Confession

I have a confession.   It comes on the heels of #FemFest, a huge link-up of bloggers last week who devoted three days to different topics concerning feminism today.  It was beautiful.  And sad.  I was desperately so because I had too much to get done and I could not participate.  This link-up screamed my name – quite literally in my sleep.  I composed posts in the shower, on my drive, and even, if I am honest, while watching some of my online lectures.  Which, when I realized that I had been writing in my head instead of listening, I had to then rewind to where I’d tuned out and discipline myself to focus; because papers, tests, and graded discussions don’t care about blogger link-ups.  It’s not that the lectures weren’t engaging – they were.  It’s not that the topics covered therein aren’t important – they are.  It’s simply that a discussion on the silencing of women, particularly in the church, is a dialogue I’ve longed for ever since I was shown that this conversation isn’t sinful.  And last week, as this dialogue was actually happening, my circumstances forced me to miss it. 

Yet, as became move apparent through my week, there was another reason for my inability to participate.  I needed bigger eyes on the subject.  And a more humble heart.

You see, I am very attentive to the outward signs of androcentric organization in the American Evangelical movement.  My antennae are hyper-aware as I walk into a church or small group or para-church; I note that only men wear the tags marked, “Lead,” around their necks in the mega-church we have been frequenting of late.  I see that their leadership consists of both sexes, but women don’t teach anyone other than themselves or children; they worship, they administer, they facilitate, they are not visible when Christ is preached.  I hear the “man” read aloud when “humanity” might be equally appropriate.  I shake my head when the women are encouraged to be particularly attentive to stories of women in the bible and to model themselves after the characters of men therein,; but the books of Ruth or Ester or the story of Sarah or a Samarian woman at Jacob’s well are not generalized to the men.  There is no talk about the fact that the privilege of first resurrection annunciation was given to a woman, or that Timothy’s mother and grandmother taught him the faith well enough that he was able to be Paul’s apprentice.   Every place I go, I keep a mental tally sheet of all the ways that it is obvious that the men are in charge, and the women are left out.    

I build walls against this – I tuck into myself, recognizing the hurt that these practices cause,

the segregated, left-out-ness that is so very much

the female experience of church.

And yet, I have to recognize that while my experience cannot invalidate that of a community of fellow bloggers, I cannot allow the community’s experience to shape mine.  I am a female graduate student enrolled in a Masters of Divinity program at a well-respected seminary.  No one there has ever told me I could not do something simply because of my sex.  My husband is very supportive of my career thus, and is the main encourager for my studies; in truth, had he not suggested it, I likely would not have even considered it.  I attend a bible study that is hosted effortlessly by a wife and husband duo who teach, pray, and encourage those under them to do the same, regardless of gender.  Theirs is the picture of equality and mutuality in Christ.

Yes, I have been told that for a woman to call herself a “pastor” or “elder” is a sin.  Yes, I have been told that women have no authority to teach men.  Yes, I have been told that to pursue theological education, as a woman, is an abject abandonment of my role as wife and mother and is thus a direct affront to God’s design.  I have experienced all this and can thus understand and relate to my sisters and brothers who form this community crying aloud for the minimization of women to stop.

{confession}

But I have to be aware.  I sat in theology class last week, pondering the topic of women in the church.  And I noted that of the eleven people seated on the front row, eight were men.  As I compared this ratio to the exact opposite of the second row (eight women, three men), I was literally stopped mid-thought.  For, as I was lamenting the apparent domination of males in this field, I had to be honest with myself:

I sat on the second row.

I, and no one else, chose my seat.  I swallow my questions when gender roles and ontology and discussed.  I stay silent when the same scriptures are used over and again to keep women out of full inclusion in the body of Christ.  And I do so because I am afraid.  Afraid that I won’t communicate my position well; that by my ill-formed or poorly articulated argument, the opposing side will be strengthened.  And I will have set us back instead of helping to press forward. 

