What I know for sure (about women)

Feb 28, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

What I know for sure about women; about us:

When I read the ancient, sacred stories of women I am ever-finding intimate, generous, wise companions who come alongside to strengthen me; who make sense of the circumstances in which I find myself; who soothe my tired brow, who bless me, and who provide me the encouragement I need to continue on.

Sometimes their stories enrage and embolden me – their circumstances so much harder than my own, their silencing so much more blatant than mine has ever been, their marginalization and dismissal so much more excruciating than I can begin to imagine.

Either way and in all ways, I am compelled in nearly out-of-body ways to tell these stories, to tell of these women, to hope that you will come to know and love them as I do. They deserve that. And I believe that you do, as well.

If I could, I’d tell you story after story from my life; particular circumstances and scenes in which these ancient, sacred stories of women have been nearly the only thing to sustain me. And if I could, I’d strive to make sure you understand that I do not read or love them because they are housed within scripture. I read and love them because they exist, period. Because they have survived – despite thousands of years of less-than-stellar tellings. Because if they can survive, so can I. Because they remind me that I am not alone; that I am their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

In all my reading and telling of their stories, and in the living of my own, there are two things I’ve come to know for sure about women; about us:
1. We persevere.
2. We are prophetesses.

Now, if I thought you quickly and enthusiastically agreed with both of these statements, I could end this post right here, so certain am I of their truth and reality. But I’m guessing you’re not all that crazy about either of them; that to you they sound more like curse than blessing; more like heavy sigh than exultant “yes!” And so, not surprisingly, I have more to say.

First, we persevere.

*Heavy sigh.* Do your shoulders bow at the word itself? Do you feel its ominous weight pressing against your chest? Do you hear the voice within that says, “Please, can’t a girl just catch a break?!?”

But what if perseverance wasn’t a default setting or a required characteristic; rather, something you celebrated and even aspired toward? Maybe some synonyms will help; adjectives that will serve as strong definers of who I’ll bet you already and always are:

Constant. Dedicated. Determined. Dogged. Driven. Gritty. Indefatigable. Persistent. Purposeful. Steadfast. Tenacious.

To persevere embodies the best of who we are as women – not because we must (though that is true, as well), but because we can. We have the capacity. We have the ability. We will endure – no matter what. And because of such, this is not something to sigh over.

Our perseverance is worth celebrating, toasting, and shouting out loud to all who will hear and then some!

How beautiful and amazing are we? Of this, I am sure.

Second, we are prophetesses.

It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? Mmmhmm. Truth-be-told, you probably don’t want this title or this role. You might think of a prophet as soothsayer, fortune-teller, or predictor of the future. Or maybe you hearken back to old stories about guys in the bible who had a pretty bad time of it – martyred, tortured, and usually dismissed as crazy. Uh, no thank you.

In truth, prophets have been and are people who tell the truth. They see what is happening around them and name it. They speak and/or act cogently and boldly in response to what is. They articulate the reality within which they live – politically, environmentally, socially, culturally, spiritually, relationally, emotionally. Is it easy? No. Would they often rather just remain silent? Yes. But can they, really, and still be true to themselves? Absolutely not.

More synonyms to sweeten the pot? Aware. Clever. Discerning. Educated. Enlightened. Evocative. Insightful. Intelligent. Intuitive.
Perceptive. Reflective. Understanding. A leader. An oracle. A spokesperson. A teacher. And my new favorite word, a seeress.

To be a prophetess describes exactly who we are as women; who we are when we are functioning at our best; who we are when we are living in places of integrity and resonance with our deepest wisdom; who we are when we do not remain silent; who we are when we boldly and bravely tell and live our truth – no matter the consequences, the risks, the ramifications. It’s got to be done, we know this, and we are up to the task.

How beautiful and amazing are we? Of this, I am sure.

What I know for sure about women, about us, should not be met with resigned sigh, but a resounding-through-the-Universe *clink* of our champagne glasses, the breathtaking sound of our combined tears, the winsomeness of our shared laughter.  What I know for sure about women flourishes when we get out of bed yet one more day and go about the work that lies in wait. What I know for sure about women builds in strength and power when we reveal our hearts in risky, passionate ways. What I know for sure about women feels like certainty, center, and home. What I know for sure about women is endlessly, infinitely made known in our grandmothers, our mothers,
our sisters, our daughters, our nieces, our mentors, our friends. What I know for sure about women is true about you. It is true about me.

It is true, period.

