fbpx

Living in the in-between

Apr 17, 2015 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

Once upon a time, long before women had volition or will as to who they married, a search commenced for the perfect wife. A servant was sent out – commanded to find a bride, but only from particular tribes, with particular lineage, holding particular pedigree. Perplexed as to how this would ever happen he prayed. “O God of my master, please give me success today. I will stand by this spring as the young women of the town come out to draw water. I will ask one of them, ‘Please give me a drink.’ If she says, ‘Yes, have a drink, and I will water your camels, too!’ let her be the one I am to select…”

As the story goes, this is exactly what happened. As she finished speaking the words he had hoped to hear, he adorned her with a gold ring for her nose and two gold bracelets. She took the servant to her family. Negotiations ensued with her father who finally asked her: “Are you willing to go with this man?” She replied, “Yes, I will go.”

The servant began the long journey back to his master with this young woman in tow. One particular evening, after days of traveling, she looked up and said, “Who is that man walking through the fields to meet us?” The servant replied, “It is my master.” She covered her face with her veil as the servant told his master the story of how he had found her. And the text says, “Isaac brought Rebekah into his tent and she became his wife. He loved her deeply…” ~ from Genesis 24

Tell the truth. Even if only for a brief moment, don’t you feel desire stir? The part of you that wishes her story was yours. But if you’re anything like me, that quickly passes, you heave a heavy sigh, and you hear the resigned internal response that says, “Forget it. That only happens in other people’s stories. After all, you’re not the answer to the craziest of prayers. You’re not recognized as the perfect woman. You’re not being adorned with expensive jewelry. And let’s be honest: there are no camels anywhere in sight! What could her story possibly have to do with yours?”

In one swift movement – from desire to cynicism – the in-between is bypassed.

How convenient.

Want some more examples?

  • I could step into my strength, my power, my amazing-ness, but no one will be strong enough to handle it. Better to play small.”
    “Sure, I could write the book and it would be fabulous, but I’m certain no one will buy it. Why bother?
  • Yes, I do have an amazing business idea, but it won’t make enough money to support me. I’d be foolish to even start.
  • Of course, I could tell the truth in my marriage/relationship/job, but it will create way too much trouble. I’ll just suck it up – again.
  • It’s true, I could clean the house / get my eyebrows waxed / exercise, but I’ll just make a mess / have to wax them again / quit. There’s no point.

Brilliantly, this pattern grants carte blanche permission to hold back, not risk, not do. We stay stuck. We leap to the ending we want, witness it in others, assume it won’t be ours, and then wonder why our story doesn’t go the way we had hoped or planned.

Lest you think I’m preaching here, know with complete certainty that this has been my reality more times than I care to count – or admit. The narrator in my brain tells me incessantly that I want too much, that I am too much, that less would be better, smarter, and far less rife with certain disappointment. I stop before I start. And even worse, I get irritated at the stories around me that I want for my own – like Rebekah’s.

Unless…I look at her in-between.

Here’s what I believe: Far before we were invited into her tale, she had learned, loved, lost, tried, failed, laughed, grieved, and then some. Far before she was discovered, wooed, adorned, and loved she was generous, brave, strong, and courageous. Far before she was chosen by the servant and then by Isaac, she had chosen herself; she knew and believed herself to be worthy of love; worthy, period. How could anything else be true? It was all of this – and so much more – that created the perfect and seemingly coincidental circumstances at the well. Far before that day ever came, she was doing the work, living her life, dwelling in her in-between.

There is no other way.

And this is one of the many reasons why I love her story (and those of so many other ancient, sacred women). She calls me back to what’s most true about stories; most true about mine:

After once-upon-a-time and before happily-ever-after there’s a whole lot of in-between.

