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4 Things I Want You to Know

Jul 30, 2022 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality, Women's Wisdom

As you undoubtedly know, I spend countless hours (decades, really) in the midst of ancient, sacred stories of women. And I persist because, bottom line, this is what I believe:

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

I believe this, as well:

The more value and worth we give to any woman’s story, the more value and worth we give to our own. 

I do believe these things. Deep in my bones. But that hardly means I always (even often) feel confident about a bit of it. My inner critic gets the better of me more days than not. I sit in front of this screen and wonder if what I’m thinking and writing makes any difference at all. I question whether I’ll ever get the manuscript finished and if it will matter a whit once I do. And I know that every single one of these thoughts are lies from the pit of hell…

The beauty, gift, and miracle in all of this is that no matter how far I wander down this less-than-honoring rabbit trail, the stories — the women themselves — bring me back to myself. It’s astonishing and miraculous and humbling. And so, I persist. 

What follows is the tiniest glimpse into just one of the stories I’m (re)visioning. I’m hopeful it will bring you back to yourself — no matter your doubts, your inner critic, your questions, your fears; that you will see just how much value and worth YOUR story holds; how much value and worth YOU have — today and every day, all the time.

Once upon a time there was a pharaoh who was paranoid about the population growth of his slaves. He feared that if something wasn’t done about it that they would eventually overtake him. Fed up with this, he called two midwives into his presence and commanded that they kill every boy-child birthed. They didn’t like this idea and so, did just the opposite. The pharaoh 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!” Because of their courage, they were blessed with children of their own.

(Yes, eventually, the Hebrew slaves DID break free. Their exodus was led by a man who was once a baby boy not killed; saved by his mother’s bravery, his sister’s creativity, and yet another woman’s compassion — the pharaoh’s own daughter. But that’s another story for another time.)

Though there is so much to mine and treasure in this story, here are four takeaways for now — and for you; the oh-so-relevant wisdom these two women speak into your heart and life:

  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.

If there were a 5th takeaway, it would be this: The midwives (and countless others) stand alongside you. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. No matter what.

That’s it! 

Well, OK, just one thing more. Well, 5 things. 5 questions, really.

  1. What is it that you can’t not do?
  2. What does your voice have to say?
  3. What life is yours to bring forth — for yourself and/or others — no matter the risk?
  4. Who are the women alongside whom you can stand?
  5. What if you aren’t alone, ever? You’re not. I promise.

Every Monday morning I write and send a letter (via email). It’s my latest thoughts, my deepest heart — and always on your behalf. I’d love for you to have it. SUBSCRIBE.

Not practicing what I preach

Jun 17, 2022 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my desire. No. That’s not quite true. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my lack of desire — my resistance to it. Not across the board — but in particular areas of my life.

This awareness has come as a surprise to me, quite frankly.

Desire is hardly a new thought or topic in my world. I’ve learned to follow its impetus and wisdom more times than not (after many decades of just the opposite). And I’ve certainly written and talked about it a ton — redeeming Eve’s story in ways that reveal her as inspiration and model of desire — in the best and most perfect of ways. Our blueprint, our forebear, our legacy! She calls us, beckons us, invites us to desire; she reminds us that our desire is good, that we are!

All this said, you can see why this is a conundrum for me, this chasm between what I practice and what I preach!

A dear friend came to visit me. We sat in my living room and talked of many things — among which was our respective books. She told me about just recently turning her completed manuscript over to a designer who will now create the book itself in preparation for self-publishing. (It’s going to be magnificent.) I spoke of my own manuscript, my timeline, how I am (mostly) pushing past my resistance. And we bantered back and forth — sometimes lightly, other times with much more angst — over the whole world of marketing, publicity, and promotion that yet remains. And all with no guarantee of “success.”

In the midst of all this, I said, “What if I just don’t care? What if I just write the book because it deserves to be written, because I want it written, and then let it go? What if don’t worry myself with the outcomes, the numbers, the success (or not)? What if it’s really about the creation of it — not what happens once it’s finished?”

To which she replied, “I suppose that’s one option, Ronna. Or you could actually acknowledge that you do desire so much more. If you’re being completely honest, you want your book to be wildly successful. You want your work honored, your voice heard — not just by some, but by many. Maybe you could let yourself have that: all of your desire — whether it happens, or not.”

Record scratch.

That was weeks ago. I have been sitting with her words ever since.

Actually let myself want? Really acknowledge my desire? Open myself up to that kind of dreaming — even though it feels completely unrealistic and outside the realm of possibility?

If I don’t desire — at least not in amazing and vast and extravagant ways — if I tamp it down, then I spare myself that pain. Sort of. Not really.