And that truth is what leads me to a third thing I know for sure:

3. We are beautiful and amazing.

As I’ve steeped myself in the ancient, sacred stories of women, I have encountered beautiful and amazing examples of perseverance that would cause the bravest of souls to quake in their heels. I have encountered beautiful and amazing prophetesses who have spoken and acted in such strength, such truth, such power that no matter how their story has been mangled and maligned throughout the years, they will not be silenced. And I have encountered the beauty and amazingness of you: their daughter, their lineage, their kin.

So come to know and love the myriad of stories that dwell in your midst – at your beck and call to strengthen and guide, encourage and befriend, even enrage and embolden.

And while you’re at it, come to know and love your own. It’s just as inspiring, just as important, just as legendary. You can’t help but persevere. You can’t help but be the prophetess you already are. And you can’t help but be beautiful and amazing.

Of this – and you, I am sure.

*****

Every week I write you a letter. It’s sent out on Monday mornings via email – full of truth-telling, my deepest heart on your behalf, and as much encouragement and hope and wisdom as I can muster. SUBSCRIBE.

Transforming Your Story (Part 2)

Feb 3, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Did you miss Part 1? Click here.

Today, Part 2: Why would you want to Transform Your Story?

When I say “Transform Your Story” I don’t mean long for someone else’s. Nor do I mean that you apply massive (and usually unproductive) effort to somehow manufacture the plot, the setting, and even the tall-dark-and-handsome-stranger who sweeps you off your feet. (I’m right there with you…)

Here’s what I mean:

To transform your story means that you are awake to and aware of the book in which you find yourself and the pages you are writing.

So if that’s the “what,” we need a compelling “why.”

Consider Alice in Wonderland. She finds herself in a wacky, amazing world that we realize is actually a dream. But she’s awake within it – living it, engaged in it, actively taking part. And in such, even in such a fantastical place, her bigger story, her truer story is being transformed. In the recent movie version (which I love) she says this:

“From the moment I fell down that rabbit hole I’ve been told where I must go and who I must be. I’ve been shrunk, stretched, scratched, and stuffed into a teapot. I’ve been accused of being Alice and of not being Alice but this is my dream. I’ll decide where it goes from here.”

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is that you are not Alice in Wonderland, lost in an upside-down world (even if it feels like that at times).

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is that you are no longer willing to be shrunk, stretched, scratched, or stuffed anywhere, least of all a teapot!

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is because you can.

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is because no one can tell you you can’t.

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is that you have volition, will, agency, and straight-up decision-making ability about what’s going on in your own life!

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is that it is a self-empowerment tool beyond any other in existence. There is no stronger or more definitive way in which to step fully, boldly, and passionately into your life.

The “why” of Transforming Your Story is because it matters; because you matter. It’s yours for the writing, yours for the living, all yours, all the time.

I’d like to say this, as well: The “why” of Transforming Your Story is because I said so! But alas, what I say on this topic doesn’t ultimately matter. What you say does. And that’s the most important “why” – over and over and over again. All of this is up to you.

So perhaps the best way to say it is to tweak Alice’s words just the slightest bit: This is your story. You’ll decide where it goes from here.

May it be so.

You are NOT the Invisible Woman!

Jan 27, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Women's Voice & Power

Do you ever feel as though you are unseen, unheard, invisible? As though your story doesn’t have all that much significance in the larger scheme of things?

Don’t believe it! Nothing could be further from the truth!

Your story is more than significant, more than profound, and more than critical to the larger, gorgeous, amazing drama that’s being woven and written around you. And your place, your voice, your role, your heart is right in the middle of it! I promise!

Want an example?

Not surprisingly, I’ve got one.

There is an ancient, sacred story told of a nameless woman. We know nothing about her other than what we can deduce: she was a daughter, a wife, and a mother. These alone, in my opinion, are more than enough to give her stature, merit, and value. Sparse details hardly limit the depth or scope of her significance. She lived a story that couldn’t help but change the world. Just like yours.

After Adam and Eve left the Garden they had two sons – Cain and Abel; later, a third. One day, in a fit of jealous rage, Cain killed his younger brother. (Makes eating that fruit seem relatively mild, doesn’t it?) His punishment was to wander the earth – a nomad, no home, no family. In fear for his ability to survive, he pleaded with the Divine to protect him; to somehow keep him from being killed by those who would seek his death. And so he was given a distinguishing mark that would forever protect him. And of course, this is where we get the phrase, “the mark of Cain.”

Later in the text we read that Cain settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden. Then this, Cain made love to his wife, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Enoch. (Genesis 4:17)

That’s it. Her only mention.

Now some would say such is not even worth the bother – for a blog post or a book chapter, let alone an attempt to offer some level of significance to those who feel their stories are small, inconsequential, almost nonexistent.

Don’t believe it! Nothing could be further from the truth!

