Why I Can Be Brave This Year

“God calls me out of my cave, out of my tent, to remind me that HE is still certain.”

By Fiona Koefoed-Jespersen | Twitter: @fiona_lynne

My One Word for the year is “BRAVE.” I decided I was lacking some courage, and thought maybe declaring it over myself each morning would help me step outside my comfort zone a little more often.

Just three months ago, I moved to a new city in a new country. I come from England and since I left home at 18, I have lived in Scotland, California and South Africa. The last four years I’ve lived in Brussels–where I met my husband–and at the end of November, we packed up our things and moved a few hours down the road to the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. Despite having moved around so much, the change was much harder than I had anticipated.

We moved for my husband’s career in a global technology corporation. I’d been working as a lobbyist for a development NGO and although I am still passionate about the issues, I was fed up with the politics and beaurocratic wrangling and happy to be moving on. But my own next steps in work are still unclear.

And so moving has brought a dozen questions crowding to the forefront of my mind:

-Who am I? What is my purpose?

- What am I supposed to be doing with my days?

- Where should I be serving? What about church? Will there be a role for me there? Will I be able to find strong women mentors to stretch and challenge me again?

- Who will be my friends to share my dreams and struggles with? What do I say when people ask, “So, what do you do?”

With the uncertainty and questions have come an element of pride and stubbornness. I miss the role I had in my previous church. I miss being known by everyone. I miss the job I had that allowed me to mingle with CEOs and directors and politicians. Many days I find I have lost the sense of being worth something.

Anchors

At the beginning of the year, I exchanged some emails with an e-friend I got to know through blogging.Through our conversation, I rediscovered two scenes in the Bible that have helped anchor me in the storm of emotions.

1. Get out of your cave

The first picture is of Elijah, standing at the entrance to a cave, high up in the mountains. He’d just had a battle of supernatural proportions against the prophets of Baal, and Elijah’s God, the one true God of Israel, had shown his glory and splendour! This made Elijah rather unpopular, so he’d fled into the mountains, fearful for his life, doubting himself and his mission.

God asked Elijah: What are you doing here?–and Elijah poured out his frustration and despair to him. The Lord told him: Go out of the cave and stand on the mountain in my presence.

Get out of your cave. It may feel like the safest place to be right now, but that is not where I am. I am out here, on the mountain, waiting to speak to you …

2. Come out of your tent

A few hundred years earlier, another doubting man lay in his tent, fearful and wondering. He poured out his heart to God: You have made me so many promises. You told me not to fear, that you are my shield and my great reward, but all I know is that my wife Sarah and I are still childless and I do not understand what’s happening to us.

Then God took him outside his tent and said, Look up! While you lie in your tent you see only your own circumstances, your own abilities and your own strength. But I, your God, am bigger and stronger. Try and count the stars. You can’t! But this is how many your descendants will be. If I can throw the stars into their orbits, I can give you a child. Trust me.

These two pictures continue to speak to me. Two men, doubting the promises made to them, doubting the mission given to them, doubting their ability to fulfil their calling. Lacking courage.

And God spoke to them where they were and said, Come out! See how much bigger, mightier, more faithful and more loving I am than you had imagined.

On Being Brave

It was easier for me to be brave when I had a good job, many local friends, a recognised role at church, a community to be part of. It is harder to be brave when all that seems uncertain.

But this is why I can be brave this year, in this new city and country: Because God calls me out of my cave, out of my tent, to remind me that HE is still certain.

- I can be brave to step out and meet new people, knowing that my closest friend will never leave me nor forsake me.

- I can be brave to go out and ask for work, learn a new language and seek out new opportunities in my career, being confident that he who began a good work in me will bring it to completion.

- I can be brave to explore new ministry opportunities in the church here because I know I am surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses to inspire and encourage me.

- I can be brave about getting to know a new neighbourhood, a new culture, a new way of life, because I know that my God, who is enthroned from of old, does not change.

_________________________

About Fiona: 

I’m an event planner, living in Luxembourg with my Danish husband. I love throwing parties and dinners, gathering people together, seeing the new friendships and plans that emerge. I love seeing people find their role in God’s big story. I like to bake and travel and pick up new traditions.

My word for the year is “brave,” because I don’t want to let fear be the reason I miss out on all God has for me. I blog at fionalynne.com/blog and tweet at @fiona_lynne.

Image credit: Brave butterfly via BraveGirlsClub.com

For Shame or Freedom?

” … we weave a banner of love as nouns and verbs to guard and protect …”

By Sarah Bessey

Blog: www.emergingmummy.com | Twitter: @sarahbessey

Have you seen these images floating around the Internet, on your Facebook newsfeed or maybe on Pinterest?

I understand what people are trying to say. Really, I do. I’m a woman with curves myself and I’ve made a promise to my daughters that I will not call myself fat. Trust me, I get it.

But this type of thing?

Not helping women at all.

Because shame never helps.