So first, I must confess that I harbor a prejudice against my brethren.  I assume that for the most part, they are willful mechanisms in the problem.  I do not allow them a chance to speak for themselves.  I pass judgment, without their input, the plank protruding from my own eye.

Thus, I resolve, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to see my brothers in Christ as benevolent men who desire to build up the entire kingdom of God for His glory.  I will allow the actions and words of each individual believer to speak the truth of his/her heart.

Secondly, I confess my fear of failure.  And that this fear is indicative of a lack of trust in God.  My fear has its root in my performance or articulation and not in the work of the Spirit in the hearts of my fellow believers.

Therefore I will push outside of my safety bubble – I will speak up when I disagree with what is being taught.  Not out of obstinate hardheartedness, but mindful of the unity that is to mark the body of Christ-followers; seeking to understand the scriptures more fully, and to honor Christ first and foremost in my interactions with my fellow children of God.  And I will trust that the Spirit of God is responsible for changing the heart of any believer should he/she be so willing.

 

For the glory of God the Father, His Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. 

Amen. 

     

Coram Deo: a theology of presence

Again Lent crept up, silent and unassuming.  And rather suddenly, as it is wont to these past few years.  There it is, tucked into the middle of my week, the day before Valentines; and I’m supposed to know exactly which spiritual disciplines will best lead me to what end for the growth and betterment of my soul.       

I wonder if that’s how the desert found Christ.  If He was walking, purposed on being close to the Father after His baptism, looked up and suddenly He was in the desert.  As He intended to be, no doubt; but did He intentionally note the crossing of the line from society to wilderness.  Or was it just something that happened as He considered His Father’s words to Him?

Whatever the case, I prayed yesterday, as I hung red and silver whirly-gigs from my ceiling, and draped all conceivable surfaces with hearts, that the Holy Spirit would lead me into this Lent with insight as to what I ought to do.  For there is much on my mind and heart this Lenten season, not so external as last year, more internal; and I have been seeking means for addressing the shifting in my spirit and I just knew that Lent would pair so well with this pursuit.  And I prayed again, driving through fog and traffic on the way to class on this day of commercialized love; wishing I wasn’t already a day behind in the liturgical calendar, so that it felt like failing to even be asking.       

And in my own head, I came up with a few good and decent ideas:

·         Practice self-care for 40 days – Because I have a tendency to neglect myself in certain ways; and this neglect shows a poor respect for the gift of my physical body, a poor theology of time and of humanness, and, frankly a disrespect for the price Christ paid to free me from sinful behaviors and attitudes concerning an anti-gnostic view of me.  Thus, I had concluded the following would be my means of practice:

o    consume only Paleo food and drink [like the Daniel fast, only with lean meat proteins and omitting grains]

o    engage in physical activity every day

o    nap when I need it

o    get enough water

o    go to bed at a decent hour

o    Give up alcohol*

 

·         Memorize scripture – A good discipline to ground my thoughts and deeds and days in God’s Word; to have it available when I need it; to let the Holy Spirit work through the scriptures directly on my heart.

o    Find 4 sections (not verses, but passages that include the contextual emphasis) of scripture – the trouble I was running into was: which passages?

o    Devote 10 days to the memorization of each passage

o    Write them on my mirror, make flip cards, tuck them into my books for school, etc...so they would be constantly before my eyes and on my mind.

 

·         Give up make-up for 40 days – If you know me, this doesn’t sound like much of a stretch.  But when I wear it, it is representative both my desperate attempts to control a tiny bit of the situation I’m in, and my warped theology of beauty (how I want people to view me and how I am programmed to view myself with and without it).  Even I was surprised to find myself balking at the very idea.  It was a telling few moments of my commute.  

Each of these is a good idea. Thus, I had decided to implement them together, in a holistic self-care Lenten regimen.  I was contemplating the lateness of my Lent’s beginning (Ash Wednesday was yesterday) as I pulled into the parking lot; and having an internal argument as to whether Valentine’s celebrations could count as “non-Lent-ish” since a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of wine were in my plans for this evening.  Shouldn’t I keep my make-up on for the Officer, if this was my last day of it for a month; and who wants to workout on Valentine ’s Day anyway?    