“…there are stories we will never find, no matter how many times we search the sacred texts. I think it was Marcia Falk who wrote, ‘What we cannot remember, we must imagine.’ And so we read between the lines, listening beneath the layers of suppression and neglect to hear the chorus of voices where we were told there was only silence.” ~ Jan Richardson, In Wisdom’s Path

In between the lines and listening between the layers. Expecting to hear a heartbeat of significance, meaning, and worth. Imagining what we deeply, intuitively, and already/always know to be true: women’s stories matter. Just like yours.

Whether myth or historical fact matters not. Her story is true. Cain’s wife sings out the continuation of countless generations: hundreds of thousands of women who are unnamed but no less real; without position, but no less powerful; barely spoken of, but hardly silent. Cain’s wife symbolizes every single page of life and death, hope and despair, triumph and tragedy that is being written, even if seemingly unseen and unheard. Cain’s wife signifies that women endure, period. Just like you.

And if this weren’t enough (though I believe it is), Cain’s wife is the first woman mentioned outside the Garden. Eve’s daughter-in-law. The wife of a marked-man. The bearer of Adam and Eve’s grandson. A mother who heard her husband’s stories and told them to her son. One who enabled generations to follow. She lived a significant story. She is a significant woman. Just like you.

So if there are days or even seasons in which you feel as though your story is not worth mentioning, barely seen, a whisper that’s hardly heard in a noisy world, take heart! Cain’s wife stands alongside you in solidarity and strength. She reminds you that every story matters and that every woman’s ability to nurture, labor, grieve, laugh, cry, persevere, live, love, and bring forth life in any and every form is what enables the far larger story to even exist, let alone be told, endure, and thrive.

You are part of a legacy of a women who endure, who make a difference, who matter. To ever think, let alone believe anything less is a lie.

Cain’s wife calls you, me, all of us back to the truth. Hear her voice:

I see you. I hear you. I know your name. I love your story. You matter. You endure. You live. This alone is more than enough. You are more than enough. Take heart: you are my daughter, my lineage, my kin.

Transforming Your Story (Part 1)

Jan 6, 2014 | Women's Wisdom, Writing

A transformed story is what I want for you: that you would see your life as story, step into it with the same intent and curiosity, and even more, go about writing/living it with passionate intention, desire, honesty, and hope.

Not surprisingly, it’s what I want for me, too.

And so, this series. 

Today, Part 1: What does it mean to Transform Your Story?

Here’s the short answer: You acknowledge that you’re in one in the first place!

To know and believe this to be true, to have it as the over-arching context through which you view your life, then gives you both the ability and privilege of transforming it. The longer answer is, as you might imagine, the remainder of this post.

To transform your story means that you are awake to and aware of the book in which you find yourself and the pages you are writing.

The Book: The larger story within which you find yourself – determined by all kinds of things: family of origin, gender, race, ethnicity, age, location, culture, religious tradition, cultural norms/morals/events, socio-economic status, world events, etc. You do not choose these aspects of your story. They are a given. And the more aware you are of them, the better able you are to understand why you respond in certain ways, why you’re drawn toward (or  repulsed by) particular people, philosophies, or systems of belief, even why you look and sound the way you do.

“Yes, that’s so,” said Sam. “And we shouldn’t be here at all, if we’d known more about it before we started. But I suppose it’s often that way. The brave things in the= old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of sport, you might say. But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually – their paths were laid that way, as you put it.” ~ J.R.R. Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring

The Pages: Yours to write, to develop, to fill, to love. (And sometimes to scribble on, take a Sharpie to, or edit profusely.) Sentences to craft. Characters to shape. Dialogue to determine. Plot to build. Emotions to have. Feelings to express. Memories to heal. Dreams to dare. Hopes to express. You choose these aspects of your story. They are all yours. And the more you are aware of just how much creative license you have; how much freedom you have to choose the very particular and precise, or broad and sweeping ways in which you will write them (and live them, of course), the better.

Every person is born into life as a blank page — and every person leaves life as a full book. Our lives are our story, and our story is our life. Story is the narrative thread of our experience — not what literally happens, but what we make out of what happens, what we tell each other and what we remember. This narrative determines much of what we do with the time given us between the opening of the blank page the day we are born and the closing of the book the day we die. ~ Christina Baldwin, Storycatcher: Making Sense of Our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story

A brief example.

My book. A white woman, born in the U.S. in 1960, and growing up in a middle-class, Presbyterian-church-going home with 2 siblings, 2 parents, and some occasional pets. WAY more between the lines, but just these elements, by their very nature – and undetermined by me – determine a whole bunch of the story that is mine.