Has shame ever helped a woman? This is just the other side of that same “You’re not enough” coin. One side telling us that we are not enough because we are not thin and the other telling us that we are not enough because we are not curvy. The coin is flipped–over and over–and all we “win” is the Divide-and-Conquer strategy of the enemy for the daughters of God, a planting and tending of that old Compare-and-Contrast seed of jealousy, undermining relationships, courage, guts, friendship, vulnerability, sisterhood.

We won’t shame each other into wholeness. Or love. Or acceptance. Or freedom. For the anorexic or the obese or the alcoholic or the drug addict or any one else engaged in a battle. We only shame each other–ourselves?–into negative, terrible patterns, behaviours, ways of thinking, bondage, division. Shame is insidious because it can sound reasonable to our own ears, but it always ends in the same place: a prison.

And sadly, so much of what passes as “empowering women” is really only another form of shame, an updated version of “worthless” unless you measure up.

Beloved, the voice of God–in your life, in the pages of your Bible, whispering in your heart, spoken in your own mouth–will not shame you.

No, God’s voice tells you that you are fearfully and wonderfully made, that he lavishes love on you, that he is the giver of every good gift in your life, that you are treasured, created and chosen.  (You can read more about that here through the Father’s Love Letter.)

And when we are women of God, we speak the same language of love for and about each other,

we weave a banner of love as nouns and verbs to guard and protect,

to trail-blaze, for our mothers, our daughters:

you are beautiful, you have worth, you are valuable – NOW.

I love you, I see you, I hear you, my sister.

So put that on Pinterest.

_____________________________

About Sarah:

Sarah Bessey lives in British Columbia, Canada with her husband and three tinies. She’s a happy clappy Jesus-lover, non-profit marketing director, blogger, writer and simple living/social justice wannabe. She blogs at www.emergingmummy.com and tweets from @sarahbessey.

TGIF: Now That I’m Older …

Thoughts on the eve of my 30th birthday.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
____________________________________________________________

“You get old and you realize there are no answers, just stories.”
— Garrison Keillor

Now That I’m Older …

I think twice before using the word “hate.”
I invest in good friends and good bras.
I avoid “beauty” magazines.

I say, “I don’t know.” Often.
I lean into the uncomfortable.
I feel pain and beauty. Deeply.

I know that …
I’m not as “fat, ugly or stupid” as I feel.
Everyone needs a friend they can call at 4am.
I like my eggs sunny-side up.

I sip, I savour, I sing.
I ferment, I fiddle, I fail.

There is something about …
“Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac that makes me weep.
A drastic haircut that feels like a second chance at life.
A kind heart that is sexy-as-heck.

Poetry trumps the news.
Channel pain to create art.
Don’t wait for perfect. Do it now.

I now know that …
Hurt people, hurt people.
Friends break hearts.
Friends (also) heal hearts.

Mama does know best.

Debauchery is a raisin Danish with a custard centre
Anger is a broken heart in disguise
Life is “brutiful” (brutal + beautiful)

I now know that …
There are no answers.
Only stories.
______________________________________________________

Oh Stevie … your voice wrecks me.

“Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

______________________________________________________

My dear ones …

- Have you had a milestone birthday?
- Do any of my truths resonate with you?
- What do you know now, that you wish you knew then?

Love you more than Potato Chip Cookies, (<- Recipe)
xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.

______________________________________________________

My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.

Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.

I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.

My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.

I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.

Wellness Wednesday: Why Hide? My Journey of Hope, Faith and Overcoming

By Kerstin Knaack | Twitter: @KerstinKnaack

” If I don’t share my life and the difficult journey I have made, it will be harder for God to work through me.”

I am ten weeks pregnant. It takes courage for me to tell you that.

Why? This is my fourth pregnancy–my first three babies are in heaven.

I am from Germany. There, we don’t usually tell people we are pregnant until the fourth month of pregnancy. But several weeks ago, I went to Brazil and found out the women there announce their pregnancies as soon as they have a positive test in their hands. I asked why they do this, considering most miscarriages occur within the first three months. They said that in their culture, they celebrate and mourn together. If something happens to the baby, they come to the mother’s side, offering everything from a big hug to cooking for her or massaging her feet. Whatever she needs, they journey with her.

Loss

My first miscarriage was in 2009 in the eighth week; the second was in 2011 in the 33rd week and the third was at the end of 2011 in the 12th week. All these losses were difficult, but to give birth to a dead baby in the ninth month of pregnancy was definitely the most painful.

After the third miscarriage, I wasn’t able to pray or worship. My heart ached, but I had good friends who carried me through. When I was far from God, they spoke life and truth over me. My church gathered around and carried me. When I couldn’t pray, they prayed for me; when I couldn’t worship, they worshiped for me.

I knew that death doesn’t come from God — He is love and nothing bad comes from him—but He did allow this to happen.

