Category Archives: Uncategorized

“Figuring Out God’s Will For Your Life,” Revisited.

Posted on by

0

A reoccurring trap I find myself getting stuck in during this life stage is continuing to act with the same anxiety-ridden prayers and ways of relating to the God I was presented with from some Evangelical circles. The prayers where He needs to tell me exactly what to do, please, because I have to make a decision and it HAS to be the ONE decision He wants for me and I need to make that decision soon, now, because I can’t get it wrong! Afterall, I most certainly can’t spend another day doing something that isn’t your will, Lord!…

I think we do a disservice to both ourselves and to God when we continue praying to THAT God… the God who has prescribed a specific set of instructions for your life- and if you don’t follow them, in order, then clearly you’re not following His will and aren’t living out of His/Her “specific” will for your life.

Is that what God wants for us?
I mean, where do we draw the line?

Do we ask what “God’s will is” for our breakfast choices? Lord, show me if I should eat cereal or eggs for breakfast this morning. Help me, Lord, I need to know!

Is it “God’s will” for you to stay or to go or to move or to switch jobs or to leave the country or…

…I can hear those questions now. They roll around in my brain often (the jobs part, especially, not so much the eggs. I’m more of an oatmeal-on-the-run kind of girl).

But I’m done. To those thoughts and harried, twisted, fretful prayers, I bid you farewell.

You say we need faith like a child?
Well, then start simplifying, Child of God.

God has created each of our lives to have meaning, purpose and significance and S/He gives us gifts to show the world more and more of who She is. I just wonder if God is not so concerned with us “getting His will perfectly right;” rather, that we are finding Him along the journey in which He is walking with you. Beside you. Next to you. Embracing you. Encouraging you, present with you in this season, every season, every decision. Perhaps He’s not disappointed when we go left or when we turn right, U-turn or keep the same path, walk or run, or at our weakest moments, crawl. Yes maybe it truly is about the journey, not the destination. The process of becoming, rather than doing the “specific will.” I’m beginning to think all that He just wants you to know is that in life, there will be some goings and some comings, some dark valleys and some unsullied joy, some mess and some yes, some no-s and some grow, and that somewhere along the way, this journey, no matter how traversed, circuitous, or wild goose chase it’s been so far, he will certainly “lead you beside still waters” and refresh your soul.

And so tonight, as I catch myself praying one of those fretful prayers for the umpteenth time, I will stop. Look up. And remember that the God who has gotten us this far, can surely lead us to the next step. I will stop focusing on the destination and find solace in knowing that we will get there, someday, wherever “there” is, anyway. But what’s most important is the journey He’s taking us through, as we seek His face in the glory of the mountains and trees, seek His love in desert, and seek His heart in the times of uncertainty.

Yes, we’ve got a good Maker. And while we seek Him and take a look at where we are and how we’re doing, S/He’ll be making you, be making me.

For more thoughts on “God’s will for your life,” check out this talk by Donald Miller: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggLQwxS-rcI

“If you have a donkey and it talks to you, God has a specific plan to your life. If you are a virgin and pregnant, God has a specific plan for your life… other than that, you kinda get to do what you want… You get to be really creative. The people who understand this CHANGE THE WORLD- the people who understand that me and God get to do something really cool out of the creativity of my imagination and the desire of my heart; they get their entire passion. But the people who say, “I’m so afraid that I’m not honoring God!”- they don’t do anything.”

I’m trading in my box. (A reflection on letters, hula hoops, and being the person God has created you to be.)

Posted on by

4

I received a letter in the mail today from a well-intentioned soul encouraging me to buckle down, get married and “procreate” (their words, not mine). I don’t think it’s prudent for me to share who the letter was from, but it was someone from whom I love receiving hand-written notes. I held the lined yellow paper closer to my face, but cautiously further from my heart, and continued to read. “Please stop and think outside the box.” “You should reproduce yourselves in children…” “You can help the world by producing several more children.” Warm tears made rivulets down my face. A deep cry ensued. Not a weepy cry, but a hemorrhaging cry from somewhere deep inside you that knows you will not be tamed, not succumb to the expectations of others, will grit your teeth and persevere to become the person God created you to be, no matter how hard the growing pains it will take to get there.

I continued to read words from pages to which I could find no visceral attachment. “You are in your best childbearing years. Please don’t waste them… You’ve always gone to our Father in Heaven for guidance, so open the door to your heart and let the light shine…”

I continued to cry. I mourned the loss of, apparently, young adulthood, because all of a sudden someone’s talking to me about creating life. A very adult thing to do.