I walked into class, as is so often the case, completely unaware of what God was going to do in that space – just for me. 

Yes, I know how selfish it sounds to say that God did something only for me, in a graduate course full of students and visitors with their lives full of God-needs, too.  But He has done it over and over again—knocked the wind out of me through the prayer of a teacher, or through the wisdom of a professor, or through the insight of a classmate.  Maybe because it’s there, in those rooms, at those times, am I really listening and really believing all of what God says about who He is.  Or maybe it’s because these people, in that place, listen to Him well and bring Him with them in their hearts and their words.  Or maybe it’s just because.    

We’d discussed it before; and will no doubt again.  But today in the professor’s prayer, in my heart, in the talk about what we believe about God and how our lives are lived out of this belief, however well-formed or poorly represented; today, it struck me as exactly what I was hoping for in my Lent.

Coram Deo :

-- carried out before, or in the presence of, God.

{Isaiah 40:9-31}

The professor read the whole of Isaiah 40:9-31 aloud, over us.  I could hear my Father’s voice in my heart; within me, my spirit responded.  As this reality of who God is was pouring over me, I asked the question: is every aspect of my life conducted coram deo; and I knew the answer is not fully and wholly, “yes.”  I am still trying to control so much of it.  Every day.  And there are deep places in me that cry out still for the fullness of the gospel to reach them; like so many petals needing to be peeled away so that light can finally reach the center.

 

So that what was left after this sounding of my spirit was the realization that the practices I had purposed earlier wouldn’t merely do – they were exactly what I needed.

·         If I truly believe that God created me, and has ransomed me for His own, then I need to practice self-care.  It is not a selfish pursuit.  Nor should it wear the trappings of vanity; for the moment I think, “I want to be skinnier/prettier/firmer/etc…” I move from stewardship to sin.  I must care for this physical and temporal body not because it’s the vessel that holds my soul, but because my body is as much me as my heart and mind and spirit.  Each was made by God, with only me in mind.  And each should be cared for because they were made by God – not because I want the world to respond to me in a certain way. {Self-care} 

·         If I truly believe that God inspired humans to write down His words, centuries apart in different context for different audiences using different genres and literary devices, then I need to seek His voice therein.  If I truly believe that somehow, incomprehensible to me, His Spirit and Power are alive in His Word, then oughtn’t I devote time and energy to tucking these into my being – into my mind and heart?  {Memorize Isaiah 40:9-31}

·         If I truly believe that God is the Creator of the universe and time; and that He is the orchestrator of all good things, should I not completely surrender control to Him? {No make-up.  Focusing only on the 24 hour period in which I am presently; and doing what I can in that time and space.}   

·         Finally, an addition: If I truly believe that God is YHWH, then I need a better theology.  Not newer or more “relevant” or more academic.  More holistic, more well-rounded, more thoughtful, more aware.  I will use my course assignments not merely as papers, but as formation exercises.  I will find what theologians say about certain topics (the Doctrine of revelation, of sin, of human being, of creation, of God, etc…), and what the scriptures say; and I will find where I fall.  For out of my theology will come my praxis of life coram deo.  {Research, articulate, and practice Theology on 4 topics}

Of course, these disciplines are just that: mechanisms to keep me mindful of living my entire life as before God.  They will not unlock some secret spirituality within me.  They will not, by virtue of their practice, usher me into a more intimate communion with the Lord.  But, like any training exercise,  they can help me center my mind and focus my heart and bend my spirit to hear God, and daily [even moment to moment] help me to live my life coram deo.           

May this Lenten season find you seeking deeper relationship with God the Father.  May His Holy Spirit guide your weeks ahead.  And may His Son, Jesus Christ once again win your heart with His unquenchable love.