Restoration

After several weeks, I reached a place where I was able to think about my situation in a different way. If God allowed this to happen, there must be something good within these situations. This was a turning point for me—I wanted to turn bad into good. It was a decision, not a feeling. I chose to no longer accept being bound by lies.

So many good things happened as a result of my miscarriages:

- my marriage to my husband Rainer became stronger and we decided to give 100 percent of our lives to God, stepping into His purpose for us

- the opportunity developed to do an internship at Relate Church, Canada, with Pastors John and Helen Burns

- my father returned to my life after 28 years of rejection

- friends put their lives into Jesus’ hands.

Overcoming

From now on, I will no longer hide. I have discovered that it is healthy for me to talk about how I feel and which thoughts and emotions have kept me away from God. If I don’t share my life and the difficult journey I have made, it will be harder for God to work through me. I want Him to use me to help other women and to fulfill His plan.

That’s why I am openly telling people that I am pregnant for the fourth time.

Is it easy for me to enjoy my pregnancy? Definitely not. Every day I am reminded of the past, the positive pregnancy tests; pictures of my big belly; the ultrasounds; the decorated nursery; the movements in my belly; memories of the day I was told our daughter had passed away; the pain of giving birth to a dead baby and the joy of having her in our arms; the invoice from the funeral parlor.

Stepping Forward in Faith

How do I deal with these images and the daily fear of possibly having the same pain again? There is no magic solution–it’s a journey every day. I think back to those Brazilian women, who understand what sisterhood means and I know that if I fall, my sisterhood will carry me. And I talk about it. If I am overwhelmed by fear, I ask my husband or a friend to help me.

The opposite of fear is faith. God holds my life in His hands. I trust Him.

________________________________________________

 About Kerstin

Kerstin Knaack was born and raised in the city of Kirchheim, Germany. She and her husband Rainer are currently involved in an internship at Relate Church in Surrey, BC, where they are learning to be leaders and teachers in the area of  marriage, family and sexuality.  Their long-term vision is to teach on these topics and to raise a large family of their own.

Getting Past Eros in a Sex-crazed World

On Massage Parlor Wisdom and Five-year-old Agape

“True love, or biblical love, doesn’t need to fill a deficit. True love … is an overflow.”

By Danielle Strickland | Twitter: @djstrickland

When my son had just started Kindergarten, we had an enlightening conversation about love. I guess some boys and girls were teasing each other about love and my son wanted to know what it meant.

Love: just some light after-school conversation!

I told him there were all kinds of different words in the Bible for love. And explained a few: philios–which is brotherly/sisterly love and eros–which is sexual love, the kind between a husband and a wife. (Of course he let out a big “yuck!”) Then there is agape–the love God has for the whole world–a love that is based on God’s own character and not on the recipient. In other words, I explained, there’s nothing we could ever do to make God love us less. God loves us because he has agape for us. A love based on his own goodness. It’s relentless. This love will never stop and this is the love that will always win.

My son seemed to understand and went off skipping ahead of me, up the street. A few minutes later, he was jumping up in the air and waving his arms towards heaven.

“What are you doing?” I asked, once I caught up with him.

“I’m just giving God some agape!” he replied.

Infatuated Love

For me, one of the deeply troubling parts of our world is its hyper-sexualized concept of love. Valentine’s Day is all about love–an infatuated eros kind of love. Many of my single friends think it’s the worst day of the year–where all their fears of being alone and “unloved” come to the fore. So much of society joins in this chorus that without a sexual relationship you are somehow incomplete.

This is simply not true. As amazing as the Jerry McGuire scene “You complete me” is–it’s simply not a healthy version of true love. True love, or biblical love doesn’t need to fill a deficit. True love (the Godly kind) is an overflow. It’s an extension of God himself within us. It’s the fullness of God, a God of love who fills us in every way. That infilling of a holy love–not a distorted kind. Not the needy, emotionally vacant, co-dependent love that needs to be held, gifted and coddled into “feeling a certain way,” reliant on warm fuzzies to make our hearts glad we found each other … but a love that gives freely, lives deeply and doesn’t care about “pay-back” and the amount of money someone spent on a gift, or any gift at all!

Massage Parlour Wisdom

I was doing some chaplaincy in a massage parlour and this subject came up. They said Valentine’s Day is one of their worst days of the year. I asked why? They said it was because they knew all the men they see on this day are mostly all married and on their way to the store to buy something to assure their wives that they “loved” them.

The women I know who work in the sex industry already hate men (and for good reason)–but this time they said they had to physically restrain themselves from being sick to their stomachs as men even asked them for suggestions of good gifts. One of the women actually said to a man: How ‘bout you stop buying sex from me!

Great suggestion.

What made the women I talk to sick, is the basic understanding that love is something more than showing up with a gift on a certain day of the year. It runs deeper than that. Living an illusion of love is violence to each of us at our core–because we were made by a God of Love for real Love. True love. Not some sham of an erotic connection. Actually, love has a lot less to do with emotional feelings and sexual intimacy than we may ever fully understand.

