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.

This is why these stories matter!

Nov 3, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

My on-again-off-again spiritual practice is to read one of the ancient, sacred stories I sometimes so love and then just write – stream of consciousness, no editing, uncensored. I don’t know why I don’t do it more often, more consistently, more sacredly, for every single time, when I look back at what I’ve written, I am stunned, moved, supported, strengthened, transformed. And every single time I say to myself,

This is why these stories matter!

I could tell you of the woman about whom I journaled just a couple days ago. I could tell you about her life, the details that surrounded, the choices she made. But for now, just this: the two lists I created while journaling about her.

In the early part of her story, this:

  • Be kind and generous
  • Be willing to risk
  • Accept seemingly crazy invitations
  • Follow your heart

Later in her story, sadly, this:

  • Demand blessings
  • Distrust fate
  • Engineer outcomes
  • Manipulate for certainty

This is why these stories matter!

Could I have come to these truths without her story? Yes, probably. But oh, how incredible to see them, resonate with them, and recognize them in new and deeper ways through her voice, her ever-beating heart, her profound and endless relevance.

In my story (and maybe in yours, as well), all of these things have been true.

When I demand blessings I am ungrateful, tense, suspicious, and pretty darn certain that things will go badly. When I distrust fate I become negative, pessimistic, and unable/unwilling to hope. When I engineer outcomes it is ALWAYS disappointing. I am ALWAYS disappointed with myself. I become bitter and angry. I feel entitled. Little works. When I manipulate for certainty I labor and scheme and see myself as God. I let go of all faith. I trust no one. And I somehow believe that not only do I know what is best – for myself and everyone else – but that I have some influence and power over such things.

And…

When I am kind and generous it feels spacious and sweet. It is restful. I am aware of goodness all around me. When I am willing to risk it calls on and strengthens my ability and desire to have faith. It is invigorating and energizing and exciting and thrilling and brave. When I accept seemingly crazy invitations I find myself in places I would have never gone or even imagined. Whole worlds appear that I wouldn’t have otherwise known. Gifts and blessings overwhelm. Surprises await. I am opened to new ways of being. I am expanded. I grow. When I follow my heart it is risky yes, and rewarding. Much love given and received. Laughter. Passion. Adventure. And an increasing trust in my own deep knowing. Yes, this. No matter what.

This is why these stories matter!

These women still speak, deserve to be heard, and have SO much to offer and say – to me (and maybe to you, as well). The fact that they sit in-between the pages of the Bible makes it a bit complicated, I realize. But from where I sit – and stand – it’s all the more reason why they must be told! It breaks my heart to think that they are already covered with so much dust, so much dogma, and eventually will, I fear, just.be.forgotten.

That’s not okay with me.  No woman’s story deserves that fate. These stories matter because every woman’s story matters!

And these particular women? They are our matrilineage, our bloodline, the Sacred Feminine enfleshed. I (and maybe you, as well) don’t dare let them slip away.

So, in honor of Rebekah, the woman’s story from whence all this pours forth, I will follow her wisdom, her guidance, her still-
speaking voice. (Maybe you could, as well.) I will keep being kind and generous, even when it’s hard and sometimes seemingly impossible. I will remain willing to risk, even though it often feels crazy. I will willingly and boldly accept seemingly crazy invitations because they are the ones that open doors worth walking through. And I will follow my heart because, quite frankly, what else is there to do?

 

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Open the door. No matter what.

Oct 13, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

Same thoughts. Same frustrations. Same choices. Different day.

To open the door, or not…

Your hand trembles on the knob, uncertain, not ready, afraid.

No. Not yet. Step back. Stay safe.

But you don’t want to be safe, do you? Not really. You want to fling the door wide and dance through its frame. You want to write poetry and paint wildly and speak prophetically. You want to move through your world with the freedom and abandon of a young girl – dandelions in her hair, trees bowing down to her in worship, grass the grandest of blankets, blue skies that surround in song.

Tell me why you stay inside? Remind me?

Listen. You already know this. Nothing that you want, desire, or deserve remains on this side of the threshold. You’ve given it every chance. You’ve been patient. You’ve been gracious. You’ve stayed seated. You’ve been silent.

You know this, as well: Until you step over the threshold and turn your back on the familiar, the entrenched, and yes, all that
seems safe, you won’t be able to taste the wildness that awaits.

You don’t know what will happen (which, of course, is why you have continued to stay inside). You don’t need to. Turn the knob, open the door, breathe in the brisk, fresh air, and move. Don’t look back. Be impatient. Choose yourself. Stay standing. And start speaking, shouting, yelling, singing. Who cares what anyone else thinks? You’ll be free.