I cried because I think God has called us to serve the least of these. And what I believe that looks like for me is not having a family right now. And if I do one day, I wish to adopt.

I cried because I heard from many influences how “good” it is for women to be Mom-my and wife-y. I haven’t heard as many say to go chase after the thing that gets your blood moving, that gets oxygen to your brain, that says to be contraire, to go another way, to try, to risk failure, to travel, to live with wreckless abandon the story you wish to co-author with God, not the life that someone else has scripted and wished-up for you. No. I’ve heard plenty of voices remind me to multiply and fill the Earth, to be pro-family, but not as many voices remind me that we are already family. One day last summer, I met a gentleman at a volunteer event whom I will never forget. In conversation, he mentioned his wife. I asked if they had kids (mostly because I had moved back to Baltimore and was looking for more friends). He responded, “No; we didn’t wish to have any kids. We wanted to have more time available to serve God in other capacities.” I was amazed. Why did his story seem so shocking? Have we such narrow-minded a view to think we can’t be a family without having children?

Pent up energy, passion, righteous anger, and tears continued outpouring out of my soul. But of all that I was crying about, I cried most of all because I was being encouraged to do something that God has not called me to do.

The biggest disservice we can do is to take someone away from God’s calling on their life simply because you think you know what their calling is or should be. God is wayyy more original and bigger than that.

God may very well call you to family. You may be impassioned to create and raise children in the home. You may be equipped to be a president, a CEO, a full time employee serving God with your forty (or fifty or sixty) hours a week. We, especially women, need to get past this and link up. We don’t have time to tear each other down with who is “doing it better,” “doing it right,” or “doing it wrong.” We only have time to encourage each other to be the best person we can be– the best teacher or doctor or pastor or construction worker and/or Mom we can be. We only have time to respect one another’s decisions and simply observe such choices as that person’s way of following through with what God has placed on their heart. Enough with the comparisons, the critiques, the should’s and the should nots.

You see, the problem with boxes is that they’re secluded. You pack things in boxes. You tape them shut. You store up old papers and things you don’t really need inside of them. They’re not permeable. What was that song we used to sing when we were kids? A circle is round and has no end? I say, let’s trade in our insipid boxes and jump in the circle of global sisterhood that affirms and encourages your other sister no matter how similar or different your lives look. Better yet, let’s not stop there. We live on a circle called Earth. All seven billion of us. It’s time we leave our boxes by the curb for recycling and become the men and women, sisters and brothers we were meant to be, doing our best everyday to create Heaven on Earth, no masks, no masking tape, no boxes, just all of us, anyone who wants it, inter-connected inside of one big, brilliant, beautiful, never-ending hula-hoop circle of love.

Image

You Don’t Have to Raise Your Hand Anymore.

Posted on by

2

Sometimes I still get caught waiting… waiting for permission.

I’m not sure where along the way I developed the notion that you had to ask for permission to voice your opinion, to share your hurts, to offer another viewpoint, to experience different churches, to try different ministries and ways of serving, to find God in ways other than the Bible.

Perhaps it’s nothing more than the “nice-girl-syndrome” that both the church and society often place upon females, being subtly taught to smile, always smile, be polite, share all of your toys, be nice…

But I don’t want to be a “nice girl” anymore.

No. I’m discovering that we were meant to be courageous, be brave, contrarian, strong, and bold… to be women of peace but not passivity, to be women and men of kindness, but not doormats. To be loving, but remembering that the command was to “love God as you love yourself.”

I truly believe that l, and many women and girls too, today, are acting like we are raising our hands, properly seated at our desks, feet crossed around the ankles, waiting to be called upon. Just yearning for one person to call on us, to let us speak, to let us try. I’m absolutely terrified and yet at the same time completely ecstatic to remind that you don’t have to raise your hand anymore. You don’t need permission, because dear Child, in Christ, you are already free. You already have permission. And not only do you have permission, but you actually have a responsibility. To speak out against injustice. To make the church more just and equitable, no matter the gender or sexual orientation. To try. To mess up. To get it wrong. To receive grace and open arms, ready to welcome you in as you spread your wings.
So use that voice. Lift up that head. Turn your whisper into ebullient communion. Yes, step out; You don’t become bold and strong and brave by sitting in your seat. No, that’s not for you.