The kind of love we are after is much deeper than that. And we need to start communicating honestly in a society that is sex-crazed on what true love really means.

I remember a Nigerian student at The War College in Vancouver, walking down the street with an American student. The Nigerian student was excited to have a new friend and instinctively took the other student’s hand in his as they walked together. You can imagine the surprise of the American student!

In Nigeria this is a perfectly normal expression of friendship. And when you actually think of it–it’s kind of beautiful. How sad it was to hear the American student give the Nigerian an “education” on the inappropriate nature of this expression of friendship in Canada. Somehow, when I was listening I was saddened inside–that our emotional connections can’t be solidified with honest interaction and helpful communication. Instead, everything we do, everything we say is judged through a sexual lense.

Eros Defiled

Chris Hedges writes an amazing (albeit quite a graphic) chapter on “The Illusion of Love in America” in his book Empire of Illusion as he takes a look into the Porn industry and its epic growth as our definition of love sinks lower and lower into the depths of Eros defiled. He suggests that we are simply believing a lie that love is at all connected to sexual degradation because it’s easier to believe than actually trying to live a better way. I think he’s right. And the fact that porn is one of the fastest growing industries in the world–at the expense of women, children and men who fall prey to its lie–is something we really must speak about.

Let’s stand up for Love by getting past Eros and giving out some Agape today. Let’s live for a deeper kind of love.

Living the Truth

I think this will be the secret to really exposing the lie: live the truth. If we want people to understand what love really looks like–we are going to have to show them … modeling a life that is based on agape love–a love that gives and overflows and is generous and open and full. A love that cheers and celebrates others’ successes and desires to see everyone live full, lovely lives. We need to model a love that isn’t stuck in the muck of physical lust and desire–using and taking and holding things for ourselves.

We need to live a different way. We need a deep revelation of this agape love that will saturate and overcome the shallow temptation of lust and attraction.

God help us to live lives full of true Love!

________________________________________

About Danielle
Danielle serves Jesus as the Corps Officer of Crossroads Community in Edmonton, Canada. Her passion is social justice, including establishing human trafficking response teams in local situations and giving leadership to the global team for the Stop The Traffik campaign. Danielle speaks and teaches around the world and has written several books: Just Imagine: the social justice agenda, Challenging Evil and The Liberating Truth: How Jesus Empowers Women. Danielle is married and has two sons.

Image credit: Apple Love, by Dorota Kaszczyszyn

A Love Letter to my Sisters

On Valentine’s Day and for every day.

For my sisters in Berlin and Bubanza, Taipei and Toronto. For my sisters on facebook and twitter, email and pinterest. For my sisters at Christmas and my sisters on couches. For my sisters in cars and cafes. For the sisters I have met and for those whose stories I have only ever carried in my heart … With Love xo

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

My dear Sister,

I want to be birthed with you

From this big belly of

Sisterhood.

I want to be birthed with you

into our most beautiful, imagined

mirror

of Heaven’s Glory.

I want to be birthed with you

our heads held high

our faces lifted

and shining,

speaking the language of

Dignity, Freedom, Worth.

I want to be birthed with you

So we may belt out the

full range of our voices,

giving expression to the north and south octaves of our lives.

O, imagine the beat

of our hearts together,

sounding a symphony of

Beauty and Grace.

Speaking of Grace,

our beloved sister,

who opened up

the dark closet of

her story and allowed us in.

Then, as we held her precious in the Light and loved off the shame—

she, too, was birthed

into the runner and singer and proclaimer

she had always been.

I want to be birthed with you

So together

we may stand and assist

push and pray

lean in and loosen

one more woman,

into the Light of

her Freedom.

I want to be birthed with you

from this womb made for Goodness and Abundance—

where aches and laughs and hugs grow and bear fruit in our together garden.

Carrying and praying each others’ stories from here to there

and to the ends of the earth.

I want to be birthed with you,

As you birth me.

Together, we are a story that Love makes.

_______________________________

Please consider giving an ID card to our sisters in Bubanza this Valentine’s Day. You can read the original post here.

PURCHASE AN ID CARD HERE:

Please ENTER THE AMOUNT $ you want to donate into the white box HERE and then click “Donate”: 

IMPORTANT:
- Once inside the donation page, please select “No Shipping” and “No State/Province” to avoid extra charges.
- Relate Church is kindly processing the donations.
- Every cent of your donation is going towards identity cards for our sisters in Burundi.

Download this Valentine’s card as a PDF here  and print to give to your Valentine.

Please also SHARE this project with your world, because: 

- This Valentine’s Day, we want to give something that will last long after the roses have wilted and dried.
- This Valentine’s Day, we want to taste the sweet taste of Justice on our tongues.
- This Valentine’s Day, we ask for Dignity for our sisters in Bubanza.

Thank you so much–no, really, thank you–for doing your part, so together we can make a difference.

_____________________________________________________

About Idelette:
I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.

I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.

