine) on your behalf:

When life feels like a battle,
you are not alone.
I stand and fight alongside you.
Always.

My blood runs in your veins.
My power and strength is yours.
My name is bestowed on you:
Judge. Prophet. Warrior. Mother.

Unlike so many other women
I was not relegated to the shadows
or familiar with the margins.

This is not your destiny either.
Come out of the shadows.
Step into the light.
Leave the margins.
Enter the fray.
Birth. Nurture. Protect. Rise.

You are not alone.
I am Deborah and I go with you.
In battle. In life.
In power and strength together.
Always.

Hear and honor your story. It will change everything!

May it be so.

Why didn’t you just say so?

I’ve been binge-watching The Newsroom for the past week. This morning I woke up far too early for a weekend-day. Debating about whether or not to just go ahead and get up, I remembered I had gone to sleep last night with only 10 minutes remaining in the last episode of Season 2. I reached for my iPad, propped it up on a pillow and finished. I won’t give away what happened, but in the midst, the main character told a story to the woman he loves (but can’t admit). Here’s the gist of it:

Once upon a time there was a little boy who couldn’t stop shredding paper. His parents were highly concerned so they took him to doctor after doctor trying to determine what was wrong. Sadly, nothing worked. Finally, they found a world-renowned specialist on such things, paid an astronomical sum, and took their son to him as a last hope. The doctor listened then turned to the boy and said, “You know, if you’d stop shredding paper your parents would stop dragging you to doctors.” And the boy responded, “Why didn’t you just say so?”

After I wiped the tears from my eyes (there were a few more scenes which would explain my emotional reaction), I got out of bed, brewed my tea, and sat myself down to write this post – determined to “just say so.”

*******

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  here!” 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:

Do what you can’t not do – even before you feel ready. You are.

Neither the voices within, nor those of “power” without have the final say. You do.

Trust that life is yours to bring forth on your own and others’ behalf, no matter the risk. It is.

Stand alongside other women – always and in all things. It matters.

*******

I spend countless hours swirling in the midst of these stories, wondering how to tell them, wondering why/if they matter, being deluged by a million fears that my readers won’t “get” their significance, their beauty, their relevance, their wisdom. And because my heart cannot let that happen, I keep swirling (or shredding paper, as the case may be), not actually telling them or letting them speak for themselves, not just speaking for myself. So today, thanks to Jeff Daniels, I thought I’d just say so.

We need these stories. We need these women. Why? Because we need muses, mentors, companions, and yes, 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 (I just happen to know, love, and have a bit of expertise on these), 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.

The midwives, and countless others, continue to stand alongside me. I (and they) will do the same for you.

I thought I’d just say so.

Desire for Desire’s Sake

Desire is a tricky thing.

To desire feels dangerous because we might not get what we want (and disappointment seems worse than settling).

To desire is risky because, when expressed, is too much for the people in our world (and we wouldn’t want that).

To desire reveals the dulled desires of those in our midst (and how dare we make them look?!)

To desire means that we see ourselves of worth (which has trouble written all over it).

To desire means that we can foresee a future that is better than what we have now (which breeds dissatisfaction).

To desire means that we are deserving of that which we seek and demand. (What?!?)

Some even say:

  • To desire is entitled or arrogant.
  • To desire is privileged or elitist.
  • To desire is assumptive and arrogant.
  • To desire is to be ungrateful for all that we have; to somehow be demanding of even more.

I completely disagree.

Yes, of course, there are extremes to any emotion – places we can go that move what might have been genuine and “true” to twisty and dark. But trust me, that is NOT the risk we face.

The biggest risk is not our desire itself, but that we do not desire enough!

We are far too easily pleased. And we are far too easily convinced that since our desires will never come to be anyway, we’re better off hedging our bets, playing it safe, and toning things down. Sound familiar?

Here’s the thing: the heart, when listened to and trusted, will have none of this! Nor should you.

One of the many ancient, sacred stories I so love tells of a woman’s desire. And surprise! It’s not Eve (though hers does, as well, of course)! This woman was so determined in her expression and sustenance of her own longing, that a priest who saw her praying was convinced she was drunk. This hardly stopped her. She boldly and blatantly persisted. She held on. And ultimately her desire was fulfilled – over and over again. None of this was easy for her and she did it anyway. Instead of desire’s diffculty slowing or stopping her, it (and she) continued to grow in power and force until she could not, would not be denied.

Time out: Lest you think I am saying that if you just desire enough, your every desire will be met, think again. (That would be a lovely formula, wouldn’t it?) What I am saying is this: Her desire remained intact without its fulfillment. And it is THIS to which she calls us.

It is to this that she calls you. Longing even more instead of letting go. Persevering instead of settling. Fanning desire’s ame instead of dousing it. Holding on no matter what.

Desire for desire’s sake is what matters most.