To let myself desire — honest, raw, and unedited — means that I allow disappointment instead of trying to avoid it.

*sigh*

Every bit of my resistance (and yours), every emotion that rises to the surface for me (and for you), invites me/us that much deeper and further in — to our stories, to our soul, and yes, to our honest, raw, and unedited desire. Which, of course, is good…and amazing and vast and extravagant. Really.

When Eve bit into the apple, she gave us the world as we know the world — beautiful, flawed, dangerous, full of being… All we know of heaven we know from Eve, who gave us earth, a serviceable blueprint: Without Eve there would be no utopias, no imaginable reason to find and to create transcendence, to ascend toward the light. Eve’s legacy to us is the imperative to desire. ~ Barbara Grizutti Harrison, Out of the Garden: Women Writers on the Bible

The imperative to desire.

May it be so, yes? For you and me both!

Devotion instead of To-Do’s

Jan 21, 2022 | Spirituality

If you grew up in a world anything like mine. Devotion(s) were something you did – religiously – if you were religious! They were a practice that usually included reading scripture, praying, and reflecting; a discipline that ostensibly kept you connected to your beliefs; an outward demonstration designed to strengthen your inner commitment, your faith, your spiritual life.

All good, yes?

Well, not so much. (You knew this was coming, didn’t you?)

For me, devotions were a required or at least highly-recommended component of my religious life. And though they were, at times deeply meaningful, I would not often have described them with words like dedication, sacrifice, promise, love, or loyalty. A more consistent description would be duty. And because of such, they had a dark side: if I didn’t do them, if I wasn’t devoted, then I felt insufficient, less valuable, uncommitted, wobbly, not faith-full. In effect, devotion(s) were a to-do; not devotion itself.

Now, outside of any religious tradition, the word “devotion” still circles in my mind and heart. It’s like something I catch a glimpse of, just out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to see it straight on and clearly, it’s disappeared or at least blurred.

What is clear and in undeniable focus is this: I do not want devotion that is dutiful. I want devotion that is desire-full. 

And this is what brings me to the distinction between devotion and to-do’s…

I do not claim to have any definitive answers, but I do wonder if perhaps the difference between devotion and to-do’s is its origin, the place from which it comes, what compels it. Duty or Desire? Responsibility or Grace? Expansive or Restrictive? Required or Chosen?

What I long for is an experience of devotion that is not something I “do,” but something I believe, trust, have faith in, hope for – all of which is profoundly sacred and spiritual.

Maybe, instead of pursuing spirituality or an experience of the sacred through discipline and to-do’s, it is devotion (unbidden and desired) that pursues us; that ushers in the spiritual and sacred itself. 

When I approach the sacred or spirituality from a perspective of attainment (as though I can somehow “arrive”), I am immediately aware of to-do’s. The practices, beliefs, and right ways of being. The rules, doctrine, and dogma – even in the very best of ways. Exactly what has been prescribed to help me get there, get that, be that.

But when I let the sacred approach me, when I trust that it is ever-present, omniscient really, and hold fast to my desire for such in the most tender and cherished of ways, devotion will *just* appear, stay, deepen, and reside. And as I named last week, none of this has to be is hard; instead, very, very easy…(which means no to-do’s are needed at all.)

“Devotion is a place where you do not exist; life just flows through you as a certain sweetness and beauty.”

These words my Jaggi Vasudev sound about a million times better than duty or responsibility. They sound infinitely closer to what it means to be connected to and impacted by the sacred. And they perfectly acknowledge that we are spiritual with nothing (not even to-do’s) required of us for this to be true.

What if devotion is like breathing? A natural and autonomic response to the sacred, to the spiritual, which is within us, around us, ever-present, and always in pursuit.

No effort required. No discipline needed. And certainly no to-do’s. Just desire. 

But…but…but…

  • What am I supposed to DO in order to experience devotion?
  • What kind of devotion is required in order to more deeply engage with the sacred?
  • How can I hope to strengthen my spiritual life through devotion if it’s something that pursues me?

These are the questions I begin asking at rapid speed in the face of uncertainty, to be sure! Inherent within them is my deeply-ingrained proclivity for to-do’s. They show how deeply committed I am to doing, mastering, taking the right actions, knowing exact ways to move forward, focusing all my energy on efforts that promise to help me grow and deepen.

To-do’s. They comfort me and plague me at the very same time.

But what I want, truly-deeply-madly is devotion. And that means that I need a different route, an undoing of what I’m familiar with, and yes, an allowing for uncertainty.

I know: deep breath.