My word for the year is “Roar,” but I have learned it’s not about my voice rising as much as it is about our collective voices rising in unison to bring down walls of injustice.

I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.

I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.

SheReads: A World of Books for Celebrating Love

Combine the words “Love” + “Books” and there are simply endless avenues to take.

By Destiny Loeve

It’s LOVE week, my friends!

And truthfully, I’ve been humming and hawing about how to approach this SheReads post for a while; because when you combine the words Love + Books, there seems to be endless avenues to take. Do I write all philosophically about the meaning of love, or relate stories of social justice and love in action, or go the romantic love story route, or direct you to the top marriage & relationship literature, or feature lovey-dovey poetry, or put an exclamation to the books and stories we plain old love? There’s confusion in the brain …

The end result of my humming and hawing: we’re going to have a smattering of it all!

Here’s some book suggestions, well-loved by Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha and myself, that will serve as inspiration for the love we love to celebrate.

• On the meaning of love:

Yes yes, I am human and I experience love. This love usually comes from those closest to me in my world and is often given even when it’s undeserved. But then … there is this truth: the God and Creator of all the Universe has a deep, tenacious and unending love towards me. Brennan Manning’s The Furious Longing of God unpacks this raw theme eloquently. Now that, my friends, is a Love worth celebrating.

• On poetry:

Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha: One of the best books I have ever read about love is … a commentary! A commentary written about the Song of Solomon, the most lush and lovely and, dare I say, lust-filled book in the Bible. Marcia Falk’s The Song of Songs:  A New Translation & Interpretation unfolds the enigmatic verses of this potent book–declaring that while the Song of Solomon is many things, it is certainly and foremost erotic love poetry.  Think about that–love poems in the heart of wisdom literature in the Bible!  Written with lovely prose and beautiful etchings of flora and fauna, this is a tribute to the wisdom of love.

• On love in action:

In the war-torn Gaza strip there is a valiant doctor who has had every possible reason to hate, yet continuously stands for peace and harmony between the Palestinians of Gaza and their neighboring Israelis. His name is Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish and his book, I Shall Not Hate, opened my eyes to a plight I was very naïve about.

• On love stories:

I bring to you …. Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife. Ah, Claire and Henry, and their love that was meant to be. There’s a unique twist to this love story. Henry is 41, and then 26, and then 35 … just make sure you pay attention! When my mother read it she was downright confused. (There’s also some sexuality in this one).

In Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love we find some vibrant characters whose lives intersect via their relationship with a book. It’s a story of long lost loves, friendships and familial love. Nicole used some different writing techniques I thoroughly enjoyed. Random side note on author bliss: Nicole Krauss is married to Jonathan Safran Foerc… now you know.

• On marriage:

Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha: Marriage can be drenched in love … but also laced with some hardship and hurdles.  Two becoming one is the invitation of marriage, and Madeline L’Engle tells her tender tale in Two-Part Invention:  The Story of a Marriage.  She shares how she and her beloved, both creative types, collaborated and crafted a shared story of great family and great love.  This is a love story I can believe in!

•  On stories we plain old love: 

For me, this has got to be Abraham Verghese’s Cutting for Stone. I’m not sure if it was the delicious prose, the African setting, the multi-cultural cast, the medical insight or the gripping tale of brotherly love that had me won over. Likely, it is the combination of it all! At any rate, this book is a (thick!) winner that tops my favorites list.

And there you have it. May you continue to be inspired to Love. Happy (slightly early!) Valentines!

And now:

• What’s your lovey-dovey book recommendation for the above love categories?

About Destiny

Destiny Loeve treasures most her roles as wife to one daring husband & mommy to three sunshiny children. She loves to see things grow in her garden, read great books, hang out at her church, meet all kinds of people & sit in her living room with friends. When not on maternity leave, she works as a pediatric nurse, and finds as many opportunities to volunteer in the community as possible.

Photo credit: Dana Meyenberg via Pininterest

Love Letter to Two Strangers

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, you might guess I’d write about warm fuzzy feelings for those nearest and dearest. Well, you’d be half right …

By Stefanie Thomas | Twitter: @stefanie_nicole

I consider myself to be a fairly observant person (I like to think I would make a good detective), but I find it’s all too easy to go through my day without really seeing the people I cross paths with. I mean, I see them, but I don’t often pay attention to them. I see the man in the car beside me, and though we have something in common (we’re stopped at the same red light), I don’t give much thought to who he is, where he’s going, what kind of day he’s having. It’s not that I don’t care about the man in the car beside me, it’s just that I’m usually too wrapped up in my own thoughts to really consider him.

The Woman

One morning a few years ago, on my drive to work, I noticed a woman walking slowly down the street. To say she was inching her way along the sidewalk wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Her legs were bowed under the weight of her body. Having seen several loved ones struggle with “bad knees,” I guessed that this woman was living with similar pain. My heart went out to her and I prayed for God to bring comfort and healing in her body. As I put my care and attention on this woman – a total stranger – I was surprised to feel my eyes welling up with tears. Over the following weeks, I’d often see her in the early mornings, lumbering along that same stretch of road. I imagined she, too, was on her way to work. She’d round the corner and wait to be fetched by a bus. I began to look for this woman as I approached that intersection, praying for her, whether I saw her or not.