It’s scary, I know, stepping out onto the edge. None of us can hit fast-forward and watch the scenes unfold in our lives to make sure that we’re not just telling ourselves nice things for a moment of comfort, condolences for lost time, but really… deep within my core… I really believe it. I believe we are rising up, each one of us, finding our voices, waving and embracing and opening doors with the hands we used to raise. We’re going to find freedom.  We really are. Yes you are going to pursue your impassions and when people disapprove, in due time, you’re going to feel a small self-assured smile come over you. It will be your clue, your token, your sign of knowing you’re doing the right thing. You’re living the way you were meant to live… something to the tune of what Sarah Bessey once wrote: “To piss a few people off and sing freedom to the rest.”

I’m so excited. My desk is gone and my hand is no longer raised. It’s time to head out to recess and sing, hop, skip, run, jump into reckless songs of freedom. Class dismissed.

Dwell in Those Moments

Posted on by

0

8.15

After days on end of realizing that if I don’t make a change soon, feeling agitated, unsettled, and stuck are going to become the pedestrian emotions of my days.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m extremely grateful for a job, for God’s provision, for a roof on my head, food to eat, crickets to listen to, my new road bike that I never want to hop off of… love and life itself…

But something is desperately missing.

I am not the passionate girl I was once used to be.

Oh I’m coming alive, trying new things.

But some of the dreams I have on my heart are layered in feelings of impossibility, doubt, fear, and one more triple-thick layer of self-defeating thoughts, desperately trying to remind myself that like A.A. Milne once wrote, “you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

Those are moments of doubt… they are wasted moments. Those are the most wasted moments we can spend on life, EVER.

No, we don’t have to put up with those wasted moments any longer.

You see, there’s these other moments you get; moments that feel like drops of honey being fed to your mouth by the Hands of God. These sweet, sweet, intoxicating moments of life where you grit your teeth, dig in deeper, love that much harder, push that much further, and simply refuse to let the obstacles speak louder than the dream…

You… you decide to do hard things.

You simply do hard things.

Those are the only things in life that hold any real value; the things you earn only through sweat, sticky fingers, tireless devotion, unconditional love. You might as well do them so when you reach some ripe old age and can’t turn back the clock, you’ll have a fist-full of dreams to release into the sky like peace doves and red balloons- those you pursued, that is, not those you avoided.

And those moments- those moments where you kick yourself in the… rear and realize that enough is enough, enough time has been wasted, enough energy compromised on people pleasing and doubting yourself, and doubting the person God made out for you to be, heart full of unique passions and convictions… those moments where you look your dream in the face and say “yes” it’s possible and you whisper “yes” as you inch one step closer to the dream, even if you’re shaking… Those moments…

Those moments where you are absurdly fearless of the place between reality and your dreams.

Those moments where you truly fathom that life is precious but ever slipping through your fingers, with time that you can never re-live and edit and you know, deep down in your heart, that you can and will live your best life now.

Those moments…

 Dwell in those moments.

In those moments where God meets you half way, like half way up the hill you’re climbing on your bike, or half way up the hallway to a job you really hate but are too scared to leave to pursue what you actually care about for fear of its ambiguity or enormity.

And you hear His voice.

You know it’s Him.

And He reminds you to go back over the story, the one He’s been telling time and time again through people like Moses or Rosa Parks or your very self. The story that says trust… have faith… dig deep. The stories that have movement from complacency to action, that take you on some weird, unable-to-be-explained-in-the-present-time wilderness journey that makes you wonder if this is all some sick joke…  and you make it to the other side. You make it so that you are able to take the risk. Able to take the test. Apply for the job. Sign up for the race. Make your life count. See the fruit of your journey in the desert.

Dwell in those moments.

In those moments where you decide that being nice is well… nice. But you are DONE with living the innocuous life.

Dwell in those moments.

Where you decide to risk failure, point to your horizon and run straight after it, letting doubt, fear, and the opinions of others simply vanish and evaporate to try and trap someone else in a spiderweb. You, you, my friend, have been set free from that web. You are untangled, you are unraveled, you are unfettered, you are free. It may not look like it now, but oh yes, you are indeed free.

 Dwell in those moments.

Those moments where you’re an unstoppable lion.. or lioness with a fervor that cannot be tamed.

Dwell in those moments where doubt and fear have been kicked out of the building and all that’s left is open doors, open palms, green grass, room to breathe…

Dwell in those moments where you KNOW, deep within your core that anything is possible, but that you have to go through some… stuff to get there. And you don’t care anymore about what the “stuff” is because you’re committed to making it past the “stuff.”