When I can see this in Rebekah’s story, I can begin to see it in my own. I can stay put instead of wishing. I can choose hope over resignation. I can do the good, hard, ongoing work of being the protagonist in my own story. The one I’m in this day, not someday. I can be strong and powerful and amazing. I can write the book. I can build the business. I can have the hard conversation(s). And I can maybe even clean the house / wax my eyebrows / exercise (though admittedly, some days, those seem about as probable as watering camels). I can live my in-between.

So can you.

Turn your attention from the outcome and fix your gaze on the in-between. Trust that the day-in, day-out work of living, hoping, choosing, risking, being, makes a difference far beyond what you can imagine; that you are writing a story worth being told.

And for the times in which you’re tempted by cynicism more than compelled by desire, listen to Rebekah. She’ll gladly and graciously remind you of her in-between and yours; of who you are: her daughter, her lineage, her kin.

See how amazing your story is already? Wow!

May it be so (with or without the camels).

I am not shocked by you.

Apr 11, 2015 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

There’s a story I love to tell of a mostly unknown woman who singlehandedly won a huge battle for a whole tribe of people by doing the most unlikely thing. In the thick of the  fighting, she offered the enemy commander (who was sneaking away) a safe place to hide, made him comfortable, and then, as he slept, drove a tent peg through his head.

It’s a violent story, to be sure. Which would explain why it’s rarely told. But just imagine if it had been, if she was known.

Imagine if you had grown up hearing her story instead of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. If you had been been lulled to sleep by the tale of a shockingly brave woman who overcame every fear and did what had to be done – no matter what others  thought, expected, or even allowed. If you’d had a model, a template, a subconscious plot line within that invited courage, boldness, and strength.

Imagine if no part of you ever, whether admitted or not, waited for a Prince Charming or a Fairy Godmother or a perfect kiss. If it never crossed your mind to choose being good over being right. If you had no idea what seen-not-heard even meant. If you never compromised yourself on behalf of another. If no part of you held back, played it safe, or waited to be invited into the, arena onto the stage, or out of the shadows.

Hard to imagine, isn’t it?

Well, no imagination is required to hear that same woman’s voice on your behalf; to hear what’s true. Listen.

This is no time for fear. And though it sometimes courses through your every cell, it cannot be given rule or reign. You are braver, stronger, better. You will do what must be done. No matter what. I’m sure of it – and you.

It may not be pretty – this brave act of yours. And it won’t be simple. Messy. Difficult. Exhausting. Even bloody. Still, necessary and right. I’m sure of it – and you.

Perhaps no one sees it coming; sees you as the one who will win the battle and the war. Perhaps hardly anyone expects that your courage, your actions, your clandestine measures will be sung about for centuries to come. And perhaps only a few know that within you dwells more boldness and brashness than can begin to be imagined. I’m sure of it – and you.

I will not be shocked by you. I know you – the real, brave, confident, courageous, defiant, win-the-battle you.

And this is no fairytale. No imagination is required. I am Jael and you, the true you, are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

*****

Just in case you still can’t imagine it, allow me this:

You are surrounded and supported, cheered and celebrated, held and honored by more than just Jael (though she’s something, isn’t she?). There are countless ancient, sacred women whose stories when told, and voices when heard, will remind you of who you truly are: their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

Maybe you’d like to hear a few more?

As for me, I can hardly wait to hear the stories about you!

May it be so.

The Stunning Story that is Yours

Mar 23, 2015 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I see the tears behind your eyes. I know about the lump in your throat. I hear the thoughts that swirl in your mind. Every single one of them. Longing for things to change, wishing for different circumstances, wanting to live a more significant story.

In-between the reality in which you dwell and the one you desire, I know about the ache that will not be soothed, despite your best attempts – whether through good soul work or dulling dissociation.

I watch as you persist in the belief that there is something missing; something you’ve yet to attain or manage or get past/through before you can truly step into your place in this world, before you can step into the stunning story that is yours.

All of this breaks my heart on your behalf.

Because I know better. Because I can see the end from the beginning. Because I have perspective you do not. Because I can see exactly who you are, all that you offer and invite.