On days when I felt a bit blah or worried if I’d make it to work on time, seeing this woman snapped me right out of it. Focusing on her helped me put things into perspective. I’m not sure if my prayers were answered, but I do know without a doubt that praying for this stranger fed my heart and spirit. Eventually I found a different route to work, but I still think of that woman from time to time. I hope she has been blessed, in ways big and small.

The Man

Several years ago, one of my sisters moved into a new apartment. A big family lived in the building and I often saw the father crossing the street to collect his kids from school. In fact, I rarely visited my sister without seeing this man coming or going. Over time, sightings of the man grew more frequent. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, in different parts of town and my sisters and I would nudge each other as if to say, “Look who it is!”

The man came to recognize us and would smile and wave hello. We ran into him (and mentioned him) so often we eventually dubbed him “The Man.” The stock response to seeing him became, “Of course!”

On my birthday that year, a situation led to my family dinner being cancelled at the last minute. It became a party of two–my younger sister and I–going for a chilly nighttime walk at the beach. I was disappointed that the birthday celebration had unraveled, but decided I would  be grateful for the beauty of nature and the company of my kid sis.

And then it started to rain.

And then it started to pour.

Neither of us had an umbrella or a raincoat, so we took shelter under a big tree. As we stood there shivering, I could either have burst into laughter or burst into tears. And then, like a beacon in the night, wearing a white T-shirt and shorts (in January!), who do we see emerging from the darkness? You guessed it–The Man–out for a walk with his son.

Of course.

When I saw The Man, all of my disappointment washed away.

“It felt like a wink from God, telling me I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

Not long after this, my sister and I were across town when we saw The Man heading our way. (Of course.) Our grins turned to surprised laughter when The Man spotted us and yelled, “I love you guys!” in his thick Eastern European accent before disappearing into a store.

Another God-wink.

Last summer, when my sister prepared to move out of her apartment, I realized that we probably wouldn’t see The Man anymore. It seemed ridiculous, but I was going to miss him. I’d grown accustomed to seeing his smile, to watching with a warm heart as he cared for his children. I never had a conversation with him, but The Man no longer felt like a stranger to me. His presence reminded me that we are all connected. Seeing him reminded me of God.

On moving day, I went to help my sister vacate her home. On one of my trips to the moving truck, I noticed The Man was also loading things into a big truck. I smiled at him and perhaps he could see the question in my expression, because he said to me: “We’re moving out today. We’re going to a new home across the bridge.”

Of course.

What perfect timing.

They would never know it, but these two strangers – this woman and this man – have touched my life. Yes, we live in a busy world and it would be impossible to pay attention to everyone we cross paths with. But once in a while, we might glance upon a stranger and pause for a beat. We might notice them, and wish for them to be loved and blessed.

Who knows, maybe we are the man who moves someone to remember God. Maybe we are the woman that someone else is praying for, right at this very moment.

_________________________________

My dear SheLoves friends:

• Is there a stranger you hold up in your heart sometime?
• How does God remind you that you are in the right place at the right time?
• Any other comments?

About Stefanie:

Stefanie is a Registered Clinical Counsellor living in Vancouver, BC. She feels blessed to work in a helping profession and is grateful that her work requires her to show up not in a power suit but with listening ears and a compassionate heart. Stefanie enjoys spending time with family and friends and has never met a kid or baby she doesn’t like. She is a noticer and appreciator of birds (chickadees, herons, eagles) and many a beach rock has come home in her pocket. Stefanie is a lover of music, tv and movies, and she is gifted at absorbing and retaining useless pop culture trivia. She loves walking, fresh air, the smell of dirt, and anything of the salt and vinegar persuasion. She can often be found puttering.

TGIF: What My Grandmother Taught Me About The Hero’s Journey

On PDA in a hotel lobby, crying cashews and spooning my grandmother.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
____________________________________________________________

“Diet Pepsi at 11pm was a bad idea,” I think to myself, staring at the empty can on the bedside table.

I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep. My restless body curls into the shape of a cashew nut, and then unfurls into a giant flag.

Cashew. Flag. Cashew. Flag. Cashew. Flag.

I look at the digital clock above my head that blinks 3:15am in scarlet red. In my wayward state of insomnia, I decide, “I’ll wear my black skirt that doesn’t need to be ironed,” and jump out of bed. I roll up my pajama pants, shave my legs, slather a generous scoop of cocoa butter on my now shiny smooth limbs and look at the clock again.

3:30am.

In exactly five hours, I’ll be reunited with my 95-year-old grandmother, my Ammachi.