Dwell in those moments, child, because you’re worth it… and if each of us operated out of the voice inside of us that actually pursues what is meaningful to us, that says the words we truly want to say, no matter how scared you are of someone’s reaction or being labeled as “too emotional…” if each of us sang our songs, wrote those letters, spoke up so that others can actually hear you, pursue the ideas that just popped in your head and refuse to let reason and logic engulf it…. If each of us actually said a hearty, “hello!” to the homeless person on the street holding a sign instead of sitting there squiggling around in the seat of our car, trying to avoid eye contact and the urgency of “what am I supposed to do!!?” If each of us vowed to take off our masks and dulled-down beliefs or feelings… If each of us rose up each day with this fire, this fervor, this passion, we would literally astound the world, ourselves, and each other.

Dwell in those moments.

Come back to them when they feel far away.

And may we always remember to pay attention to those nudgings on our hearts… for the world will be better for you having pursued them.

Which is Yes…

Posted on by

0

Image“I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees,
and for the blue dream of sky and for everything
which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.” -E. E. Cummings

Aug 12: Sunlight all around, making the green fields glisten like the first coat of untrampled upon snow. The wind is lightly blowing in my face, a warm late summer breeze that feels more like spring. My legs move up, down, up, down, up, down, faster now, exhilarated by the velocity of a good bike ride, breathing heavier now. There’s sunflowers waving in the grass, some wildflowers hugging the edge of the road. There’s so much beauty to see. Orioles fly gracefully through a field, orange belly lighting up the sky. I have no roadmap, no predetermined route. I am an explorer now. And oh, by bike, there’s so much to see. So much to see…

I take a turn down a hill off to my right and cycle around a CSA farm. I can see spinach and lettuce and other greens growing off in the distance as a woman approaches the garden, presumably to help share in the farming responsibilities. It’s the aura, the ethos of Community Supported Agriculture that gets me. People coming together to grow and harvest food that will nourish brothers and sisters, neighbors, families gathered ‘round the table, and those who pine with a deep hunger to have just one meal with a family like that, ready to say grace before the passing of baskets, dishes, and salt. There’s something about this that’s heavenly and holy, divine, like that’s the way food is supposed to be- you’re supposed to get your hands dirty and know the faces of the hands that plucked your berries from the vine or the tomatoes now garnishing your salad. It’s as if you’re supposed to celebrate that the produce you’re eating was once just some tiny seed that made its way through heatwaves and deluges of rain, sunny days, cloudy days, and days in between, just growing, growing, growing…

I head back to the main road, going down streets I’ve never been on, neighborhoods and schools and hills I never knew existed. A father goes on a walk with his two daughters, one in the back of a wagon, the other blithely by his side. We smile and wave.

I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs until they say “no more,” and prepare for a steep hill, fantasizing about the view from the top. Changing gears, slowly but persistently, inching but persevering, legs getting stronger and leaner with every turn of the pedal, I make it up to the top and discover a new place that I will watch sunsets from.

It’s beautiful now, this moment, this evening sunset just doing the same thing it does night after night, only I don’t stop often enough to give it the glory it deserves.

It’s stunning, really, the sun ablaze, hovering over tree tops, trying to avoid sinking down beneath the nighttime covers of the horizon, a firery ruby orange, a sapphire in the sky.

Oh it’s so beautiful.

The whole wide world.

It’s fricken beautiful, and I have everything I need.

It’s beautiful and God, it feels good to be alive.

It’s beautiful and this Sabbath bike ride pulls me in deeper, deeper into you God. I’m pedaling downhill, I’m flying fast now; exhilarated, like a child on their first rollercoaster getting brave enough to wave her hands in the air.

Oh yes I’m pedaling harder now, making my way around the bends in the road, biking past a tall damn with geese at the top, looking over the edge. I bet they’re daring each other to jump or fly off the edge- “you go,” “no, you go…”

I bike over the bridge where I went bridge jumping with friends, wearing my cap and gown one jubilant night in May 2009 with friends. This spot always causes a smile to traverse my face, usually from the right to the left as I ruminate the rush of that plunge over and over again.

I peer over my shoulder one more time and there’s that sunset again, this time emanating from water.

It’s beautiful.

My eyes can capture each hue, every tint, every highlight of sky refracting off the water.

It’s beautiful, God, and I get to see it… get to see it, taste it, feel it, experience it.

And it was one of those amazing days composed of everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes…

In Which I Find God in the Grace and Patience of More Experienced Cyclists

Posted on by

0

I finally got my hands on a road bike, complete with bike shoes, clips and, even matching waterbottles. It’s quite a change going from a hybrid bike in sneakers to trying to bike in a shoe attached to your pedals, but hey, there was a triathlon practice tonight and sometimes the only way to learn is to just go out there and try.