Right now, not someday. This very moment in time.

Who am I, you ask? I have been in existence since before the beginning of time. I was there when the earth was formed. I breathed your matrilineage into being, whispering the Wisdom that was hers, that has forever been hers. My heart beats within every story of every woman who has ever lived. And I endure no matter the oppression, the silencing, the abuse, the fear. Nothing and no one can keep me down. Not even you.

I am the you that rises above all that restricts, restrains, limits, or binds. I am the crystal clear voice that may, as yet, not speak out loud, but that is no less real, wise, and right. I am your potential. I am your future. And more than all else, I am your present – right here, right now, exactly this day, this life, this you. Always. Endlessly. Infinitely.

Lean into the truth of this. Let the tears flow in relief. Let the lump in your throat dissolve as your voice sings out. Let the thoughts that swirl rest. You are not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone. And you need not wait for things to change. Your right-now story is enough, perfect, amazing. You are.

You can trust me: there is nothing you need figure out or rise above. All that you require, desire, and deserve is already yours. Reach within. Rise up. Then step into the limelight, enter the fray, and embrace the truth of who you are: my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

*****

I am completely-and-without-reservation convinced of every word I’ve written above.

They could be are spoken by every one of the ancient, sacred women whose stories I love; by the Sacred Feminine herself. Easier said than done to accept, but no less yours, mine, ours to claim. Legacy by which to be transformed; the stunning story through which we will transform the world.

May it be so.

Chances are…

Feb 6, 2015 | Hope & Encouragement, Sovereignty, 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 trifled 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.

A poem. Some story. Lots of truth.

Jan 15, 2015 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

“Please understand me!”
she cried.
An impossible premise
an impossible promise
impossible, period.

She cried
“Please understand me!”
until she didn’t
until she realized
that it was her promise
to herself, period.

~ ~ ~

“Please. Understand me!”
I have cried and cried
and cried some more.
An impossible, overwhelming request.
Held silent under its thumb
I’ve screamed:

The premises must be explained!
The promises must be decried!
Do you see (me)?
Do you hear (me)?
Do you understand (me)?

No, you don’t.
No, you won’t.
Period.
I see.

So, no more explaining.
No more premises defended.
No more promises (to self) broken.
No more, period.

~ ~ ~

“Understand me, or don’t!” she sings.
So pleased,
as she writhes and writes and rises.
Overcome, but not overwhelmed
by all she has to say,
by how she stays…standing.

And under-standing’s over-ture comes to an end…

*****

I have spent a lifetime trying to understand. My parents, my siblings, my family dynamics. What it meant to go to church, what it meant to be a Christian, what it meant to believe in God. How to be a good girl, how to get ahead in school, how to please my parents. The rules for girls. The rules for boys. How pretty rules. How to be seen, or not; heard, or not; perfect always. All of these un-understandable. All of these futile. And every one required,
demanded, and understandably critical for survival.

There was a season in which I did not understand much of anything, least of all myself, my choices, my behaviors, my actions. I didn’t care. And I couldn’t understand why. I did not stand up at all, least of all for myself. I crouched. I skulked. I compromised. I hid. I underwhelmed (myself). Under the radar. Under-achieving. And misunderstood.

Later, I thought I had finally found it, everything. It was all I’d ever wanted – until it wasn’t. I tried to understand my marriage and the man. Why he was always depressed. Why it was my job to keep him happy, sane, coping, functional. Why I couldn’t get pregnant. Why I should even bother believing in a God who wouldn’t answer my prayers. Why I was so horrible as to doubt, to rage, to be faith-less. I tried to understand my anger. I tried to understand my confusion. I tried to understand my loneliness. I tried to understand my tears. All to no avail.