  

 

*A note on Giving up Alcohol – While I do not hold a teetotaler philosophy {this in itself is not a judgment on either side of the debate, merely a personal note}, I find that removing certain substances from time to time a beneficial practice that allows me to focus on mental, spiritual, and physical health.  To do a sounding of my whole person and decided: does this particular element have too great a hold on me (I have done this with alcohol, sugar, and caffeine in the past).  It allows me to find this ingredient’s place in my life and make sure it has not become either a crutch or a screen to something deeper in need of attention. 



Linked with: I Still Hate Pickles for Lent.  Visit Kiki's site, read her words, and be enoucraged by her insightful transparency.  

I am Leah.

There is a story from the ancient scriptures that is oft told around Valentine’s Day.  One of determined and persistent love: the story of Jacob and his Rachel.  Theirs is the story of how he, after being overwhelmed by her beauty, worked for seven years simply to earn her hand; and then, having been duped into marrying her older sister, how he worked seven more.  And while this is terribly romantic, I am given pause at how often we neglect the other sister, the one Jacob first wed.  And when I open their story, I feel that I know this woman better than the two tenacious lovers – the undesired sister. 

I have heard so many teachers and pastors and lay ministry leaders claim that she was purposefully and actively complicit in her father’s treachery against Jacob.  But because the scriptures don’t say, I wonder.  Because, when researching of late a full theology of beauty, I find that even the scriptures say Leah was not beautiful; and certainly not in comparison to her sister, Rachel.  What stands behind this stark declaration is the fact that there is not a woman in all of creation who wouldn’t have felt the weight of this truth – every single day – as she grew, as she hoped for love, as she watched her younger sister capture the heart of this stranger with her beauty.  Leah knew; she lived in this truth: she was not beautiful.  She was not desired.  Not wanted.  Not good enough. 

Thus, I can be compelled to conclude that even if she were actively complicit in the plot to trick Jacob into marrying her, her spirit had been so wounded, so abused, so crippled by the knowledge that even her own father didn’t think she could be married off without deception, her part in this scheme would have come from a desolate place of wanting.  Wanting what is the crux of humanity – to be loved.

Yet another option remains: that she was not an active participant in this plot.  That she was forced, outside of her will, to enact this ruse on her sister’s fiancé.  It is a cultural possibility; though again, not explicit in scripture, so we cannot truly know.  And if it were the case, one must add to the desperate feelings of being so completely unwanted, the guilt of having to betray her beautiful younger sister and deprive Rachel of the love she had found.    

Either way, Leah was bound to this marriage of great compromise; for there were no mechanisms for a woman in this time to divorce herself of such abject un-love.  So that Leah remains the sister who was forever unwanted.  Even after the marriage consummated and the veil lifted, Jacob didn’t want her.  How that must have felt, after giving her body, herself, to this man – whatever her hopes or guilt or dreams – to be publically declared unwanted.  Branded as not good enough by her now-husband, her father, her sister, her people; to finally have the label of her lifelong pain spoken aloud.  Undesired.  Unwanted.  Unloved. 

And all because she wasn’t pretty enough.   

Leah tried those seven years that weren’t hers, to win Jacob’s heart.  But we know these few millennia later, what she didn’t: Jacob only had eyes for Rachel.  His Rachel – the woman who was beautiful, the one who was wanted. 

And yet, still Jacob lay with Leah.  She bore him children because the Lord saw that Leah was unloved.  Year after year, Leah made herself available to Jacob; hoping to win just a portion of his love.  Through sex, through bearing him sons, through being the best wife she could be [ok, that last one’s a hermeneutical leap].  But Jacob doggedly made it known that Rachel was the one whom his heart desired.  And implicit in his constant proclamation was the over-and-over annunciation that Leah was not.