My pages. How I view these particulars, how they have shaped me, how I allow them to continue to do so or the very specific ways in which I make different and distinct choices. My responses. My resentments. My growth. My change. The pages are what I determine; what I’m writing/living.

To ignore the parts of my story that were not by choice, is short-sighted. To think that every aspect of my life is up to me, is arrogant. I need a way to recognize, allow for, and most importantly accept my context, my givens: the book in which I find myself. But to stop here is dangerous. To believe that nothing is within my control and that I can only work with the cards I’ve been dealt is, of course, depressing if not fatalistic. What I do with my reality, my story is up to me: the pages on which I write.

In every story there is a fine line between chance and choice, will and destiny, deliberateness and the hand of the Divine. And this is the stuff of great story, beautiful story, passionate story; the kind of story we love.

The same is true in yours and for you. To know where each of these elements are present, to accept responsibility and allow for grace – this is the stuff of your great story, your beautiful story, your passionate story. A story you love.

Two or three things I know for sure, and one of them is that to go on living I have to tell stories, that stories are the one sure way I know to touch the heart and change the world. ~ Dorothy Allison

Choose to Believe – If Only For Today

Mar 30, 2013 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Easter Sunday is the most significant day on the Christian church calendar. Marking and celebrating the resurrection of Christ is no small event; no small thing to try and understand.

What if understanding is not the point?What if it never has been? What if all that’s ever mattered is the story itself?

I’ve been pondering this nearly endlessly the past couple of days – inspired by watching the film version of Life of Pi. The story is enchanting, heartbreaking, and powerful – as all good stories must be. Even more, it’s so fantastical that you want to believe. Did it actually happen? Was it really like that? Could he possibly have seen and experienced and survived all that he did? Does it matter?

These words, from the book:

“I know what you want. You want a story that won’t surprise you. That will confirm what you already know. That won’t make you see higher or further or differently. You want a flat story. An immobile story. You want dry, yeastless factuality.

“So tell me, since it makes no factual difference to you and you can’t prove the question either way, which story do
you prefer? Which is the better story . . . ?”

Do you see?

If given the choice between a story of documentable facts or undeniable meaning, which would you choose? And more important, will you choose? For in such is where faith takes hold. In such is where hope survives. And in such is where love dwells – resurrected and pulsing.

I know: it’s a lot to accept the Burning Bush, the parting of the Red Sea, Jonah in the belly of a whale, and Job’s plight. I know: it’s a lot to accept the Virgin Birth, the healings, the feeding-of-the-5000, the walking-on-water, the death on a cross and resurrection three days later. I know: it’s a lot to accept your own stories of beauty and pain, sickness and health, better and worse, understanding and misunderstanding, poverty and plenty, silence and voice, dignity and depravity, shame and glory, struggle and celebration, hurt and healing, hate and love. But compared to what? A story that won’t surprise? A story that won’t make you see higher or further or differently? A flat story? An immobile story? A dry, yeastless factuality? No story at all?

Believe me, my point (even if only today) is not to have a discussion an argument about biblical inerrancy, atonement theory or any other multitude of theological premises. These are topics and arguments conversations I love, to be sure, but above and beyond everything else is the story. And that, today and every day, is where we must stay. It is our common ground, our grounding reality, our real (if not
only) source of faith and hope and love.

Story is the only thing that compels us; the only thing that really matters when all is said and done: mine, yours, ours…and mayebe even the one we tell/live/believe about God.

Do you see?

You can choose which story you want to believe; which one you want to have impact and move you over and over again. Even if only today, the veracity and “truth” of the story doesn’t matter. What matters is that the story is enchanting enough and heartbreaking enough and powerful enough to hold you captive, to hold you, period; to move you from despair to hope, from darkness to light, from doubt to faith, from death to life.

Do you see?

The Easter Story is invitation to choose to believe, to feel and experience what that makes possible, to cling tenaciously to faith, to hold onto crazy and illogical hope, to trust in beyond-belief love – even if only today. And maybe even more.

“Come and see.”

These were the words a few brave, believing women spoke to the disciples after discovering Jesus’ tomb empty. That morning they stepped into a story that was bigger than them – that they couldn’t possibly prove, verify, or make sense of – ever. And it didn’t matter.

On this Easter Sunday, like those brave, believing women of so long ago, I’m saying, “Come and see.”

Come and see. Choose to see. Believe the story you want, the story you long for, the story you pray for – for yourself and for our world: one of impossible-to-explain miracles, of resurgent faith, of soaring hope, of life conquering death, of resurrection, of love – and love – and love. And not just today. Always. Eternally. Really.

May it be so.