Will you stumble and fall from time to time? Probably. Will you know grief? It’s a given. Will people sometimes often misunderstand you? Mmm hmm. But will you be alive? Yes.

How about this? I’ll stand on the other side and just keep knocking. Eventually, you’ll get so tired of not accepting the invitation that is so clearly yours that you’ll open the door anyway. And there, waiting as I’ve always been, I’ll grab your hand and pull you into the world, the beauty, the life that awaits you.

[The story of Jepthah’s Daughter inspired this post. Just one of the ancient, sacred narratives I so need and so love.]

Speak your mind. Tell your truth.

Aug 20, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

She felt as though her life was some kind of hellish test; as though the universe was conspiring against her; like the powers of heaven and hell were battling it out as she was carelessly tossed to and fro in the middle. Hardly a martyr or victim, she was not someone determined to “make sense” of her circumstances by blaming anyone else. She simply looked around at the endless and inexplicable realities of her life and realized that every single one of them was out of her control; that no platitudes or promises of a God who had bigger or better plans would begin to suffice.

Her husband, however, had a different viewpoint. He held fast to his belief that anything that happened to him (and by association to her) was just, fair, not to be questioned, and to be borne with immovable dedication and commitment. He dug in his heels, stood by his beliefs, and declared his faith in the goodness of God.

Some would say he was a saint. She wasn’t one of them. She didn’t buy one bit of it. And finally, one day, she had enough. She said,

“Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!”

These are the words of the wife of Job.

Two sentences that have lived in infamy. And not surprisingly, she’s been shamed for them for centuries. Her husband did the same.

He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?”

*****

This story is not a favorite of most who are familiar with scripture. 42 chapters that tell of a duel between God and Satan with Job as unwitting pawn. It conjures up every existential and theological question in existence (which might actually be why the story exists in the first place). We struggle to understand how/why God would ever agree to such a thing, not to mention encourage it and allow the incredible torment, disaster, and grief that Job (and his wife) then endlessly endure.

It is not my intent or my desire to argue such questions. First, because they are impossible to answer, but second and more importantly,because when we even attempt such, our focus shifts and we lose sight of her (not to mention the generations of women who both preceded and followed).

It is my intent (and deep, ongoing desire), however, to name and honor her: her thoughts, her stance, her voice, and yes, even her beliefs (or lack thereof).

She spoke her mind.
She articulated her heart.
She expressed what she actually felt.
She told the truth as she saw and experienced it.
Boldly and unswervingly she revealed her humanity in the face of inhumanity.
She called forth justice in bold and impossible-to-ignore ways.
And she had no intention of sitting back, playing small, or staying silent.

(Think about it, about her: we heartily affiorm and encourage every bit of this in one another; on our own behalf, as well.)

We would do well to follow her lead.

Job’s wife proclaims out loud what all of us, at least in part, want to say when we find ourselves in circumstances that cannot possibly be understood. Yes, we want to believe in a benevolent, generous, gracious, and kind God; but there are times, to be sure, when every possibility of such feels tested, if not foolish. And, simultaneously, just like her, we still have the capacity to stay and survive in places of extreme ambivalence when answers elude. We somehow make room for mystery. We know that there have been, are, and will be times in which we cannot make sense of our own reality, let alone that of the larger world that spins uncontrollably around us.

In truth, Job’s wife mirrors back our capacity and courage in the most sacred of ways, not shameful ones. Her story graciously offers us a glimpse of the Divine; a celestial honoring of a woman’s truth-telling and strength.

Did you catch it? As Job’s story continues, he loses everything – his their children, his their land, his their livestock, his their livelihood. But he does not lose his wife. She is the one and only entity spared throughout the entire travesty, and this, after she speaks her truth. This is not the God we normally see in this story – or our own. This is a God who despite everything, and above all else, saves her. This dare not
be underestimated. Nor dare she…

*****

And as for her, so too, for you.

Your voice, your truth, your courage is stamped with the approval of the Divine. More, you are deemed worthy by Job’s wife herself. She looks at you unflinchingly and says, “Yes, you are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.”*

Think of it: who and how might you be if befriended, companioned, and mentored by Job’s wife? What truth-telling might you voice? What injustice might you name? What courage might you display? What strength might you reveal?

Job’s wife is your matriline. Her blood flows through your veins. Her voice rings when you speak your mind. And in honoring her, you are the one transformed.

May it be so.

*****

It’s understandable why we struggle with scripture when faced with stories like this one, which is exactly why I am so
determined to tell of the women within in ways that free them from the chains by which they’ve been bound. They are so
amazing, so incredible, so persevering, so determined. They deserve to be known.