The grandmother who saved my yellow scissors.
The grandmother I hadn’t seen in nine years.
The grandmother I didn’t want to speak to.

I was on a whirlwind work trip that took me to my motherland, Kerala, in beautiful South India. The azure sky bejeweled with lush emerald coconut trees made me sigh deeply. An unexpected trip that facilitated the luxury of being able to visit my beloved grandmother.

PDA and an inappropriate sling bag …

At 6am sharp, I greeted my dad’s oldest sister–my 4′ 6 75-year-old plucky aunt, Sister Vera, in the hotel lobby with an over-exuberant hug. She turned cranberry pink and burst into nervous laughter. Given that South Indians rarely hug, and compounded by the fact that she’d been a nun for almost sixty years, I could see how my overt public display of affection gave my poor aunty a heart attack.

As I settled into the back of the cab, my eyes slowly wandered and I encountered an unexpected glee-inducing moment. My adorable aunt was carrying a Chivas Regal sling bag. Lawwwd, have murrrrcy! I was so tickled by how incongruous this image was, I almost clapped.

Oh life, and its beautiful ironies!

The Second Half of Life 

I’m not sure what I expected when I walked into my grandmother’s room. I gingerly placed three totes filled with an odd potpourri of gifts on the floor: cereal, towels, Vaseline, chocolate-covered almonds, rice crackers, a coffee mug, Turkish sweets, my sister’s homemade toffee brittle and cleaning wipes.

As I approached her bed, I saw that her breathing had become laboured and heavy. Her eyes were full of tears. I bent down to kiss her cheeks and she “sniff-kissed” me. The customary South Indian grandma kiss. She pressed her cauliflower-shaped nose against my cheek and took a deep audible breath — inhaling the scent of my skin, inhaling my entire almost-thirty-granddaughter-essence with each sniff. She kissed the right cheek and then the left cheek. Switching back to the right cheek and the left again. This went on for what felt like 15 minutes.

Sr. Vera brings me a foldable wooden stool so I can sit beside Ammachi. When I finally pull my face back, I get a proper look at her. She was wearing a loose white cotton dress with cute-as-heck pink polka dots, a white rosary around her neck and a wedding band on her finger. Her hair snowy white, her face gaunt, her tiny-tiny arms and her skin hanging from her bones. She was so much smaller than I remembered. Her forest green metal walker to the left of her bed, an ugly reminder that she would be taken away from me. Worse, she’d been taken away from my dad. I was angry and wanted to burn the stupid walker  in the front yard.

My pyromaniac fantasy was interrupted by her quivering lips which whispered the words, “Devum thanna pilara…” This loosely translates to mean, “The children God blessed me with …”

This was the moment I officially became a wreck. I remembered why I didn’t want to see her or speak to her. It hurts too much. Loving my grandma breaks my heart, and hers.

She cupped my face firmly with her jittery arms and looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. She drank in every detail of my face, committing it to memory: every curve, dimple, bone, bump, eyelash and pore. I was humbled by the silent awe, elation and gratitude etched on her face. She seemed to be looking at a glorious, beautiful, perfect version of me, that I couldn’t see in myself.

“The world is more magical, less predictable, more autonomous, less controllable, more varied, less simple, more infinite, less knowable, more wonderfully troubling than we could have imagined being able to tolerate when we were young.” - James Hollis, “Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life”

A Handkerchief + A Cross + The Great Wounding

My dad has seven sisters. Three of his sisters are nuns. The youngest of the three, Sr. Cecelia (my favourite–she sang) passed away a couple of years ago from cancer. My grandmother asked my aunt Sr. Vera to crochet the cross Sr. Cecelia wore around her neck onto a green and white plaid handkerchief.

In his book “Falling Upward” Father Richard Rohr talks about “The Great Wounding” or “Necessary Suffering” in every hero’s journey. The whole story pivots on the resolution of the trials that result. The great wounding eventually leads to a great epiphany, and the wound becomes a secret (even sacred) key that takes the hero to the next level. The wound breaks the hero before strengthening him. This strange balance between ascent and descent, victory and suffering, is every hero’s journey. Richard Rohr says the hero “floats forward by the quiet movement of grace.”

I thought about my grandmother’s “great wounding.” She lost her husband, her siblings, her parents and eventually her own daughter. I can’t imagine anything more painful than a parent having to bury their child. She had to leave her home, her roots and her legacy in Kerala. She shuttled between her children, all over the world, from the Middle East to Canada and she did it without her husband, sisters and family.

The LORD had said to Abram, “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. - Genesis 12:1

My grandmother is a hero. She is a hero in the classic Greek sense of the word. Unlike the modern definition, where celebrity is equated with heroism, the classic Greek hero was somebody brave enough to leave her home, accomplish a greater task for the greater good, suffer the great wounding, learn to rise above it and come back home to share her wisdom with the next generation. Hello?! That is my grandmother in a nutshell.