Arriving slightly disheveled, I felt like I was wearing a giant sign on my forehead that said, “newbie.” My chain came undone because I shoved my bike too hard into my backseat in a cursory effort to not be late. I had no idea how to “clip in” and “clip out.” So for ten minutes in the parking lot of Meadowood Park, I was surrounded by three patient, gracious teachers, dependent upon some mercy and grace.
“Let’s make sure you’ve got the hang of using your clips before we leave.”
“But I don’t want to hold you guys back from biking!” I retorted.
“Just practice. And it’s ok if you fall.”
The next painstaking ten minutes were filled with feelings of inadequacy, after all, I must be a complete idiot if I couldn’t even do their most basic instructions: “Just go like this. Press hard. Harder. You’ll hear it click in.” Press, press, turn of the pedal. Still not clipped in. Repeat. Finally, my right foot is in! And, like a kid riding a bike without training wheels, I weebled and wobbled trying to get my left foot clipped in. “You want to start with the right pedal up and give yourself some leverage,” one of them called out as I watched a couple of them demonstrate. I’m moving and inching and pressing my left foot for what feels like an eternity, until finally I hear a coveted “click,” signaling that I was now successfully clipped in on both my left and right sides. I did a small lap around the parking lot and slowed down when I reached my bike-teacher comrades. “No, no keep moving!!” One guy calls out as I attempt to stop without unclipping. Nearly crashing into one of the other cyclists, she moved out of my way and I did another lap, this time focusing on unclipping. After successfully managing that, we were ready to be on our way. This couple who had just finished their evening ride smiled at me. “You’ll love it!” they exclaimed. “You’ll get used to it in no time.” Yeah right… I thought to myself as we took off. I was dreading the two stops we’d have to make at stop signs along our route. Fortunately I was able to clip out in time to stop, but trying to clip in uphill for the first time didn’t go so smooth. After almost taking a fall to my left side, I somehow managed to clip out my left foot, as if a “fight or flight” instinct kicked in. I re-clipped and took a deep breath, soaking in the backdrop of farmland and woods on a summer evening. We finished our ride a short 11 miles later and gathered at the parking lot, where I thanked this group profusely for their patience and their grace.

It was a “God moment” for me. Every moment can be a “God moment” if you choose to see it that way, but there are times when I find God in the most unconventional ways, like through three strangers who give you, the newbie, some patience and grace, which had probably been extended to them when they first started cycling competitively years ago. My pride was a bit shaken, as I humbly found myself really needing to ask questions. Being a fairly decent athlete, it was hard to realize that I possessed a pride that I needed to let go of in order to accept that right now, biking isn’t my strong suit and I don’t have it all together… never have, never will. I felt like God used those fellow bikers that day to show me a tangible example of what it feels like to receive patience and grace and to also remind me that this is exactly what I need to be doing for others too. Perhaps God puts us in situations in which we feel dumb and inadequate so that S/He can teach us to depend on one another, extend patience and grace, and realize we’re all in this together. What’s that saying? No man is an island? Yeah, well, turns out no woman is either. It’s like we all need each other anyways, so we might as well get along and love hard while we’re at it… Elite biker, novice biker, those who never had bikes, and yes even the guy who stole my hybrid bike back in April. A heaping pile of patience and grace? Yes, I’ll take some of that and let’s pass it ‘round, like mashed potatoes circling the table at Thanksgiving. Come on, dig in, find your seat at this table. Because everyone’s invited and everyone receives grace and patience… mashed potatoes optional.

Oh, Because You are Called to be Free…

Posted on by

0

You, Oh Child, are called to be free…

I know you’ve seen the yelling, the pointed fingers, the uproar over fealty to chicken sandwiches and embroidered flag instead of cross and love for thy neighbor. Maybe your ears cannot listen to one more spew of theological pedantry. You might be afraid to come any closer to the light because there are shadows busy making faces at you, saying come in, but only if you change…Perhaps their asperity over this issue or that issue has got you wondering what this is even all about, anyway, and maybe it’s just some show to help small people feel big, important, as though God is patting them on the back with every Bible verse they retort.

Oh.

But you… you have been called to freedom.

Can you feel it? See it, sense it, taste it, inhale it?

Can you see beggars finding bread? Can you see the orphan being held? Can you see forgiveness and grace? Can you find that voice ushering you in, oh that voice that longs to sit with you beside still waters?