My tears. They defied all understanding, any explanation, all and any attempts to be thwarted, slowed, stopped. They continued. Inexplicable. They made no sense. “This is nonsense!” I thought. Endless. And always in the dark, in private, in secret. Why? What I didn’t understand (until I did) was that my tears made more sense than anything or anyone else. That they were the font, the truth, the gift at the altar, the only part of me that knelt and knew, that stood – defiant, unstopped, unsilenced, undaunted.

Maybe it was never about my understanding. Maybe, really, it was about being understood. Needing, longing, demanding to be understood. By my parents, by my family, by my culture, by my God. Later by my husband, by my friends, by my employer, by my therapist. Now by my love, by my readers, by my girls. Then and now, not having to do, feel, be, all by myself.

These days, I feel understanding’s incessant, relentless demand in a more subtle but no-less visceral way: through what I write. “Please understand x, y, and z.” “Do you, will you see?” “Do you, will you hear?” But what I really mean, what I really want, still, is this: “Please understand me!” “See me!” “Hear me!”

And it strikes me that all of this is a helpless prospect; always has been. It is neither about understanding, nor about being understood – at least not anymore. It’s about trust, intuition, and writing-speaking-feeling-saying-being whatever I want, all that I want, what my tears have always known. It’s about weeping and roaring and blazing and shining and preaching and provoking and yes, standing.

It’s about not under-standing.

Someone once said, “seek first to understand.” I’ve done enough of that – under duress, under demand, under false pretenses, premises, and promises.

And under-standing’s over-ture comes to an end.

*****

“Please understand me!”
she cried.
An impossible premise
an impossible promise
impossible, period.

She cried
“Please understand me!”
until she didn’t
until she realized
that it was her promise
to herself, period.

~ ~ ~

“Please. Understand me!”
I have cried and cried
and cried some more.
An impossible, overwhelming request.
Held silent under its thumb
I’ve screamed:

The premises must be explained!
The promises must be decried!
Do you see (me)?
Do you hear (me)?
Do you understand (me)?

No, you don’t.
No, you won’t.
Period.
I see.

So, no more explaining.
No more premises defended.
No more promises (to self) broken.
No more, period.

~ ~ ~

“Understand me, or don’t!” she sings.
So pleased,
as she writhes and writes and rises.
Overcome, but not overwhelmed
by all she has to say,
by how she stays…standing.

And under-standing’s over-ture comes to an end, period.

Get Out of that Kitchen!

Dec 15, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

There is an ancient sacred story told of two sisters – Mary and Martha. It goes as follows:

As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at Jesus’ feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.” But Jesus said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”

I can hear Martha’s voice yet today and now, speaking directly to me – maybe even to you.

“So desperately I wanted to sit and listen at Wisdom’s feet as she did; to play and dance and dream. Everything in me wanted to run free and speak up and laugh endlessly. My very cells were shouting. My body was all but moving. And I knew that if I let go, I would propel myself forward with force beyond imagining. But I held back. Worse, I critiqued her.

“You know this scene, don’t you? Like me, you’re standing in the kitchen, seeing all the “work” that needs to be done, and keeping yourself from all that you long for, the person you most want to be.

“You hear the same voice, don’t you? ‘Dear Martha, you are worried about many things. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.’”

“No shame. No scolding. Just invitation. Listen:

“Dear One, you are worried about many things. Choose the better part and it will not be taken from you.”

The better part. Playing. Dancing. Dreaming. Reflecting. Listening. Sitting at the feet of Wisdom.

The better part. Loving yourself. Seeing your beauty. Writing with abandon. Loving with passion. Letting effort go. Letting tasks go. Letting fear go. Letting restraint go. Letting decorum go. And going forth. From the kitchen and into your world. From the trap of responsibility and must-do’s and duty to a place of freedom and creativity and love.

The better part. Not a call to obedience or doctrinal adherence. No, this is a call to trust a Wisdom that is older than time. This is a call to trusting your wisdom, your knowing, yourself.

The better part. It will not be taken from you.

“Get out of that kitchen. It is not the place you are destined to stay.”

May it be so for me – and maybe even for you.