Sadly, it was only after Leah gave up hoping that Jacob could love her, she found peace in her spirit.  After all the sons, all the striving, all the praying, all the never-ending rejection, she had her last son and finally said, “This time, I will praise the Lord.”  And she stopped having children.[1]  What we don’t know is whether she was thereafter unable to have children, or if she stopped sleeping with Jacob.  Both are possible.  Perhaps Leah finally gave up; quit trying to win the love of a man, and instead became content with herself, her life, and her Lord.    

While Leah’s story isn’t a romantic one, I find myself drawn to it as I ponder beauty and love.  A combination with which so many are infatuated even to this day.  And I think of all the women hurting themselves in the pursuit of both.  Living lives out of the desperate loneliness of not good enough  and unloved.  Being driven to sacrifice the best parts of themselves on the altar of false hope and phantom promises. 

If only I were prettier/skinnier/smarter/younger. 

If only he loved me. 

And all the myriad of wishes that assault us, when we are empty of love. 

This year, on Valentine’s Day, I have decided to be mindful of Leah; to burn a candle for her, to buy her flowers, and offer her just a bit of my day.  I will do this for the wife who was unloved; and for all the Leahs since.  Women who have wanted so very desperately to be loved, of whom I could number my younger self.  Women who have sought this love in the arms of the wrong man; who have traded their bodies chasing after phantoms of love; women who have sacrificed their time and great portions of their lives on the altar of this false hope.  Women who have heard over and over and over again, that they are not enough. 

I will buy them – us – flowers because there is an unquenchable love that is as strong as death and as jealous as the grave.  We have only but to look to Christ, for He loves each one of us so much that he would sell off all of the universe just to ransom you.  And me.  Regardless of the nights spent in the arms of our Jacob, men who don’t want us.  Regardless of where these lonely paths have taken us.  Regardless of what we have traded for the hope of love.  Because that is a love more powerful and more beautiful than Jacob’s.  And through it, you and I, beloved, are made more lovely than Rachel; and more content than Leah.

The love of Jesus Christ – the only man who knows all that we’ve done while pursuing love, and cares only for our hearts.  The Son of God, who loves each one of us, be we Rachel or Leah, anyway.       

---

[1] Genesis 29:35

Advent: a woman's place

I won’t lie to you: there are days when I struggle with calling myself an Evangelical. 
                
                      Today, for example. 
   
Yes, the Church of England’s General Synod recently voted to exclude women from ordination in the role of bishop.  Yes, an acquaintance, who has since been hidden on my social media feed because I seriously can’t take anymore, posted a youtube video from the previous (not Obama v. Rommey, but Obama v. McCain) election in which a male pastor explained why and how, “biblically,” women in governmental leadership positions equal a nation under God’s judgment; and, that women should never, ever, ever be permitted to preach.  Yes, the church I recently committed to attending (the last bastion of hope in my local vicinity) has ousted all female pastors for personal reasons, and hired a plethora of young, married men in their stead.  And yes, recently I had a conversation with a friend who assured me that her marriage would be recognized in God’s eyes because she had been married by a male leader.  For, to be married by a female pastor (oh, that they even have the audacity to call themselves that!)  makes any covenant illegitimate in God’s sight. 

                  What?

Why is the faith that I love so dearly, so harmful and restraining for women?  How is it that we can read the exact same scriptures, and cite experts in the field, and come to such polarizing answers?  How can it be said that women have no voice; yet Jesus Christ gave the honor of first missionary to a woman, instructed women to proclaim the gospel after he rose, and allowed a woman to study at his feet as the other male future-leaders did?   

How can women be so excluded from God’s plan of redeeming creation that we have been relegated to our husband’s dreams or callings?  Or at best, to the tents of the other women? 

Dear one, you know this topic is my heartbeat: the God of the universe is the same God of women.   I hope I am clear in my pursuit: not a female over male, to counteract the current systems, but female with male.  Serving together, teaching and learning from one another, ministering to each other, living the gospel together for the benefit of each other.  Because God made women, as He made men, in His own image.  And in Christ, all are free to worship Him thus; and teach about Him thus; and show the world who He is.   Because we all have the same outpouring of the Holy Spirit as our male counterparts.  There simply is no scriptural way to duck this truth.       