Oh Child, you’ve been called into something different. Much different. You’ve been called into freedom. Lay down the weight of others’ reactions. Lay down the teachings that constrain you, sucking joy and precious energy out of you. Lay down the opinions of others, especially those that are unsolicited. Lay down your hurt, your ammo, your doubts.

Oh because you have been freed from all of that.

That pressure of being someone else’s definition of perfect, someone else’s portrayal of what it means to be a Godly woman or man, someone else’s expectations of you, the voices that tell you to just be quiet and play nice and downplay your passions and convictions. That voice that tells you that you “shouldn’t” feel this way or that way, ask questions, or have another point of view.

Oh that your thought life would be filled with BIGGER things. Dreams. Aspirations. Social Change.

Oh because you have been freed.

You have been freed from the worrying, the straining of trying to please God, Oh Child, because you already are. You already are… Sometimes we need a good kick in the… butt. But unless God specifically reveals that to you (and he will), TRUST that you’re doing enough, being enough, are enough. On to the being, not the doing…

Stop your fretful prayers laboring over making sure that every decision is God’s will for you, lest you go out on your own and discover that God’s hand is capable of showing the way and that he will uphold you in every situation and circumstance, and even use a wrong turn for good…

Something beautiful. Something insanely simple and mellifluous will enter into those hands frought with sweaty palms, and those tired eyes, straining over verses cached in Leviticus or Isaiah that cause a lump in your throat, afraid to voice that no, no something in here is terribly, terribly wrong about inciting war and infanticide and sacrifices.

No. You haven’t been called to that.

You’ve been called by Jesus So Loving, flowing rivulets of faith, hope, and love into your heart.

This is Jesus.

Who teaches us to “learn from the birds and wildflowers.”

This is Jesus.

Who challenged social norms, speaking and teaching women during a time in which they were forbidden and discouraged from learning the Torah, coming over to a woman’s house for dinner… oh yes causing holy ruckus for sure!

This is Jesus.

Who thought it was worth his time, not his pity, to spend with the poor, the prostitutes, the pushed aside, the left behind, “all who are weary…”

This is Jesus.

Who says his life for you is unfettered, your burden easy, yoke light.

This is Jesus.

Where would you be if He was right there in His presence?

Wrapped up in a loving embrace? Finding yourself in the company of someone who wants to eat dinner with you, to remind you that you’re worth something, loved, unconditionally, that something way bigger is going on here and he longs for you to be a part of it?

He’s still gathering women together at wells, at his feet, still teaching, still discipling… Still encouraging us to go forth and set the world on fire with love, love, the whole wide world, the Kingdom come, On Earth as In Heaven, all colors bleeding into one, forever and ever and ever, amen, yes.

Do you feel it?

Oh, do you feel Him?

Oh do you sense there is so much more?

Oh do you see that we can simply move forward and love God and love people and be a part of healing others’ hurts and pains and feeding each other when we’re hungry, be it for food, for touch, for love, for companionship?

Have you found open, burgeoning springs free of foolish discourse?

Have you tasted a simple life that is abundant and disencumbered from debates and arguments? Do you notice that Jesus didn’t care what other people thought of him and he wishes the same for you?

Oh.

Do you feel the ability to cartwheel, to dance, to swing, to make merry, to pick berries from bushes, sweetness filling your mouth as you sing, splash, run, verdant grasses tickling your barefoot feet?

Oh have you found a place where the quarrels have dissipated, where your quietness, passiveness, subservience are not necessary?

Oh it’s so bright and resplendent. Oh we hold hands here. We love each other here as Children of God; we threw away the labels a long time ago, no longer flagrantly viewed by our sexual identities, our political affinities, our skin color, our bank account, our gender…

Oh swimmingly this wave of freedom is swelling, pining for you to ride atop its waves, not to be crushed down by it. It’s beautiful, really, when you can just ride it and lay on top of it, stomach facing skyward as the water bobs up and down and around you.

I know, I know that for far too long people have tried to use this wave to knock you off your feet, to tell you that there’s no room in their ocean for people like you. People have tried to use this wave to divide, to make less than, but child, waves have the amazing ability to carry you to shore for shell-picking, making sandcastles, making footprints in the sand…

I know for far too long, they’ve told you how far out you can swim, where you can and cannot use your boogie boards…oh they’ve used that wave to crush, pointed fingers spouting out this verse, then that verse, then that verse in the Old AND New Testament…

But we are in an ocean of freedom here. Come, come on in, the water’s warm, yet slightly cool that you may decide to stick your toes in first to adjust before you are overwhelmed with refreshment.