“First is the fall, and then we recover from the fall. Both are the mercy of God.” – Lady Julian of Norwich

Spooning  + Like a Child

As Sr. Vera silently crocheted the cross onto the handkerchief, I climbed onto the bed and lay beside my grandmother. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. I just wanted to be close to her.

The moment I climbed on the bed to spoon my grandmother, tears began to run down her cheeks and she said, “You have so much love … like a little child.”

I felt my chest tighten, throat close up and my legs start to tremble. There were tears. Warm, fat, monster tears.

Two [crying] cashews lying on a bed, just taking each other in.

“I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.” ― Sara Gruen, Water for Elephants

______________________________________________________

My dear ones…

I still have tears coming down my cheeks as I write this. I need a minute. *deep breath*

Okay.

I recently read an article in the Guardian about Bronnie Ware, an Australian palliative nurse who recorded her patients’ dying epiphanies in the last twelve weeks of their lives. She wrote a book called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying and here they are in random order:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish I had let myself be happier.

I would love to hear your thoughts:
- If today were your last day, what would be your biggest regret?
- What do you want to achieve/change before you die?
- Have you experienced “the great wounding”?

Love you more than Salt and Vinegar Kale Chips,(<- Recipe)
xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.

______________________________________________________

My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.

Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.

I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.

My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.

I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.

Mercy: A Daily Practice of Digging for Truth

A daily practice + shedding lies + seeing God’s unconditional Love = Journey to Freedom. 

By Musu Taylor-Lewis | Twitter: @mercycanada

Her voice is strong today, almost matter-of-fact as she explains where her journey started, trying to earn God’s love. A downward spiral that led to self-harm, despair and eventually an attempted suicide.

“I was nine years old when I was molested … It was around this time that I began to lose sight of God’s love for me. I began to feel like I was falling apart from the inside out. I began to believe the lies that there was something inherently wrong with me, something broken that could never be fixed and that no one cared.”

Who could blame her?  When it comes to deep and baffling pain, or even the tentacles of shame, any of us could lose sight of God’s unconditional love. Let alone a nine-year-old girl. We see the reflex to withdraw already in the Garden of Eden when the first pair of humans realized they had made a wrong choice.

“Losing sight of God’s love.” It’s a common theme we find with the young women who come through the doors of Mercy Ministries. Whatever the trigger–abuse, school pressure, a harsh word from a parent or even misunderstanding God’s love–the light of God’s love is dimmed each time a seemingly-logical lie gets repeated, whether in the privacy of the mind or out loud.

Thoughts like:

-“God wasn’t there when I was hurting.”

- “Nobody cares.”

- “If I do more, maybe He would love me.”

- “I’m too bad for God’s reach.”

That is why I’ve fallen in love with one particular daily exercise carried out by the residents at Mercy. I’ve watched how this exercise helps restore the ability to see God’s love. I’ve learned this: Seeing, grasping, knowing and understanding God’s love gives hope and strength to cooperate with what God wants to do in our lives. Seeing God’s love keeps us from being dragged down by hurt and failure, events that are inevitable in our world.

A Simple Ritual

Every day the residents get out their truth statements; statements they create based on their reading of scripture. Each girl reads her own statements in private, to counter the lies that have accumulated, trap her in self-destructive patterns and block her ability to see God’s love.

So, instead of “God wasn’t there when I was hurting” she states:

“God is near the broken-hearted.”

When she’s tempted to believe, “No one cares,” she is reminded:

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

When she wants to try and earn God’s love, her heart is stilled by the words:

“It is by grace you have been saved.”

When she thinks, “I’m too bad for God’s reach” that thought is counteracted by:

“Nothing can separate us from the love of God.”

Slowly but surely, over time, these truths bring God’s Love back into view. Eventually it becomes clear that God never left … not ever … not even for one moment. His love has been there all along, in every moment of despair and destruction. I have seen how this simple and powerful truth can transform a life lived with blurred vision from the age of nine.

Now I hear her tell the other side of the story:

“Mercy Ministries was God’s rescue mission. I have never felt so loved. God in His infinite, inexhaustible mercy delivered me from death. I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is good, that He never abandoned me or let go of me once. He pursued me relentlessly, because I am of great value in His eyes, because He loves me, because He wants me. I am beautiful, inside and out, because He made me. I can stop striving for perfection because I already carry the seal of His approval–His Holy Spirit–within me.

_________________________

Dear SheLoves friends,

• What practices–daily or otherwise–have you discovered that help you on your journey to Freedom?
• Is there a lie that keeps repeating itself in your life?
• What are some of your favourite Truth statements?

_________________________

About Musu:

My life is lived out of the calling “to advance Christ-centred work.” I am currently Director of Marketing and Development at Mercy Ministries, working to get the word out about the life-transforming work that takes place here. Prior to my work at Mercy, I directed a Crisis Pregnancy Centre, studied Christianity and Culture at Regent College and co-led women’s programs at my local church. I have four great children and am married to Steven, a gift to me from the Creator.