And where do I land after another gender-equality rant?  Where do I go when I am so weary of only hearing God's Word taught by male voices?  To whom do I turn when, yet again, all I'm told is that based on the sole fact of my gender I am exempt from decision-making, as though "female" is a reasoning-handicap?  When I am counseled to lay aside my calling and dreams thereof, so that I may invest all time and energy into my husband's calling. 

I go, dear one, to the only place one can: to Jesus, the only one who has the words of life.   

And because we are so close to the celebration of Divinity incarnate, I am focusing for the next few weeks on the nativity story.  More specifically, I am purposing to enter into this advent season devoting myself completely to the Magnificat [Luke 1:46-55].  Highly liturgical, perhaps.  But in these nine verses, sung by a newly pregnant teenage girl, I find so much hope and honestly and beauty and high theology that anticipate and reflect the coming of Christ Jesus.  These verses allow me to focus on the fact that before anybody else knew…before Joseph or Herod or Pilot or the Pharisees…a young woman was told about the advent of the Messiah.  This Jewess had no clout, no platform, no worth outside of her immediate family (and even that hinged on her virginity).  Yet, it was to her—and ONLY her—that the angel Gabriel imparted the news that changed everyone’s forever. 

                The Messiah is come.  God’s promise would be fulfilled.  
 
And yet, He did not announce it to a high priest or to judge or king or prophet. 
 
                Almighty God told one woman. 

It was up to her to tell the rest of her world.  Just as it was up to a Samaritan to tell her village; and as it was up to a woman to break tradition, enter the male part of the house and purpose to learn at the feet of the Master, so that she might teach others.  Just as it was up to a woman to announce the resurrection of Christ from the dead, so it was up to this one woman to announce the impending insertion of Immanuel into human history.

Never, ever, ever doubt, dear one, the impact one woman -- in love with the Lord and completely submitted to the Holy Spirit -- can do:

                change all of eternity. 

For the glory of her Lord, her soul will magnify His name.

Amen.      

    

Lessons from a Church Gypsy

Read: 1 peter 2:1-10 and 1 Corinthians3

Our family is a band of church gypsies.  The theological education of our children, the spiritual development (so much as it can be up to any mortal) of our individual members, and the devotion to and worship of our Lord God is always first and foremost in our thoughts and deeds.[1]  However, we do not have decades-long ties to any particular church in our area.  We have been vagabonds, moving through and among congregations as deftly as, well…gypsies through the countryside. 

I share this with you today because what troubles me, greatly, are the lines of division that have been carved among believers; lines that are meant to separate ourselves from each other.  Particularly as we speed toward an election that has been extremely divisive for our nation, I am troubled at the “us versus them” mentality within the body of Christ.  Denomination against denomination.  Conservative against liberal.  Sister against brother.  We have allowed our ideologies to taint the gospel, to mar the message of one body in Christ, to defame the unity for which Jesus expected us to strive.  When we are a house divided, we are easy to dismiss.  To ignore.  To refute.  When we cannot treat one another charitably, how can we be expected to be light in an increasingly uncharitable world?

I know that there is no perfect church, for each community is comprised of imperfect sinners.  And we each are (hopefully) doing our best to live out the gospel.  Thus, if a community other than yours, or an individual believer, is acting within the bounds of scripture, yet doing something you wouldn’t do or in a way that you wouldn’t do it, might I suggest you look upon them with “Pollyanna” eyes?  Find the good they are striving toward, before lambasting them and tearing down what their character or denomination or expression of faith.  Remember that you and your church are just as imperfect and therefore in as much need of Christ’s grace as they.           