You, me, all of us are in such good company. A cloud of witnesses that surrounds. A storyline and bloodline from which we descend. A transcendent and transfiguring chorus that endlessly uplifts. What can’t we do or say, really, with this much support, this much beauty, this much wisdom in our midst?

*****

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Because I Am Older

Feb 5, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I could talk about what I have learned these past 53 years, about how my body doesn’t move or respond quite the way it used to, about how I sometimes don’t recognize the face that stares back at me in the morning, about what it feels like to walk through the mall or thumb through a magazine or flip through channels surrounded by youth and its glorification, about often usually being the oldest person in the room, house, business, even social settings.

None of this is what I really want to say.

Here it is:

I’ve heard and felt it for the past few years: a sort-of distant drum beat to begin with, now, closer than my very heartbeat; a pulse, a whisper, a chorus, a chant – a nearly-visceral awareness that I am compelled, called, and required to say and give what I know – because I am old(er). It’s not about content – what I’ve studied, the expertise I’ve gained, the work I’ve done – though that matters. It’s not about my unique experiences – places lived, relationships survived and lost, lessons learned – though those matter. It’s not about my particular story – family of origin, personality, choices, preferences – though this matters, as well. It’s about all of this and then some. And it’s the “then- some” of which I really want to tell you; the ways in which each of these elements have impacted all that I know, believe, doubt, question, and trust.

I did some research for this post, looking online and in books I own for quotes, perspective, data on what I’m feeling and trying to say. Oddly, maybe profoundly, nothing showed up. And though I know it’s out there, I closed the last book and every single-extra tab on my laptop screen then moved my keyboard in front of me.

This is what it’s about: not looking other places for the wisdom that’s within; speaking what I know because it matters and needs to be heard; trusting that my thoughts must be articulated and shared. I am compelled, called, and required to step into the world with more strength, more perspective, more volume, more fierceness, more determination, just more, than ever before. I am compelled, called, and required to walk through my world as one who sees, who hears, who knows, and who offers all of this and then some to my daughters, my friends, my peers, my world. I am compelled, called, and required to speak and give me, expressly because I am old(er).

I couldn’t/wouldn’t have seen, let alone said this ten, twenty, or thirty years ago. The credibility or authority (whether offered internally or externally) would not have been mine. But now it is. At 53 I can and must sit at my kitchen table or my laptop, stand on a soap-box or a mountain-top , and speak/give what I know. No holding back. No editing. No censoring. Because what I know and who I am matters.

A part of me All of me wants to say, “Come. I have so much to tell you, so much to offer, so much to give.” But it sounds arrogant, doesn’t it? (The too-long-listened-to voices within still attempt to control and quiet.) And right now, in this very moment, I see myself reflected in the windows that front my desk: a woman in her 50s, questioning her right and ability to speak! I laugh, out loud. Mostly at myself, but also at any who would think me too much and ever dare to say so.

So consider yourself warned and wooed: I am waaaaaay too much! Which is exactly the way I like it, the way it should be, the way it is.

Risky. Bold. Dangerous. Deal with it. Deal with me – or don’t. But if you can, if you want, if you will, oh, how much I will give, how much I will offer, how much I will say, how much I will love. Because I can. Because I must. Because I’m old(er).

And at the end of this post, what I realize is this: Even the remotest feeling that as I age I should somehow quiet down, slip away, or fade into the background is a lie from the pit of hell. More, the endless attempts by the over-culture and media itself to convince me of such, is evil embodied.

Here is what is true: the older I get, the louder, the more present, the more fiery and alive and passionate and impossible-to-ignore.

This is no small story – mine. I carry the lineage, the blood, the hope-and-strength of thousands of women before me and it is my right and responsibility to keep them alive, just as they keep me alive in every single way possible. I am the daughter of Eve, Hagar, Deborah, Jael, Mary, Mary Magdalene, the woman who wept, the women at the tomb, the countless others who have names we’ve never heard, tales we’ve neglected to tell, stories that thunder, lives that yet live. They will not be silent, nor will I. And this is what keeps me alive; hardly old, rather, old(er), wis(er), strong(er) than ever before.

I’ve heard and felt it for the past few years: a sort-of distant drum beat to begin with, now, closer than my very heartbeat; a pulse, a whisper, a chorus, a chant – a nearly-visceral awareness that I am compelled, called, and required to say and give what I know.

Do you hear it? Do you feel it?

It resonates, reverberates, and shakes the rooftops (as do I). I am here. And oh, how much I have to tell you, to say, to give…because I am old(er).

May it be so.