Listen to her voice (as I imagine it) on your behalf:

Oh, the beauty of your desire! The stronger and fiercer and more tightly held, heaven rejoices and earth stands still in reverential awe. Know this: the object of your desire is not as important as having and holding on to desire in the first place. Desire for
desire’s sake is what matters most. The act and art of desiring causes your body temperature to rise, your pulse to quicken, your heart to beat, your life-force to surge, your voice to swell, and your very presence to make a visceral, unmistakable and impossible-to-ignore mark on this world.

Believe me, I know all about this. I am Hannah, and YOU are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

Believe me: I know all-too-well the temptation to tone down my desire. But that has not served me – ever. Nor does it you. Hannah’s story reminds us that perseverance makes a difference, that faith matters, that hope must endure, and that desire – whether fulfilled or not – is a force to be reckoned with, is what makes us a force to be reckoned with.

So go ahead: want more, pray more, long for more, desire more. Less is, well, just less. And that is not to be your fate. Desire more not because you’re greedy or grabby or dissatisfied, but because you are vibrant and hungry and passionate!

This is desire’s destiny: eyes open, wide awake, in living color, alive!

The Scent of a Woman

I’m not sure how he knew to gift me with perfume, this particular perfume – this man I’d been dating only 6 months. I sprayed it onto my wrists, at the base of my throat, and breathed deep. Perfect.

Though our on-again-off-again relationship ended after 6 years, my relationship with the perfume has lingered far longer. It’s an extravagant purchase, to be sure, but impossible to ignore that it remains “mine.” Yes, perfect.

You’ve experienced this, haven’t you? Someone walks past and you feel heady, nearly intoxicated by the scent they exude. Or you are that person: people notice you are near, the particular and perfect fragrance that is yours. It’s been determined that smell summons memory with more acuity than any of our other senses; when we catch a whi of Play-Doh® or crayons or baking bread we are quickly, easily transported back to that childhood scene. Scent is powerful.

So are you.

There is a “fragrance” that is you, something distinctly present in your very soul; an extravagant you that when poured out, permeates and lingers. It’s impossible to ignore. You are. Perfect.

~~~~~~~

There is an old story told of a woman who took a bottle of very expensive perfume and poured it out in a place and way that raised eyebrows and summoned responses that were less than receptive and kind. She did it anyway. How she acted, what she did, all that she risked was extravagant. Perfectly her. And whether or not people liked her actions, whether or not they agreed with her legitimacy in their midst, whether or not they were moved by her raw and vulnerable generosity, they couldn’t not be impacted by the fragrance itself, by her very self. It and she permeated the space until none were left untouched. She was impossible to ignore – then and now; her fragrance still lingers. And in such, through such, she still speaks – to your very soul. So breathe deep. Here’s what I imagine she wants you to hear:

Do you hear the voice within that longs to be heard, seen, acknowledged? It whispers truth: You are worthy. You are valued. You are extravagant.

Do you hear the voice within that desires relationship overflowing with truth, mutuality, and passion? It speaks truth: You deserve respect. You are lovely and loved. You are extravagant.

Do you hear the voice within that calls you to generosity, to wild and unconventional behavior, to risk? It shouts truth: You are amazing and wise. You are enough. You are extravagant.

Yes, perfect: my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

And here’s what I want you to hear:

See yourself as whole, complete, and of value – no matter what and all the time.

Because you are.

Stand, eye-to-eye and toe-to-toe, to any and all (within and without) that try to convince you that you are less than beautiful, less than amazing, less than courageous, less than brilliant and wise and exponentially fantastic. Because you are.

Walk into places where angels fear to tread, head held high. Because you can. Express what is most true, most real, even most vulnerable and raw. This is your signature fragrance. You are impossible to ignore. Because you’re you!

~~~~~~~

Some days I wonder if I should choose a different perfume – now that the two of us aren’t together. But then I open the bottle yet again and spray it onto my wrists, at the base of my throat, and breathe deep. No. It’s mine. Impossible to ignore. Perfect.

Just like you.

Believe me, we’ll follow you anywhere – breathing deep and nearly intoxicated. Impossible to ignore. Perfect.

What if you didn’t hold back?

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?

Let me tell you: 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.

The Maiden. The Princess. The Queen. The Crone. The Goddess. The Priestess. The Prophet. The Mother. The Muse. The Witch. Lilith. Eve. The Madonna. The Magdalene. And the entire Angelic Host.

This is you, woman. This is you!

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. And this power, your power is dark and swirling and uncontrollable (which is exactly as it should be). This power, your power has no time for playing nice or mincing words. This power, your power is not even remotely interested in being restrained, in playing small. This power, this you is leaving any and all boundaried, imprisoned existence for the expanse of the heavens, the grit of the dirt, the moon-pulsing tides of the sea, the song of the trees, the light of the flame, the call of the crow.

Who would you be if you didn’t hold back? You already know her. You already know.

May it be so.

Boom-Boom, Boom-Boom

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.