Our family has been a part of numerous communities of believers in our eight plus years in rural Colorado; each like a particular bloom in my heart, that when I look back upon them all I see a garden.  A tapestry from which we have learned and in which we have grown   There have been none we left on poor terms; and we pray that each continues their ministry and grows in vibrancy.  We have simply been called to move on at different times; some are obvious in hind-sight, others less so.  But our fluidity through these communities has left a beautiful mark in me, each one something I would regret deeply to have missed.        

I’ve loved the liturgy of the mainline churches we’ve attended; and yearn for it on the holy days when reverence is what the heart desires.  I’ve delighted in the dancing of non-denominational settings, where being yourself before the Lord is greatly expected; and where the community knows you and accepts you and you don’t have to rehash your journey every 2 months.  I’ve relished delving deep into the Word, going verse-by-verse in other non-denominational (-but-we’re-big-enough-that-we-really-are-our-own-denomination) congregations.  And I’ve cherished breaking bread weekly with another community who sought to truly live out missional lives.  I’ve learned from the vitality of a small group gathered primarily to make a difference in their community.  And oh how I miss that one group of lifers who just got each other, cared for and supported one another through whatever life slung at them. 

To have missed what each community taught me, what they drew out of me, would be a great tragedy to my spirit.  I love that as a member of the body of Christ, I can move within these people and glean from them the beauty therein.  Each place literally lightens my heart when I think of it, of the people who welcomed us and loved us and taught us and worshiped with us.  I can’t wait for the coming, epic reunion in Heaven when we’ll all be together as one family…worshiping our Lord together.  What a party that will be!  Laughter I can’t even imagine now and warmth and love I can’t fathom here.  The smile on my face at the very thought is so wide my cheeks are starting to hurt.  That is joy. 

Thus, I want to encourage you, visit some churches in your area.  Go outside of your brand of worship.  Recognize that just as you are individually created to enjoy a particular flavor of service, so are others; and that we have so much to gain when we respectfully share our way of drawing nearer to our Lord.  Stretch yourself and meet your extended family in Christ.  See how they worship, and do not judge, but enjoy their expression of love for our Heavenly Father.  Listen to their teachings, and so long as they keep with scripture, learn from them.  Shake their hands, let them welcome you, as family you may yet not know.  Return their smiles.  Open your heart.  Be blessed by them, and in turn bless them.  For one day, those of us who believe, will all be set at the King’s table for a feast in honor of His Son, celebrating His Love and Grace for each and every one of us.  Thus, if it is to be so in the age to come, should it not also be now? 

Lord, may Your kingdom come here on earth,

as it is and shall be in Heaven.

Amen.

---

[1] On that note, we’re rolling out our family motto and life plan; which I’ll be outlining in the new year. 

Snowflakes and Poems: Who We Are

Declaration 7 [part I]:  The new creation that I am will inhabit her identity.  She will not long for the adventure or husks of others.  She will give others the freedom to do the same: to be whom they were created to be. 

For the Designer is the Greatest Poet, and we are His poetry.

For a very long time, I thought [and was taught] that there is only one way to be a good Christian woman.  I have seen numerous leaders, both national and within the context of my local worship, strive to put forth this ideal.  I have read countless authors, of books and blogs, who aim to provide practical ways to fit our sloppy selves into this mold.   Why?  Because we have this model seemingly preserved for us in Scripture.  She allegedly lurks at the end of Proverbs…or at least, that’s what we’ve been told.  But I am learning that this cookie-cutter image of Christian woman perfection isn’t what we’ve made it.  Lady Wisdom [Sophia, aka: Proverbs 31 woman] is not the sole standard for good Christian girls, nor one for which we should blindly strive.  Instead, she is an inclusion of the feminine in a time when women in cultures outside the nation of Israel were chattel.  God put females in His Word, and thus made their value, their worth to Him, important.  Worth writing down, and preserving for all generations.  So that they might not be ignored or demeaned or seen as less.  Thus, we should not assign to Lady Wisdom a role for which she was not intended: the only way to be an ideal-Christian-woman.    