Oh yes.
Because Child,
You are called to freedom.

When Calories Have a Gender

Posted on by

0

I was driving home yesterday only to be greeted with a Dr. Pepper  radio advertisement emphatically proclaiming that their new soda has “10 manly calories” and that “it’s not for women,” so I can “keep my romantic comedies and lady drinks.”

How can an inanimate object like a beverage have a gender? I wondered.

How can calories be “manly” or “womenly” for that matter? I mused.

Thinking more expansively, I pondered, “Why does media focus on Kim Kardashian’s newest beckon for attention instead of highlighting the stories of women like Wujdan Shahrkhan and Sarah ‘Attar, who are breaking cultural taboos by becoming Saudi Arabia’s first women to compete in the Olympics?”

“How can more women, girls, men, and boys hear the life-altering message of freedom in Christ rather than hearing each of the ways in which we are to comport ourselves to propriety (if we were born with two “x” chromosomes) or leadership (if we were born with an “x” and “y” chromosome).”

Can I sing “Courageous” by Casting Crowns and alter the lines to “women of courage” and proclaim that we will love our husbands and children (and friends and orphans and neighbors),” proudly exclaiming, “let the women of God arise!” instead of the true lyrics?

Feeling frustrated yet imbued to continue promoting gender equity with ardent fervor, I spent the rest of my commute home reconciling how Church, media, and society all have perpetuated stereotypes for genders and how this can be changed.

I don’t have all the answers, but I believe that we can make the Church and society more equitable and just when we omit exaggerated stereotypes, challenge cultural norms, and affirm the imago dei in all.

I’m trying to discern what my gender means to me, but one thing I know for sure is that it looks counter-cultural to the “rules” upon which I have been imposed. I tell people that I often think about keeping my last name when I get married because I don’t think the woman should have to drop her last name simply because it’s expected or implied. I often joke that if I were to ever have a child, I would make birth announcements in pink for a boy and blue for a girl and laugh at all of the comments I’d get that I can just hear now… “Was your printer not working?” “Was something wrong with your ink?” Hear me loud and clear, there’s nothing wrong with changing your last name and nothing wrong with donning pink and blue, but I’m ready to ask bigger questions, such as why is a  woman ‘supposed to’ change her name? What makes pink a ‘girly’ color?

When God is described as one sole gender, we negate that God is Spirit (John 4:24) and that the excessive use of gender depictions of God focuses more on humanness, dulled down to words that we can understand, rather than dwelling in the mystery and richness of the God who created the Heavens and the Earth.

When calories have a gender, we exacerbate gender stereotypes instead of leading our generation into partnership and teamwork.

When we extol men to be courageous, we must then do the same for the women and girls of this world, particularly encouraging those who face dowry murder, honour killings, genital mutilation and sex trafficking.

When we learn that ultimately, male or female, we are one in Christ (Gal 3:28), we can drop our arguments and stereotypes and calories at the foot of the Cross, united together in synergistic partnership, ready to change to the world.

Enough.

Posted on by

0

After a week of reading and hearing headlines, emails, posts, and radio negative campaign ads, I have one word to say, capitalized and underlined.

ENOUGH.

Rush, please learn to think before you speak and learn the power of forgiveness when you say mean things.

Romney, please get to your know your gay, straight, bi, lesbian, neighbors and realize that they don’t need one more person pointing fingers at them; really we all just need one more person to encourage and love us. And as an aside, if you’re going to make a “Christian” graduation speech, may I suggest adapting from the Sermon on the Mount, not the Mountain of Rejection you’ve voiced of others.

Obama, please stop emailing me daily asking for $3 because I’m sick of scheming up millions for campaign finance when I truly believe character wins over capital ANY day of the week.

And lest I put the blame on others, I will galvanize myself: Otterbein, enough with your cynicism.

ENOUGH.

One soldier committing suicide every day.

ENOUGH.

Another needless gun violence tragedy today.

ENOUGH.

Enough of the name-calling, the negativity, the judgment, the labeling, and complacency too while we’re at it.

Enough of assumption making, enough of pointing fingers (and guns), enough of war, enough of divisiveness.

You know what I’m talking about.

There is a world bursting forth with LOVE just longing to be opened and discovered.

There is a Kingdom big enough for all of us.

It’s time we hold hands. It’s time we link up, arm in arm, go on! I know it might feel silly at first but give it a few seconds and you might feel a tingling in your toes or fingers and it will be holy and beatific and divine.