At the start of this post I said this: we are far more clear about to-do’s, far less so about devotion. 

It seems to me that this is the point:

A devotion bound in certainty (and managed or attained through to-do’s) is not devotion at all. It’s the not-knowing, the mystery, the letting go, the wonder, the questions, and yes, the doubts that invite devotion (and the sacred) into our midst in the most intimate and personal and love-filled of ways.

May it be so.

*****

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A 3-Step Plan Worth Following

Sep 10, 2021 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Women's Wisdom

I lived a very long season of my life (decades, really) in which I was endlessly on the hunt to find a plan that would make sense of everything, give me the happily-ever-after I wanted, ease my every stress and struggle.

What I learned, usually the hard way, is that those plans don’t exist. Which explains why I’m skeptical of them.

Still, there is a plan that feels far wiser than anything I’ve dared to try, have seen on a bookshelf, or have ever had recommended. It’s inspired by one of the ancient, sacred stories I tell — about a woman who had little-to-no power, hardly any choice, and realities that endlessly conspired against her. In spite of all this, here was the 3-step plan she somehow managed to live:

1. Trust your heart.
2. Take crazy risks.
3. Let go of the outcome.

I could tell you her story — both how it’s been told throughout time and my reimagined and redeemed version. I could fill you in on just how passionately committed she was to a life that was not only non-traditional, but completely counter-cultural, without any compromise or compliance. And I could certainly speak to all that she (still) has to offer you and me both, when it comes to working through resistance, getting past gatekeepers, and living in a world that often rarely sees or honors women’s voices, bodies, wisdom, or very selves. Without all the details, here’s the bottom line: to choose and embody any of these three steps (let alone all three) is MIRACULOUS.

Which is why she’s worth following, why we would be wise to trust her heart on our behalf and risk that she knows of what she speaks and somehow believe that the outcomes, no matter what they are, will be worthy and worthwhile.

And just to reinforce her relevance, this:

Though centuries have passed between her story and mine, I continue to work through resistance (internal and external). I endlessly strive to not only name, but get past gatekeepers (again, internal and external). And I still live in a world that rarely sees or honors me as a woman. I’m guessing I’m not the only one.

I’m also guessing that your actual three step plan looks a lot like mine (whether we admit we have one, or not):

1. Determine the outcome I want.
2. Mitigate every risk.
3. Find ways to get determined outcomes without the involvement of my heart at all; definitely no reliance on trust..

Not. Miraculous. At all.

So, back to where I started: Yes, I’m highly suspect of 3-step plans (or 7 or 12). But this one? It feels daring enough to invite the life I long for, risky enough to bring about results I’d barely dream of, and courageous enough to actually invite freedom, expansiveness, hope, and joy.

1. Trust your heart.
2. Take crazy risks.
3. Let go of the outcome.

May it be so.

The Widow of Nain

Dec 18, 2018 | Sacred Stories, Spirituality

There is an ancient story told of a widow whose only son died. With him went her last semblance of family, belonging, and even physical security – not to mention every last shred of hope and joy. On the day of his funeral, she moved in slow motion as the procession paraded through the streets of her village. Her head was down. Her heart was broken. Her sorrow was bottomless. Her tears were unstoppable.

Until she heard a man’s voice speak directly to her: “Do not weep.” Grief was replaced by white-hot rage. Her red-rimmed eyes rose to meet his only in time to hear him speak again, this time directly to her dead son: “Young man, I say to you, rise!” And her fury was just as miraculously replaced by joy-beyond-belief as her son rose and began to speak for himself. The prophet/healer disappeared into the crowd, leaving everyone speaking of what they had just heard, seen, and experienced.

I have struggled with this story – with my writing of it. Still, she is in the “canon” of stories with which I work because she deserves to be heard and I trust-trust-trust that she has wisdom and meaning to offer.

  • Her story puts me face-to-face with patriarchal power/authority and a woman’s lack thereof.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with words spoken that are painful but ignored, because of who he is; because the rest of the story somehow redeems the earlier harshness.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with my own resistance to speaking out in response to these very stories and the god within them (not in critique, but with allowed honesty, perspective, and hope).
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with the paradox of the divine – things understood and far more not.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with me; with the heartache I know on behalf of the woman in this text and all those within the larger Text; the silence that too-often envelops them and the voice I long to give.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with my fear: my visceral awareness that to speak – to weep – to express my perspective, my opinion, even my rage, carries with it the nearly certain risk of profound loss.
  • Her story puts me face-to-face with my own known grief and hope, silence and voice, heartache and endless-longing for miracles.

When it comes right down to it, her story is about me.

And you.