I’ll confess: I am not a Women’s Ministry kind of gal, for a variety of reasons.  But it was only within the past two years, that I figured out (after two dear and wise mentors told me thus) this is okay.  I hate shopping.  Bores me to tears; except for once or twice a year when the mood strikes.  I’ll take a pedicure, but more often than not my toes are an embarrassment to ideal femininity.  I’d rather hike, snowshoe, ski, camp, dive under the water and get my hair wet than stay prettily coiffed and made-up.  I could spend all day trolling youtube for poets, listening to their lyricism not with my ears, but with the cavity their words carve into my chest.  But I could skip math altogether.  I love to read, would give up days upon days to linger in books; I love the cinema so much that I strove for a year to learn its craft and make it my own.  I write; but you already knew that.  And yes, I'm more than just a little bit of a nerd [to whit, I will now impress you with photos of my homemade Christmas decoration from last year].  

 Get the template here

I could go on and on about who I am; but that is not the purpose.  I don’t need to explore what makes me, me.  I need to be me.  I need to live out loud the poem that God created me to be—not a rerun of one He has already penned.        

God, the Creator of all things, isn’t a one-hit-wonder.  We each are different.  Oh thank God that we are!  And we were created to be thus.  God isn’t a maker of replicates.  He has not been interested in repeating the same creation over and over again since He spoke the myriad of galaxies into existence.  He designs purposefully, with precise intent.  He put you and I right here, for right now.  Not so that we may replay Christian victories of the past, or mimic ages long since gone.  But so that we may be us, in this time, to the glory and delight of our King.    

 And this one here

Consider snowflakes.  Out of the billions that fall from the sky each year, not one—not a solitary one—is identical to another.  If God can take such care in creating a tiny ice sculpture that will melt with the heat of the sun, how much more does He delight in making every person unique from any other?   Each one of us, since time began, is one of His poems.  And as such, not a single one of us is exactly like another.  As the poetry metaphor goes, there are those who are Emerson-esque, or Barrett-Browning, or Coelho, or Bennett, or Shakespeare, or even Cummings.  Some are wild and full of thunderous energy.  Others flow with melody and tenderness.  Still others stumble over the necessity to be known and understood.  And others, stoic and still, can only be appreciated when patiently mined for meaning deep within, by unrelenting love.          

 Finally, this one here

Rejoice in the fact that you are you, and no one else.  That you have your life, not that of another.  In this time, in no other period but this.  You are not called to be anyone other than who you are.  Yes, we are each called into greater Christ-likeness; but that is a Christ-likeness that can only be reflected in you.  You, without whom the world and time would be incomplete.  You, whom God delighted in planning before even the foundations of the world was formed.  You, whom God knows so well that He numbers the hairs on your head and knows what words will spill off your tongue before you speak them.  You, not any other person, alive or dead.  You.    

Though this post appears, at surface, to be aimed only at women, it also has application for Christian men.  We mustn’t assume that there aren’t ideals for men to strive to attain.  What about the chest-thumping leader who is gentle enough to weep at the sight of a newborn while courageous enough to run head-long into fire or war to save those under his care; a man who rises every morning with certainty of what he was called to do, and who tireless provides for his family, even to the detriment of his own well-being.  A man who devoutly captains family devotions as master theologian and prays over his family, out loud and daily, with the finesse of an evangelist.  Lion-slayer, foot-washer, witty apologist, and gentle psalmist, who flays his shield at the onset of danger and every moment of every day delights in the bride of his youth as flowery words pour from his lips lauding her place in his life.  Certainly even this hyperbolic ideal, a case for which could be made using scripture, is not what all men everywhere were designed to be.  And it is a mold into which mortal men will not fit.    

Within the twelve who walked with Jesus, and the women we find attending Him, we are privy to glimpses of separate personalities.  Jesus didn’t laude one over another.  So why do we?

Again, I urge you, be the you God created you to be.  For the glory of His Kingdom, and the delight of His heart.    

*For a practical exercise, check out the fourth paragraph of this article.