Yes, yes, go hold hands, go high five, go hug, go laugh, skip and jump with your black, Asian, caucasian, Hispanic, mixed, straight, gay, immigrant, hippie, blue collar, white collar, those who cut off their collars a long time ago, Jewish, Muslim, Christian, haven’t-prayed-in-twenty-years-because you have questions and don’t need trite answers, young, elderly, thirsty, empty, stumbling, bumbling (not sure what that even means), homeless, trafficked, just discovering beauty and grace despite chaos, sisters and brothers.

Yes, On Earth as it is in Heaven.

We can have it a bit of it.

Yes, yes, we can learn that fostering hope instead of further creating division, especially during tender times is an excellent idea.

Yes, yes,we can douse hatred and ignite love with our mouths, our hands, our feet, our very soul.

We can pledge our fealty to loving our neighbor, not our red white and blue embroideries.

We can wave the white flag.

We can throw up peace signs.

We can mourn when our heart is heavy from pain and brokenness and depravity. Better yet, we can mourn together.

And then we can roll down hills together.

And stomp in puddles.

Because we have said ENOUGH to the former and we can now dance in the latter, barefoot and unafraid…

Martin Luther King Memorial
Washington D.C.
April 2012

In Which I Would Gag if it Didn’t Sting so Bad

Posted on by

2

Tonight I heard the song “Lead me” by Sanctus Real. Normally if that comes on the radio, I switch stations, but this time it was playing from my friend’s ipod over dinner. I politely stay hearken to our conversation, but inwardly, I am distracted. The song echoes,

“I look around and see my wonderful life
Almost perfect from the outside
In picture frames I see my beautiful wife
Always smiling
But on the inside, I can hear her saying…
“Lead me with strong hands
Stand up when I can’t
Don’t leave me hungry for love
Chasing dreams, what about us?
Show me you’re willing to fight
That I’m still the love of your life.”

In this song, the woman is portrayed as a helpless, passive, beautiful person who longs for her husband to rescue her from whatever pain or challenge she is currently facing.

Some Christian music is hokey and makes me want to gag. Others are beautiful, leaving me in awe of so glorious a Creator. And still others hurt like a slow wound as I curl my lip, unsure of whether I will cry or whether or I will become angry and outspoken.

I ponder the song for a moment and wonder what the reaction would be if the song went like this:

“In picture frames I see my handsome husband
Always smiling
But on the inside, I can hear him saying…
“Lead me with strong hands
Stand up when I can’t
Don’t leave me hungry for love
Chasing dreams, what about us?
Show me you’re willing to fight
That I’m still the love of your life.”

Doesn’t sound like any song I would hear on Christian radio.

Hearing that song again tonight brought back dismal memories of my college ministry leaders instructing us women that we “need to be willing to be led” and addressed the men to “step up and lead.” I am reminded of being encouraged to read “Captivating” by Stasi Eldredge in which I was told that deep down every woman longs to be seen as beautiful and to be rescued by a man, precisely the message that Disney princesses taught me too for that matter (Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Shrek… I am surprised at how many movies one can make from the “damsel in distress” theme). Also during that time, a friend of mine was reading “Made to Be His Helpmeet,” in which Debi Pearl warns women that there is no excuse for her not to provide sexual gratification to her husband, even if it hurts her (i.e. vaginal dryness in menopause).1

I don’t like to criticize others’ work, be it books or songs, but I have reached a point where I would like to remind young women that there is freedom in Christ beyond prescribed “gender roles.” There are marriages outside of husband-as-decision-maker-and-leader while-his-wife-stands-back-in-adoration. Ephesians 5:21 tells us that we are to submit mutually one to another. Galatians 3:28 tells us that there are no male nor female, but rather, we are one in Christ. Jesus taught and talked to women, against Rabbinical Law (Luke 8:1). Then Jesus didn’t even mention the word “headship” when talking about marriage; rather he just encouraged people to stay together if they do get married (and even if they don’t, I’m quite confident that Jesus is the ultimate forgiver and welcomer of divorcees).

And so as I tend to the wounds of past teachings on gender and leadership, I ask God for healing, for fresh influences, and to use my voice to speak hope and freedom to all of the daughters of the church. I celebrate with other young writers, write some of my own thoughts on this topic and make up my own songs. And then, when I’m tired from staying up late at night to write about all of this, I pray for GOD to lead me with the strength of the Spirit, who is able to stand while I find rest and renewal in living a life in which I am a Child of God, no more, but certainly no less.

1. Chapter 16 of “Made to Be His Helpmeet” by Debi Pearl